i want a soft connection. i want to be asked how my day went and if i need anything. i want forehead kisses. i want the back of my hand kissed at red lights. i want to be asked how i’m mentally feeling. i want to hold hands everywhere we go. i want romantic gestures. i want my hair played in at the most unexpected moments. i want silent eye connections that lead to smiles. i want to take random walks.
Lawyer!Bucky Barnes x Interior Designer!Reader, single dad!Bucky, single mom!reader; Social Media AU
Summary: Bucky and Y/n have been friends since high school. Nothing has ever happened between them, that is until one lonely night a few years ago. That one night left them both with a little surprise. They agreed to raise their child together as friends. As their child gets older, as they get older, they’re faced with new challenges as single parents, and possibly secret feelings, according to their friends.
you and bucky have been best friends since you were kids, but ended up going to colleges thousands of miles apart. your student experience begins terribly, but bucky is having the time of his life - you can't let him know the truth. because if he did, you know he'd drop everything to come and save you.
content warning: frat!bucky x best friend!reader, idiots in love, angst, shitty friends, crying, reader has an older sister, slut shaming, fluff, soft!bucky, hurt/comfort.
"Hey, sunshine!"
You smile widely at the sight of Bucky's face on your phone, your heart immediately warming. "Hey, moonlight."
He's walking around his frat house, his eyes bright and his teeth on show as grins at you. "How's it going? You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good," You lie, nestling against your pillow. "How about you?"
"I'm great," He answers, a frown growing on his face. "You still in bed?"
A laugh leaves your mouth as you shrug. "You know; student life. I was out late last night."
"Ahh, I see," Bucky says with a smirk. "So, how's Virginia Tech? Everything you ever dreamed about?"
"And more," You insist, sitting up. "It's great. How's UCLA?"
"Incredible," He replies instantly, entering the kitchen. "I didn't think I'd enjoy L.A as much as I am. You have got to come visit me one day."
"Oh, for sure," You promise.
Another voice off camera steals Bucky's attention before an unfamiliar face pops onto the screen. "Hey!" The blonde greets. "This must be the famous Y/N?"
"The one and only," You confirm with a laugh. "And you are?"
He gasps, dramatically placing his hand on his chest. "I can't believe he hasn't mentioned me to you yet. I'm Steve; Bucky's best friend when he isn't talking to you."
Bucky rolls his eyes, smiling nonetheless. "Alright, see you later, bud," He says before walking out of the kitchen and to his bedroom. He already gave you a tour of the house the day he moved in, so he jogs up the stairs while talking about the basketball practice he has later.
"I see you finally put the LED lights up," You comment when he enters his room.
"I did!" He says excitedly, flipping the camera to show you them. "You know how incredible sex is with these on?"
You snort, rolling your eyes. "Idiot."
I'm being serious: you've got to invest," He says gravely, turning the camera back onto him. "Maybe you and lover-boy can have some fun."
His words make you frown. "Lover-boy?"
"That guy you made out with on Saturday?" He asks, raising a brow. "You know, the one you met at the party?"
"I told you about that?" You ask, shocked at yourself.
"Of course you did," Bucky laughs. "You called me seconds after it happened."
"Oh, yeah," You mumble as the memory resurfaces. "He's definitely not my lover-boy."
"Why not?" He asks you with concern. "He do something wrong?"
"Nothing like that; I just haven't seen him again since that night," You say with a shrug. "Didn't get his number."
"Well, I'm sure you'll be drowning in dick by the end of the week," He jokes with a wink. "But no boyfriends, okay?"
"Why not?" You question him.
"Too much drama," He answers plainly. "The fuck am I supposed to do if someone breaks your heart and I'm two thousand miles away? As much as I'd like to think I can, I can't break someone's legs from that distance."
"I think you could," You say with a smile. "But, don't worry. I will remain single as long as possible."
"Good girl," Bucky grins, giving you a thumbs up.
"So, you're enjoying yourself?" You ask him, wanting to change the subject.
"It is incredible here, sunshine," He says with a grin. "The guys are hilarious. You'd love them."
"If you do, I'm sure I would," You agree sweetly.
Suddenly, he pouts and lies back on his bed. "I miss you."
Your heart breaks and you squeeze your eyes shut. "Don't, Buck, because I will cry."
"I'm sorry. I just miss you so bad," He whines, rubbing his forehead.
