Grumpy x Sunshine Drabbles

Flufftober: Dear Diary

It was wrong.

So, so wrong.

He shouldn't even been thinking about it.

You'd been so faithful, so honest, and so open with him throughout the entirety of your relationship.

The two of you were just shy of a year, and it was taunting him at this point.

You were gone, off on an assignment. He was all alone. He couldn't really be blamed for what he was about to do, could he?

The worst part is that he knew he could get away with it. You would never know. It would be so easy.

Surely, some boundaries shouldn't be crossed. Some actions couldn't be taken back.

It was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Temptation at its most cruel.

But he was so desperate at this point. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to do it. It was just one moment of weakness, right?

It would be fine. You would be none the wiser. Things could continue as normal after the betrayal he couldn't stop himself from committing on this quiet, lonely night.

He was pacing the bedroom, right in front of the bed the two of you slept in each night. He was almost wearing a path into the floor as he tried to rationalize what he was about to do.

"Screw it," he decides, reaching for the very source of his temptation.

Dear diary....

Hello, James.

He freezes, almost dropping your journal where he stands in complete shock.

At this very moment, he was cursing Sam for even putting the idea in his head. He was cursing himself for listening in the first place, especially after he told Sam that reading your journal was an egregious violation of privacy.

He just wanted to find the perfect gift for you. To find something you wanted so badly for your approaching anniversary.

He was sick of his gifts looking lousy in comparison to whatever magically perfect gift you got. It wasn't just him either, it was everyone.

For Sam's birthday a few months ago, you called his sister to find out what his most cherished childhood possession was. It was some toy that had been discontinued decades ago, and yet, you tracked down the last one in existence from a collector and gave it to him. Sam could still be caught playing with the stupid thing.

For Bucky's birthday, you tracked down an old book of his mother's recipes. Bucky choked up at the mere sight of his mother's handwriting. And then you surprised him with a dinner consisting of near identical recreations of his favorite dishes.

Bucky considered himself a pretty thoughtful person, but his gifts were always so exponentially inferior to yours.

Of course, you never told him that. You would gleam and glisten at whatever he gifted, but he knew, he knew.

Lost in his desperation, he sunk so low that he listened to Sam. He actually took Sam's terrible advice: just a quick glimpse in to your journal to get an idea of something that would take your breath away.

He looks back down at the page, clearly addressed to him:

I knew Sam would break you.

He hangs his head, a groan of defeat leaving his mouth as he braces himself to face whatever words awaited him next.

You should know that I'm not actually upset. Mostly because I know you're going to beat yourself up for listening to Sam in the first place.

Steve told me you were having a hard time finding a gift for me. (He really can't keep a secret, so I'm not sure why you told him.)

Anyway, please know that I loved all the gifts you've ever given me.

(Steve also told me that you thought I was just being nice. Seriously, stop telling him secrets.)

It's the thought that counts. I love them because they came from you. Stop worrying, it's not a contest.

P.S. Wouldn't it be funny if you actually didn't follow Sam's advice and this letter was for nothing?

P.P.S. If it were a contest, I would win. But it's not!

Love you!

He loudly groans. Though your words were comforting, he was still at square one and now even more determined to out-gift you. And now, you were onto him. "Damn it."