A/N: This was a dialogue request by BuckysGirl42! The request was for a Bucky imagine with prompts 11 and 12 ("Did I really just say that out loud?" and "There's nothing worse in this world than the sight I had to wake up to today"). Thank you so much for requesting! And to everyone else who requested, I'm working on those right now! They'll be up soon :)
Lots of love!
Winnie
Words: 4.5K
Warnings: Language, suggestive themes
Thursday, March 15th
Dear Diary,
I don't fuckin' know how Bucky Barnes convinced me to start writing in this damn thing. It was a Christmas present, the journal I mean, and it's taken me MONTHS to finally crack it open. He tells me that it'll help me "cope" and "stop being so much like an angst-riddled teenager" despite the fact that I'm a perfectly functioning twenty-three year old woman. I've never been one to turn down a gift, but when he gave me this damn diary I came very close to chucking it back at his stupid head. Despite my reservations, Bucky's finally convinced me to give "journaling" a try. He says that it's helped him through it all: the post-Hydra healing, drama of Civil War, and all of our time hidden away from the Avengers Team. You read that right: we're hiding from the Avengers, the very same team that Steve Rogers and I were on together with Stark, Romanoff, and the others. After Civil War we were forced into hiding. Now, after Bucky's quick nap and reconstruction by T'Challa's team, we're taking a little "break". Our break consists of living in the real world, apparently, where no one will recognize us. So that brings us here to a little three bedroom house in the outskirts of rural England where no one gives a shit about Captain America or his two weird best friends (that'd be me and Bucky) and the young girl with the odd accent. Our neighbors only know us by our first names, and they only stop by occasionally to complain when Bucky parks his motorcycle on the wrong side of the street.
Anyway, that's the most important part of the story. There's a lot more: how I joined the team at 18 after a fall out of a tree knocked me in the head and gave me weird telekinetic abilities, the story about how I almost died at the hands of a robot called Ultron, how I drunkenly got matching tattoos with Tony Stark on my ass, the time I had sex with the God of Thunder and never talked about it again, how I chose to fight alongside Steve during the war and had to leave the rest of my life behind, and plenty of other wild tales.
According to Bucky Barnes, this journal is the perfect place to go through all of that.
Right now I'm in the upstairs bedroom that I share with Wanda. We got the master suite with the bathroom and big closet when we moved in a few months ago. The girl has a normal sized mattress that she likes to keep on the floor while I prefer the loft bed up near the ceiling. It's my turn to pick the Pandora station, so I've got it on 80s classics. Wanda isn't complaining: she loves my tunes.
Someone who IS complaining though is Steve. He's trying to take a nap or something, I don't know, because he's blowing up my phone with texts telling me to "turn that damn racket down". I'm pretending that the music is too loud to hear the notifications.
I think it might be noon. Ah, yes. I just checked. It's 12:30 in the afternoon. Steve's just cranky because he doesn't let himself sleep in and relax like the rest of us do. He gets up every morning at 4 to go on a run and work out in the backyard. I think he's crazy, but what can ya do?
"What are you doing up there, Y/N? You're too quiet," Wanda laughs.
"Writing in this stupid journal thing that Buck gave me." I hold it up for her to see.
From her bed with the gossip column magazine on her lap she smiles. "Ah, yes. That was a thoughtful gift."
"It's kinda lame, actually."
Wanda raises an eyebrow. "Really?" She pushes some imaginary hair off of her shoulder before remembering that I hacked it all off a few nights ago with a pair of kitchen shears. She'd decided she needed a change to help her move on from our life before. The short new style looks good on her, actually. It comes just below her ears and makes her look like a straight up badass—especially when she wears that red leather jacket. "Because I think it's kind of sweet, especially since he got it leather bound in your favorite color."
"No, no—I'll admit it was pretty sweet." I lay back down with the journal on my stomach. "I just don't know how I feel about writing down everything that's happened."
"He says it'll help you, he seems to know what he's talking about. He does it all the time."
"Tell me what to do?"
Wanda chuckles. "No; write."
Before anything else can be said the bedroom door with the Hot Dudes and Puppies calendar swings open to reveal a very smug Bucky Barnes in grey jeans and a white t.
"Speak of the devil," I grunt. "Do you even know how to knock, asshole?"
"What? It's not like you guys are doing anythin' secret in here," Bucky replies. He crosses the room to stand at the side of my loft bed. He crosses his arms, the metal over the flesh, over the ledge of my bed. He rests his chin on his forearm.