"It's so weird being here without you," You say, frowning. "I want you to be here."
"I want you to be here," He counters. "As much fun as I'm having, it feels like there's something missing."
You sniffle, shaking your head. "Okay, stop being sappy. Come on. We'll be fine."
"When will I see you next?" He asks with puppy-dog eyes.
"I don't know, moonlight," You say softly. "But we have to schedule something soon."
"For sure," He agrees, sitting up.
"Alright, I'll let you go prepare for basketball, now," You say, putting on a brave face. "Have fun, okay?"
"I will," Bucky replies, slightly frowning. "I love you, sunshine."
You grab a fistful of your blanket in an effort to stop the tears from falling. "I love you more, moonlight."
"See you soon," He promises.
"Bye," You whisper before quickly hanging up so he doesn't see you burst into tears.
The sobs rack through your body as you shake, hugging your knees to your chest. You didn't think college would be this lonely, but after the week you've had, you feel lower than ever.
With a shaky hand, you FaceTime your sister, needing her guidance.
"Hello?" She answers after three rings.
"Pia, help," You cry. "I hate college. And college hates me."
"Oh, my God, what happened?" She asks, her face filled with concern.
"It's my roommates," You say, lowering your voice just in case they walk past your room. "You know how I told you about that guy I made out with on the first night?"
"Yeah," Pia says, frowning. "What about him?"
"Turns out, he's one of my roommates' ex," You reveal. "They told me about him before, but how was I supposed to know that the white guy with brown hair I was talking to was the same white guy with brown hair that was her ex?"
"Oh, no," Pia mumbles. "Well, that wasn't your fault."
"They don't seem to think so," You mutter. "They screamed at me the morning after, and now they're giving me the silent treatment."
"Then they're incredibly immature," She says with a frown. "And bitchy as hell."
"I can't even go into the kitchen because they're always there," You complain, rubbing your forehead.
"How do you eat?" She asks you with furrowed brows. "You need to eat, Y/N!"
"I am; I have snacks in my room," You promise her. "And I go and cook at night, when they're gone."
"You shouldn't have to live like that in your own apartment," She says sternly.
"It's too awkward to be in the same room as them; I hate it," You whine. "They whisper and I know they're talking about me. It's fine, it's just annoying. And I haven't even made any friends on my course yet, and just- college is really not for me."
"Have you told Bucky?" Pia questions you.
"No, I can't," You insist with a sigh. "He's literally having the best time ever at UCLA. He's got new friends and a healthy sex life and he's obviously doing great in every single class. I don't want to kill his vibe and make him worry about me. You know what he's like; the second he finds out something's wrong, he'll get on the next flight to Virginia."
Pia lets out a long sigh, shaking her head. "You can't live like this."
"It's fine," You say firmly. "There's just a bit of awkwardness with my roommates, and once everyone calms down, it'll be fine. I'll be fine."
"You sure?" She asks you with a raised brow.
You nod, plastering on a fake smile. "I'm sure, P."
"Ugh, here she comes," Freya mutters under her breath when you enter the kitchen.
You inwardly sigh, regretting coming in. It's been a full week since you kissed her ex, and the worst part is that he wasn't even that good of a kisser.
Something propels you to speak up. You're sick of their bitter comments. "Are we really gonna be like this for the rest of the year?" You ask, taking the three of them by surprise.
Clarity raises a brow. "Excuse you?"
You roll your eyes. "I'm sick of you guys being so immature. Yes, I kissed him- big fucking deal! He's Freya's ex, not her boyfriend."
"You still broke the code," Freya says with a glare, slowly walking over to you. "Do you know how much it hurt me to see that?"
Feeling bad, you glance down. "I'm sorry that it hurt you, but it wasn't my fault-"
"Who else's was it?" She suddenly yells. "You fucking slut; you probably sought him out on purpose just to spite me!"
"Why would I do that?" You ask her incredulously.
"Because you're jealous of her, maybe?" Sandra pipes up, holding back her smirk in an effort to hide how hard she's getting off on this.
"You should speak to reception about changing floors," Freya suggests arrogantly. "Because I do not want you living here anymore. The girls agree with me: we want you gone by tonight."
Without saying a word, you spin on your heels and storm out of the kitchen and back into your bedroom where you quickly begin packing up all your shit.
Fuck them. You're glad to be leaving. Nothing could be worse than living with them.
