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astral-writings · 7 years

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Dirty Laundry

Prompt: ‘Dirty Laundry by Carrie Underwood’; he cheats, and rather than sitting and crying about it, she gets a little revenge of her own Word Count: 1,422 Fandom: Marvel (Bucky) Note: Got this idea when I heard this song the other day, just getting around to it though lmao.

‘That lipstick on your collar, well, it ain't my shade of pink. And I can tell by the smell of that perfume, it's like forty dollars too cheap. And there's a little wine stain on the pocket of your white cotton thread. Well, you drink beer and whiskey, boy, and you know I don't drink red.’

I casually walked though the house, picking up the scattered clothes as I made my way into the bedroom. He could at least make it seem like he was aiming for the hamper. Sometimes I feel like if I wasn’t here, this whole house would be a mess. I adjusted the hamper that rested on my hip, not really wanting to do laundry. It was my turn this week since he was the one that did the laundry last week.

As I entered the bedroom, I set the hamper on the bed and began gathering the clothes. That is, until a spot on one of his collared shirts. He doesn’t wear these shirts very often, I’ve only seen him wear these on special occasions. Like Christmas, or something of the sort. My eyebrows furrowed together, my brain trying to recall the day that he wore this shirt. Unfortunately, the memory never came.

Maybe he came back and changed into it for a SHEILD thing or something, I don’t know. I was about to toss it into the hamper when an unfamiliar pink spot caught my eye. Lipstick? I inspected it further, discovering that my assumption was correct. What the hell? I don’t even wear this shade at all. My face contorted in a confused anger. I opened the shirt up, turning my attention from the collar to his pocket.

A red stain? What the hell is that? He certainly didn’t try too hard to cover this shit up. I brought the spot to my nose and sniffed it. My nose wrinkled as I recognized the smell, red wine. Neither of us drink red wine, ever. Is he cheating on me? What the hell else could it possibly be? My confusion melted away, leaving nothing but anger behind. I angrily threw the shirt onto the bed, a frustrated grunt leaving my lips.

‘Found it over in the corner, wadded up on the bedroom floor. You shoulda hid it in the closet, you shoulda burned it, you shoulda lost it.’

I leaned onto the edge of the bed, trying to think of how in the hell to deal with this situation. How the fuck do I even bring something like this up? I looked around the room, as if the solution would just fucking appear. I then noticed a crumpled piece of paper beside his bed, almost completely hidden under a red shirt. If I hadn’t been at this angle, I probably would’ve missed the thing. I slowly got up off the bed, and walked over to it.

I picked up the paper and opened it up. The paper itself was relatively small, but it had a huge impact on me. It said someone’s name, their number, and a lip print on the corner of it. Anger coursed through my veins as my hands recrumpled the paper. It took everything I had to not tear the damn thing into tiny little fucking pieces. Why the fuck would he keep something like this? Why not just throw it away, or something?

God, it’s like he didn’t even give a fuck if I found out or some shit. Maybe this has been going on for a while, and he just got a little too cocky. I think that would be the final knife in my damn back. Third time’s the charm, right? I huffed, my eyes landing on the shirt that I had thrown onto the bed. I could do so many things to that little weasel. I could make him regret ever meeting me. I could kill Bucky without it ever being traced back to me.

‘Now I'ma have to hang you out to dry. Clothespin all your secrets to the line, leave 'em blowing in the wind, just say goodbye to you. All those midnights sneaking in "I'm late again, oh, I'm so sorry," all the Ajax in the world ain't gonna clean your dirty laundry.’

At least now I know why the hell he was late so often, even when him and I had made plans together. Even though I could kill him without a trace, I think I’ll settle for something a little more theatrical. I swiped the shirt off of the bed as I left the room and headed for the kitchen. I looked under the sink, grabbing the little bit of rope that was there. I then looked through the drawers, settling on some binder clips instead of tape or clothespins.

I all but ran outside, not bothering to close the door behind me. I tied the rope to either ends of the two small pillars that were on the porch. I put a few clips in my mouth, the crumpled paper still in one of my hands. I pinned the shirt onto the rope, making sure that nothing was obstructing it’s view. I then pinned the paper to the line, that should send the message. It’ll send one to everyone else too, and by god I hope that they spread rumors about him.

Just in case he doesn’t get the message, maybe I should further my point. I turned on my heels, storming into the bedroom and gathering as much of his clothes as I could. I ran out to the porch and threw them on the lawn. I think his wardrobe looks much nicer on the grass, anyway. It really brings out all the damn lies he’s been hiding in them. Bucky got home just as I finished throwing the last bit of clothes onto the lawn.

‘If the neighbors get to asking, I won't cover nothin' up. I'll tell 'em every little detail, how you drug me through the mud. I'm gonna string up your old button-down and slide it on the porch, just in case you get the nerve to come knockin' on my door.’

To say that he looked surprised would be the biggest understatement I’d ever witnessed. He looked toward me, eyebrows furrowed, about to pop off with something when his eyes caught the shirt. It was then that I could see his whole world crashing down on him in less than five seconds. Good, I hope he feels like shit for what he did. He opened his mouth to say something, and I raised a brow with my hands on my hips.

“What, got some excuse for me?” I questioned.

“Doll, let’s talk about this-” He started.

“Sure, fine, let’s talk about that hideous pink lipstick on your collar, or that cheap ass corner store perfume on your shirt. Let’s talk about the red wine stain on the pocket. Or, if those sound too boring for you, we can talk about the damn note that was beside the bed. Victim’s choice.” I said, crossing my arms.

“What? That’s not red wine, that’s-that’s-” He stuttered.

“That’s what? Cat got your tongue?” I questioned.

“That’s just cranberry juice.” He poorly excused.

“Honey, cranberry juice neither smells like that or stains like that.” I debunked, “How about the lipstick? Got another theory for that?”

“It’s not lipstick-” He began.

“Really?” I asked in a falsely shocked tone with my eyebrows raised, “’Cause it looks an awful lot like a lip print to me. Hmmm, maybe it’s just icing off of a donuts, huh?” I questioned with sarcasm.

“Doll, please-” He started again.

“I hope the neighbors start rumors about you, I hope the team asks you why you were thrown out, I hope heat gets put on you like a Louisiana summer.” I spat.

“Can’t we talk about this like human beings?” He asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was talking to a human being. I thought I was talking to a weasel, my mistake.” I said as I walked inside of the house.

“Babe, Doll, wait-” He began again.

“Don’t you touch that shirt or that note,” I pointed to the shirt that started this mess, “It’s gonna stay there in case you ever decide to come back. Kind of like how a scarecrow works on birds, except this one is for a weasel.” I said, “Oops, sorry, a human weasel.”

“Y/N-” Bucky started.

“Goodbye, doll.” I said, shutting the door in his face.

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