"What if we were?" I tease him as he raises an intrigued eyebrow. "What if we decided that we were into each other and you barged in on us getting it on?"
Bucky's smirk is intoxicating. "Then I'd certainly want to be in here for that, doll."
"You two are disgusting," Wanda comments from her bed on the floor. She pulls herself up and heads towards the bathroom. "I'm gonna shower, and I'm locking the door! So leave me alone, please."
Bucky notices the journal sitting open in my lap. "You finally getting around to writing in that thing?"
"Maybe." I quickly close the cover before he can see it: especially the little part about me having sex with a Norse God. I wrinkle my nose as I realize that something stinks. "What the hell have you been up to, Barnes? You smell like a gas station."
"Workin' on my Harley," Bucky replies casually with a lame shoulder shrug. There's a devilish twinkle in his eye as he goes on. "I gotta make sure she's in top shape for when you finally let me take you on a ride."
"There's no way I'm letting you take me on that death trap," I counter strictly. "I'm not about to knock my head again and discover another power."
"I'm a great driver," Bucky boasts.
"You can hardly keep in a straight line in Mario Kart," I counter.
Bucky scoffs, "That's a stupid video game."
"You only say it's stupid because I kick your ass every time."
The sudden absence of music makes our heads both turn towards the door. Steve's there, messy blond bed-head, looking peeved. He's picked up the small Bluetooth speaker and shut it off. "I'm trying to nap."
"Maybe if you kept regular hours like a normal person you wouldn't be so grouchy, old man. Try sleeping in every once in a while and you won't even need a nap," I argue. Bucky's smirking in quiet agreement of my argument.
Steve lets out a long sigh. He tires of my attitude very easily (this he often tells me). "Just try to keep it down a little, okay? At least until I wake up."
"You look pretty awake to me, Captain." I grin as he simmers. Bucky chortles into his propped up elbow.
"You two are ridiculous," is the last thing Steve mutters before trekking back downstairs to his bedroom on the main floor.
After Steve's gone Bucky looks back at me with those big blue eyes. "So that's a no on the ride?"
"Sorry, I'm not about to die today." I lie back down with my book up to my nose as if reading what I've just written.
Bucky lets out a long, dramatic sigh. He scratches his shaved chin before shrugging and pushing away from the side of my loft bed. "Alright, alright. But if you change your mind, I got an extra helmet for ya, doll."
"Thanks, no thanks."
Bucky shakes his head as he leaves the room. I ignore him until I'm sure he's gone then I watch his long legs stalk down the hall towards the stairs. When he turns around to catch a quick glance back at me I move my eyes back to the page: hearing him chuckle and I know I've been caught staring.
While I've just taken the time to write all of this down, Wanda's gotten out of the shower and asked if I wanted to go out on the town for something to eat. I guess that wraps up this entry for today.
Friday, March 16th
Everyone loves Fridays. They're okay, I guess, but I'm just not one to really go out and have a swell time getting hammered and fucked up. Wanda agrees so we spend most of our Friday nights at home with the TV and the cat (his name is Flea). Steve and Bucky went out tonight. Drinking, I'm sure, even though neither of them can actually get drunk. But I think what they like is to sit at the bar pretending to be normal while girls hit on them.
Whatever.
"How much money do you think Selena Gomez has?" I hear Wanda ask as she scrolls through Twitter.
"A lot." I shrug and keep doodling in the corner of this page. "Why?"
"She has such nice clothes," she mutters. "I like her clothes."
"We could go shopping this weekend. T'Challa sent us another check."
Wanda scoffs, "Steve said we should be saving the extra money."
"Who cares? We've got thousands in the bank. Even if something happened and we had to disappear we'd be fine. Besides, Steve and Bucky are spending money tonight on beer. We'll just have a bit more fun and buy clothes." I skip to the next page and start making a list of places we should go.
"I like the way you think, Y/N." Wanda smiles. She catches sight of my list and gasps, "Oh! Add H&M. I like them."
I raise a brow. "Do they have those here in the UK? I only ever went to the one close to the Tower in New York."
"Yeah. They have them everywhere."
After we make our shopping spree list and finish the third Harry Potter movie we decide we may as well go to bed. It's nearly one in the morning and we're going to have to wake up at a reasonable time if we want to make it to the city before noon.
I had plans to end today's entry here. But just a minute ago, while I was brushing my teeth above the sink, I heard my phone chime. I picked it up to see a text from Bucky.