Three days after the girls kick you out, you realize that things could be absolutely worse than living with them.
Because you needed accommodation right away, you were put in a dingy dorm apartment with four guys. They don't clean up after themselves in the kitchen, they play loud music until 4am, and frankly, they terrify you.
It's horrible.
You almost want to drop out of college altogether, but you can't disappoint your family like that. You've sent a text message to Pia explaining the situation, though you left out the part about the scary roommates because you don't want her to be concerned. As far as she knows, you've been moved into a dorm with a few messy students and nothing more.
How did life get like this?
With college absolutely kicking your ass, you break down. You're on your way home from the library with tears streaming down your face, wondering what you did to deserve this. You don't even want to go back to your apartment; it's probably safer to just walk around campus all night.
When you get to your apartment building, you look down to pull out your keys when you suddenly feel an hand on your shoulder.
Oh, God. This is it. You're dying tonight.
"Hey, sunshine," His familiar voice rings out.
Your eyes widen and you gasp, turning to face him. "Bucky?" The sight of him almost makes you burst into tears then and there.
He grins widely, pulling you in for a tight hug. "Hey, cutie."
Unable to hold back, you sob into his shoulder, holding him as though you're afraid he'll run off. You don't know why or how he's here, but it doesn't matter because he's fucking here. "Oh, my God," You cry through uneven, heavy breaths. "I can't believe you're here right now. What the fuck?"
"I'm here, baby, I'm here," Bucky coos, rocking you gently from side to side. "I'm here."
Hicupping, you catch your breath and pull back, looking up at him. "What are you doing here, Buck?"
He cups your face, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. A look of concern fills his features and he frowns. "I spoke to Pia."
"That little shit," You curse, grabbing fistfuls of his hoodie. "I told her not to tell you."
"And why didn't you tell me?" He asks you sternly. "Why didn't you tell me, Y/N?"
"I couldn't," You insist, shaking your head. "You were having fun in L.A. and I didn't wanna ruin that. I just needed to sort my shit out-"
"And now you're living with a bunch of guys?" He questions you with that angry look on his face you haven't seen in so long. "I spoke to the receptionist-"
"Isn't that information confidential?" You wonder out loud, rubbing your eyes.
"Not when you're as handsome as me," He says with a shrug, before his face drops again. "Seriously though, Y/N. I can't believe you didn't tell me."
"It's fine," You whisper, not even believing it yourself.
"Come here," Bucky mumbles, pulling you back into his chest. "I'm your best friend. I'm the one you tell everything. I'm the one who saves you."
"Why would you come all this way?" You whine, feeling guilty.
"To save you," He says with a cocky smirk, pulling back and looking down at you. "I'm moving you to a new building."
"Bucky, no," You shake your head. "I literally just moved; I can't go through that process again."
"You won't be alone this time," He promises you. "I pulled a few strings. You know Steve?"
"From your frat?" You ask with a raised brow.
"That's the one. His mom owns a ton of property here," Bucky tells you. "She agreed to let you lease out an apartment for a fraction of the price."
"Bucky, what?" You question him, gobsmacked.
"I'm gonna help you move your things," He goes on to say. "No more shitty student dorms for you. My best girl deserves luxury, alright?"
You're in disbelief, wondering if this a dream and really hoping it isn't. "You're insane," You breathe out, clutching onto his arm. "I mean, seriously. You flew out how many miles for me?"
"Two thousand, five hundred and sixty-nine," He answers you proudly. "And it's worth every mile to make you happy."
"You're an angel," You mumble, cupping his face. "You cannot be a real human."
"Maybe I am," Bucky shrugs, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "I love you, sunshine. I'd fly a million miles to keep you safe, you know that. You mean more to me than anything."
You pout, feeling bad that he came all this way for you. "Are you missing classes?"
"Yep," He replies. "But, somehow, the world continues to turn."
"I love you, too," You say, smiling up at him. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."
"You're the bestest, prettiest, most incredible person a guy could ask for," Bucky responds sweetly, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Did I mention prettiest?"
"No, you're the prettiest," You reply childishly.
"No, you," He insists, kissing your nose. "Now, come on. I'm gonna help you move your stuff, and then we're ordering pizza because I am starving."