"Are you sure you don't wanna go on a ride with me, doll?" he asked via iMessage.
Rolling my eyes, I replied, "Sorry, Bucky. I don't wanna ride your Harley. Nice try though."
I was kinda confused when he didn't reply with the flirty banter he'd usually respond with. Shrugging, I tucked my phone into the band of my spandex and headed up to bed.
So I guess that's it for tonight. Until tomorrow, diary.
Saturday, March 17th
Dear stupid fucking diary that stupid fucking Bucky Barnes gave me,
There is nothing worse in this world than the sight I had to wake up to today.
Everything started out fine. Let me set the scene for you: it's a lazy Saturday morning. Nothing weird when I first open my eyes to the sound of birds and Wanda snoring. It's like nine or something when I finally roll out of bed. I don't even bother to shower or brush my teeth before stumbling downstairs for a cup of coffee and some Cheerios. I can hear CNN playing from the living room, then Steve softly calling, "G'morning, Y/N," as he watches TV from the couch.
"Morning," I reply quietly—still groggy with sleep. He looks as if he actually took my advice today and slept in a little bit. His hair is unbrushed and he's in pajamas. "Have a fun night?" I ask. I dig out the whole milk from the back of the fridge and sniff it once to make sure it hasn't gone sour. I skipped this step once a few weeks ago and ended up with chunky cereal milk. Never again.
"Yep." Steve glances back at me. "You?"
"It was fun. We're going shopping today," I say as I grab a spoon from the drawer and settle at the kitchen table. The table is under the window that shows it's sort of cloudy and gross looking outside.
"That's cool," Steve replies.
See? There's nothing weird about this morning at all.
That is until a strange woman waltzes into the room.
I drop my spoon into my bowl—the handle disappearing into the sloppy mess—as the stranger with the long tan legs stalks right past me. She heads for the full coffee pot while rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
My own eyes, wide and confused, dart to Steve. He lets out a long sigh before quickly averting his eyes back to the TV screen.
This—this WOMAN—is now searching the cupboards for a mug. And before I can question who the hell she is, or why she's wearing one of Bucky's shirts with a pair of lace underwear, she turns to me and asks, "Where are your coffee cups?" in a squeaky British accent.
My jaw drops. She looks at me, brown eyes blank, and repeats her question.
Steve finally replies from the next room. "Second shelf in the cupboard above the toaster. Sugar's there, too."
"Thanks," the female gazelle replies. She really is ethereal: long golden hair, lean tan legs, and the tiniest figure I've ever seen. Is she a fucking model? Another Hadid sister? Aphrodite?
I'm instantly jealous. Not because I'm a petty bitch who hates pretty girls, but because she's wearing one of Bucky's shirts after having come waltzing from the side of the house that houses HIS room, and she's got visible hickeys all over her neck.
They slept together.
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I'm sat there, staring at my soggy cereal, and thinking of all the ways I'd rather be dying right now than listening to this woman hum idly while pouring herself a cup of joe.
And then, oh god, it just gets worse!
Bucky fucking Barnes comes out of his room. Scratching his fucking ass like a chimp and wearing no shirt like a chump he just strolls into the scene. Steve swallows thickly and keeps staring at me: almost as if expecting me to punch someone like that one time an insensitive paparazzi guy hounded Wanda with questions about her brother's death and I ended up assaulting four people.
"Good morning," Bucky says. He's not saying it to me. No, no he's saying it to that GIRL. She smiles back at him as he makes his way to stand next to her at the counter. He doesn't even fucking look at me! Hello! I'm right here! You can't even say hi?!
"Good mornin', handsome." She smiles over her shoulder at him.
My jaw literally drops when he kisses the back of her neck.
Steve clears his throat from the next room. "Buck."
"Hmm?" Bucky hums in response. Steve jerks his head in my direction, as if pointing out my presence. But Bucky's seen me. He's too smart and aware to have not. But he pretends as if he never saw me: saying, "Oh! Hey there, Y/N. How are you?"
"Fabulous," I reply dryly.
Bucky's blue eyes twinkle mischievously. "Good to hear."
"So you all are roommates?" the Brit questions. She leans her lower back against the counter as she wraps both hands around the steaming coffee mug. She looks like she just came out of a fucking Calvin Klein photoshoot: her hair a stylish mess and boy-short lace panties peeking out from under the t-shirt.
"Yep." Bucky sneaks around her head to grab himself a cup. Still talking to the blonde, he asks, "How'd you sleep, doll?"
That's when I fucking lose it. I'm ashamed to admit it, but this is the moment that I actually snap into insanity.
While Bucky's got the fridge opened to grab the cream everything just falls. No, not falls—the food catapults. Eggs by the dozen splatter on the floor and his face. Stalks of celery go flying towards the farthest wall. Apples tumble to the ground and juice explodes like carbonated soda out of the pitcher. The high pitched, shocked scream of a girl is echoed by the sloshing of wet, cold leftovers splattering everywhere.
That was all me.
"Y/N!" Steve immediately yells my name. Meanwhile, Bucky's standing in front of the open fridge—trying to wipe the mustard off his face. It just smears with the mayo and applesauce. All you can see through the muck the blue of his eyes and his pursed lips. There's eggshell on his man-boob and a piece of lettuce on his shoulder.
I push up from the table. Ignoring the woman's shock and Steve's shouting I leave the room in the way I came—up the stairs and into my room.
And that's where I am now: sitting in the corner of my bed while Wanda still sleeps unaware somewhere below by the light of my phone writing in this stupid journal. THIS STUPID, STUPID DIARY THAT BUCKY BARNES BOUGHT ME AND MADE ME THINK THAT HE LIKED ME BECAUSE HE ALWAYS SAYS SWEET THINGS AND CALLS ME DOLL BUT I GUESS FUCKING NOT! I GUESS HE DOES THAT TO EVERY OTHER FUCKING GIRL AND I GUESS I'M NOT NEARLY AS SPECIAL AS I THOUGHT I WAS!
I HATE HIM, I HATE THAT GIRL! I HATE EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING SUCKS.
I feel so heartbroken.
You know what? I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm totally fine. I'm—
Oh my god. Steve's knocking on my door. He's going to be so pissed that I just exploded the fridge... especially since that stranger girl saw EVERYTHING...
I'm totally not okay. Because if this situation with Bucky doesn't kill me, Steve totally will.
Wish me luck.
Sunday, March 18th
Dear Diary,
I thought it couldn't get any worse when I stomped upstairs. But it did: it got worse. Steve came barging into my room, waking up Wanda in the process, and yelled at me while a taxi cab drove Bucky's mistress home. He screamed and hollered at me for almost an hour about how I could've blown our cover. Lucky for us, the girl was an idiot and believed Steve's lie about the fridge being broken and sometimes exploding. Steve wasn't impressed when I interrupted his rant to call the girl dumb—resulting in more lecturing.
The most memorable line of the speech was, "You can't keep throwing tantrums like a toddler, Y/N! You're an adult! Act like it!"
Hmm. Interesting, coming from the man who was literally purple in the face from hollering at me.
After that, Wanda and I decided to get out of the house as fast as possible. We got downstairs and outside to the curb at lightning speed. But, unfortunately for me, Bucky was standing in the way. He was in the driveway working on his stupid Harley again. Showered and no longer covered in food debris, he rolled his eyes when he saw me.
"Look who it is: Ms. Hot Head."
I mock him with, "Look who it is: the man whore."
Bucky grit his teeth. The greasy rag he was using was being wound between his hands. He stalked up to me, ignoring Wanda who stood a few steps to my right, and just glared into my eyes.
"I can do whatever the hell I wanna do, Y/N. I shouldn't have to worry about consequences from you."
"So Steve was okay with you having a slumber party? What happened to us wanting to lie low?" I snarl.
Bucky scoffs, "It was gonna be fine until you lost your goddamn mind and blew up the fridge."
"No, it wasn't gonna be fine," I say. And then as I start, my tongue runs away from me. I can't stop it. "Did you think she wasn't gonna notice your glaring metal arm when you were fucking her? Or did you purposely pick the stupidest bitch in the bar so that she wouldn't ask any questions—just skip straight to giving you half-decent head?"
Wanda clears her throat. "Umm, I'm gonna go wait in the car..." She hurries to get out the keys and jog to her Kia.
Bucky, meanwhile, keeps glaring at me coldly. His arms are crossed and that greasy rag in between his metal fingers. His long hair is pulled back at the nape of his neck in a bun. He wears a zip jacket to fight the slight chill outside, but no shirt underneath. His sweatpants are oily and dusty from kneeling on the cement.
"Have anything else nasty to say, Y/N?"