Bucky takes your hand and pulls you into the building while your heart swells with love for him. What would you ever do without him?
yo let me know if u want part 2
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series summary: Trapped under a mountain of debt to the Hydra club, it is only in moments when Bucky walks into your flower shop that you forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. But a war is brewing. And Bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe. (Biker!AU)
pairing: Bucky x reader
chapter word count: 6.4k
chapter warnings: angsty angst angst, rumlow causing trouble,
series masterlist / series playlist
Your hands were trembling as you locked the front door to May Flowers; neon pink sign faded to black, overhanging lights dimmed over the baskets of roses and lilies. It was only minutes before noon and you couldn’t chance catching a glimpse of Bucky’s navy-blue baseball cap through the crowded sidewalk, a bag of food in hand as if nothing had changed. You knew he would offer you convincing excuses disguised under the delphinium blues in his eyes. Every part of you would ache to believe him but something awful would fracture in your chest instead.
The image of his battered and bloodied mugshot quickly washed away the memory of his charming smiles, diminished the lightness of his cheesy pick-up lines, and shattered every kindness he offered you. The article you had read under the aching strain of Wanda’s cellphone light had served as certain proof of Bucky’s ties to the biker underworld of this town, to his years of corruption and violence. It didn’t matter how sweet he was with you, how impossibly charming he was, gentle in even the roughest parts of him.
You knew the truth of what he was capable of. There was no room for doubt.
Your life was already chained to one biker club under the rusted metal of cuffs on your ankles – digging sharp and unrelenting deep into your bone. You didn’t have room for another, didn’t have the strength to fend off the torture of another man. Rumlow would sooner have you killed than waste his time bantering with the 107 over a debt Hydra had laid claim to a decade ago.
You didn’t spare a glance to the sidewalk before you rushed up the back stairs to your apartment. The echo of the second hand ticking around the clock seemed to rattle inside your chest with every step, inching closer and closer to the hour you had once cherished above all else. Your hands were shaking so badly, you had to curl them into fists, even within the safety of your apartment.
You tried to ease yourself on the possibility that Bucky wouldn’t bother himself with this game anymore. He wouldn’t show up at your front door with lunch in hand like he did every day for the last two weeks. He wouldn’t pick up the broken stems from the vases outside and carry them inside for you as if they were wounded soldiers in his hands. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket and it nearly made you jump out of your skin.
Wanda had helped you set Bucky’s called to go directly to voicemail the night before, afraid the temptation of the man you so desperately wanted him to be might convince you to answer. Heart pounding, you pulled the phone from your pocket. Bucky’s name was illuminated at the center of the screen.
One missed call. One voicemail message.
You knew Wanda would tell you to delete it. Nothing good could come from listening to the message. It could only be another trick to draw you back into his charm, to manipulate you into starting another war between the 107 and Hydra. Nothing good could come from it.
You pressed play anyway.
“Hey, doll. It’s... uh, it’s Bucky.” A strained groan followed through the speaker. “Right, you know that. Sorry.”
You held your breath at the sound of his voice. It carried the same sweetness laced into the inflections, the same tenderness he had held you with when you kissed him amongst the lilacs the day before. But there was a slight tremor in his tone. Nerves, you realized.
It was part of the game, you halfheartedly convinced yourself. It had to be. The man you’d heard terrible stories about couldn’t be the same Bucky you knew. This man, who extorted money from local businesses, who threatened families down on their luck with violence until they feared for their lives. This man, who children ran from in the street, whose name alone drew fear. The Bucky you knew couldn’t exist within that man. It had to be a mask.
You dared a glance down to the sidewalk from your window above the shop. There, you found Bucky staring into the empty windows, trying to catch sight of you. He pressed his hand against the glass, searching amongst the darkness and the flowers for a woman he would not find.
“I know you’re dodging my calls,” he sighed in the message, “and you’ve got every right to after I left the way I did yesterday... but I brought burgers from Daisy’s Diner on the eastside. You mentioned a few days ago how much you missed their curly fries so I thought... I don’t know. Hoped that might entice you enough to give me a chance to explain but... I see you’re closed so... I’ll go. I’ll see you tomorrow, doll.”
The voicemail ended long before you felt the cold wash of tears against your cheeks. You brushed them away quickly, reminding yourself that the man you knew was a fiction – an entirely made-up creature to hide the monster underneath. It was the only possible explanation. You had proof that Bucky Barnes was the leader of the 107, that he’d beaten men to a pulp. It didn’t matter that those men were Hydra. He was capable of violence on par with what you’ve witnessed in Rumlow and Rollins.