I grit my teeth. Then, without ever thinking about it, I say, "Yes, actually." My finger prods him in the center of his chest. "Fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you and your stupid fucking face and your stupid model fuckbuddy and your dumb face. I really like you, you know that? What am I saying? Of course you do! You know everything. But you know what else? I don't even wanna like you anymore because you're a stupid jerk."
And then, as I stare dead into Bucky's blue eyes, I can only think one thing:
Did I really just say that out loud?!
I shove Bucky's chest to push past him towards the garage. Before I can make it to Wanda's car though I hear Bucky growl my name. I ignore him until he says, "Get back here, Y/N!"
"NO!" I shout.
Bucky jogs over until he can snatch my wrist. He tugs me to a stop—making me swivel and snarl. "Let go of me, jerk."
"No—not until you talk to me."
"I don't wanna talk to you, idiot."
Bucky grunts. "I don't care. You're not goin' anywhere."
"Suck my ass, jerk!" I rip my arm from his grasp but he's quick to block my path. His body looms between me and the Kia side door.
Bucky, ignoring my anger, starts to question me. "This is all because you were jealous?"
"Shut up!" I punch his shoulder—mistakenly choosing the metal one. I wince and draw my hand to my chest with a frown.
"Stop it," Bucky scolds—this time in a very gentle tone. He looks down at me with pity. "You don't have to be so angry about everything."
"Yes I do! Everything in my life has turned to shit, including this! So yes; I have the right to be angry."
Bucky sighs. He stays rooted in my path. "I'm sorry, Y/N."
"No you're not," I grunt. "You're just sorry that I embarrassed you in front of Sharpay Evans this morning. She's probably never coming back, thanks to me."
"She's not coming back because I don't want her back. I never really wanted her at all," Bucky says.
"Then explain why she was here, Bucky, if you didn't want her." I cross my arms and wait for him to go on.
I never expect to hear him say, "What I wanted was you. Not some random girl who thought I was cute, not at all. I wanted you: but you wouldn't let me have you. I just... I wanted you. I didn't think you'd want me, too."
My jaw must hit the floor because I can suddenly feel air in my mouth. Closing my lips, I narrow my eyes. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever—"
But before I can finish my whining, I'm shut straight up with a pair of lips crashing down onto my own. Bucky's hands are on my neck and his eyes closed as he pushes us closer. I'm shocked at first, rightly so, and then the shock simmers away as my eyes flutter shut. The anger and surprise melts away until all I can feel is bliss. Bucky's lips taste like cherries, oddly enough, and he smells like an auto shop.
When Bucky pulls away it feels like I'm being brought down from the clouds. He smirks as he steps back with his hands going to his pockets. "Like I said, I'm sorry." He shakes his head and subtly licks my flavor off of his bottom lip and back into his mouth again. "I shouldn't've brought her here. I should've... I should've just told you."
"You're an ass." I finally find my voice again. "And you thought you could fix it with a kiss?"
"No, I was just trying to get you to stop rambling." Bucky smirks. He gestures towards his bike on the end of the drive. "If you let me take you out tonight, maybe I can make it up to you officially."
"I don't know Bucky..."
The man, tall and buff, steps closer until I can feel his heat. His thumb hooks under my chin while he stares down at me. "Please, doll?"
I roll my eyes—playfully this time. "One date. I'll give you one date."
Bucky's smile could light up the moon. "What if I wanna take you on another one after that?"
"Then you'll just have to hold your breath and see," I reply teasingly. I shove him out of my way so that I can reach the car door. Bucky steps back, running a hand along the back of his neck, and sighs as I close the door on him.
Second guessing the words I'll leave him with, I decide to roll down the window. Bucky's eyes widen as I look across the drive at him as we start to back away.
"You better dig out that extra helmet for me, cowboy. Because I think it's damn time you take me on a ride."
Bucky grins ear to ear: looking like a boyish young thing with a fire in his eyes for the first time in this life.
That was all yesterday, actually. And right now—on this cloudy Sunday night—I'm lying in bed, my head in the clouds and the pen on this paper, thinking back to that ride we just got back from. There'd been dinner and dancing... kissing on the park bench... I'm still reeling. He kissed me goodnight outside my room where I then left him alone. I'm not about to let my walls down with this one so quickly, but I can already feel them cracking. When they come down completely? Well, I think that Bucky Barnes will be the only one I'll ever let inside. Don't worry: I'll be eager to share all the tedious details about this impending love story.
So now, as I lie here in bed writing in this diary, I wonder what it is that I've got to be so angry about anymore.
Until next time, diary.
-Y/N