But something was screaming in the back of your head; a terrible, unpleasant feeling as you tried to group Bucky amongst the men who slipped through the shadows of your shop, who made your skin crawl and terrified you through your bones.
When you dared to look out the window again, Bucky was gone. He’d left the bag of burgers and curly fries by the door.
***
The next day when Bucky came by again, the lights were out in May Flowers. You waited from the safety of your apartment as he first stepped up to the shop, the realization dawning. His shoulders sank, the fictitious hope draining from his body as he looked inside the empty shop for you. Peering in through the windows, cupping a hand to the glass in an attempt to see better. When a hand print was left in his wake, he grimaced and quickly attempted to brush it away with the sleeve of his jacket.
As a last resort, you watched as Bucky’s fingertips hesitantly reached for the knob. Panic surged inside your chest; flooding worry second guessing whether you’d locked it firmly enough, but the door didn’t budge. Relief sank heavy into your body as something strange crossed Bucky’s features. Something close to defeat.
Slowly, Bucky pulled out his phone, his gaze casually trailing up the exposed bricks and awning above the shop to your apartment window as he brought the phone to his ear. You slammed your back to the wall behind the curtains, clutching hands into the fabric before he could see you. Your grip was aching by the time you a notification of a voicemail appeared on your phone screen. It was only then that you gathered the courage to peer outside the window one last time.
Bucky let out a heavy sigh and set the sandwich bags on the sidewalk. He gaze remained fixed on the interior of the shop, as if he were holding out hope that you might have simply forgotten about your lunch meetings, that you might bound down the back steps and flick the lights on and welcome him inside with a bright smile on your face. Misplaced hope. Foolish hope. Hands shoved deep into his pockets and he hung his head, turning to walk back to the east side.
It was where he belonged, you thought bitterly. Why he would bother taking the risk in the first place to walk carelessly through the west side was beyond you. If Bucky was who you believed he was, he was dancing with an offense that could get him killed. You’d seen Hydra beat men into submission for less. If the leader of their enemy club paraded himself into their territory... they’d kill him for his sheer arrogance alone.
You closed your eyes, wishing you had the strength to simply delete his message.
“Hey doll,” Bucky’s voice carried through the speaker. “I, uh, I can see you don’t want me around. That’s okay. I promise, honey. It’s okay. I’ll just leave the food outside like yesterday, all right?” He paused for a moment, exhaling a slow, steady breath. “When you’re ready to talk, just let me know. I hope you will. I hope... I didn’t completely mess us up. I was a fool for leaving you that day but I... I swear to you I didn’t have a choice. I want to explain everything, honey, if you’ll let me. But I can't do it like this.” He cleared his throat, as though the words had pained him. “Just know it wasn’t you that scared me off. It wasn’t anything you did and it—it wasn’t the kiss. So, I’ll... I’ll wait for you. Please, just... call me when you’re ready.”
You tossed the wilted, stuffed bouquet made of wild colors and mismatched flowers in the trash after you deleted the message. They were both too painful to look at.
***
Three days later and Bucky hadn’t dared another step onto the west side.
Every so often, you’d catch yourself looking up the windows in search of the navy-blue baseball cap through the crowd only to be harshly reminded of the man you were hoping to see. Shame curdled into your stomach, disappointment weighing heavier in your heart. You couldn’t make sense of any of it – why you longed for a man who could only serve to hurt you.
The only solace was that Bucky had stayed true to his word. He’d stopped coming around, stopped calling.
He was giving you control, the annoying voice in the back of your head tried to reason. That must mean something. A man like Rumlow would never think to grant you that kind of power over him, but you pushed aside the thought as quickly as it came.
It was on the fourth day when he sent the first text.
You were with a customer, explaining the watering needed for the ready-to-plant tulips along the left wall of the shop when you felt the vibration in your apron. As the customer bent down to closer examine the array of colors, you quickly glanced at the screen, thinking it might be Wanda trying to convince you to come to movie night with her and Pietro.
But it was Bucky’s name across the top of your screen instead.
I know I said I wouldn’t call, but I hope you won’t fault me for a text. You don’t gotta say anything, doll. Just let me know you’re okay. Please.
You stared at the message, carefully reading over each word until the woman tapped painfully on your shoulder to get your attention. She furrowed her brows at you, her annoyance evident as her pointed glare dropped to your phone. You apologized quickly, shoving it back into your pocket without a response.
***
Days dragged by without word from Bucky. You knew you should be grateful for it, relieved even, that you could keep May Flowers open through your lunch. It would help increase the chance of potential customers stopping in around noon with a sandwich in hand from the deli next door. That terrible aching knot in your stomach should have gone away. But it hadn’t. It only seemed to get worse.
You hadn’t given yourself a moment to notice just how many pieces of you Bucky had brought back to life in the month you’d known him – gently pulling them out from the wreckage Hydra had created in the wake of your father’s death and easing the shattered edges back into your soul with Elmer's glue, with the light graze of his lips and the calloused touch in his hands. Kind. So impossibly kind and wonderful and –
No.
No.
Bucky lied to you. Whether his entirely personality was a twisted game or not. He made you believe he was just a bartender at the Centenarian, that he was nothing more than a man from the east side. He had every opportunity to tell you who he really was and he’d held his tongue.
Would you have let him explain if he’d tried? You weren’t sure. Even weeks since Hydra’s last visit, you could still feel Rollins’ hands sliding along your hips, his breath hot on your neck, could still see Rumlow’s outline in the shadows the night they came for their payment. Fear settled into your veins – familiar and still, ruthless.
It was impossible to separate the rumors of the 107 to the man you knew Bucky to be. You were terrified to try – scared that you might uncover the same sort of monster who extorted your father and left your family in shambles. Worse, you realized, to discover he might be every bit the man you hoped he was, to realize you were caught up in a war between the clubs you were certain you wouldn’t survive.
You were at the register, counting the profits for the evening when your phone buzzed. Bucky’s name lit against the screen – the silly emoji of a wildflower by his name you hadn’t had the heart to change.
It’s been a week. I’m worried about you, doll, the message read. Tell me you want more time. Tell me to fuck off. Anything. Just say something.
You swallowed, staring helplessly at the screen.
For a moment, you imagined the sun gleaming in through the open windows, the bell chiming under the front door as Bucky strolled inside. Smile bright upon his face, cheeks flushed pink in warmth from his walk, and a bag of food under his arm. Your heart would leap at the sight of him, stomach fluttering as he crossed the shop to you.
He’d ask how your day had been as he slyly picked up a fallen rose from the floor, hiding it behind his back until he met you at the center of the store. Before you could finish your story of the awful woman who chastised you all morning because she somehow managed to kill her succulents in less than a week, he’d raise the rose to you – that beautiful smile of his pressing high into his cheeks.
Your fingertips might graze his as you took the flower, his lips might fight their way to your temple, to your lips. He’d tell you he liked the color of your dress and you’d pretend he didn’t notice the way he affected you, made you feel all warm inside.
This beautiful, wonderful man who never had the chance to be yours.
But the image shattered as the sky morphed into a deep, unsettling darkness and the ghosted image of Bucky approached you with malice soaked into the blue of his eyes – blood dripping from his fingertips, bruises covering his face, blisters on his knuckles. He looked at you with an awful hunger in his gaze, rolling down your chest to your thighs – never your face. A gun settled on his hip.
The scream of motorcycle engines rang in your ears and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the nightmare away. You knew Bucky had never once looked at you the way Rollins did, never once approached you with anything other than the kindest intentions. You knew but— nothing made sense anymore. You didn’t know what to believe and you couldn’t trust your own naivety, your own desperate hope, over the belief of an entire town. The fear that he was every bit as vengeful and terrifying as the Hydra leader was crippling. Dollar bills crumpled in your hands.
“Preparing for our evening together, are you?”
Your heart leapt from your chest as Brock Rumlow sauntered through the back door of your shop; his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. You swallowed back the yelp caught in your throat, your hand clutching to the rapid pulsing within your chest, fingertips curling into the fabric of your dress.
Rumlow slipped through the shadows, his dismissive gaze trailing along the flower arrangements along the walls. Your gaze quickly flashed to the calendar hanging behind your desk and the red circle marking the date the Hydra club would show up for its payment. He was five days early.
“You remember what I told you about being short this month, don’t you?” Rumlow said, his voice low enough it could have cut through gravel. You studied the patch of the skull and tentacles on his back as he continued about the shop. It stared back at you.
“Y-Yes, I remember,” you managed to reply though the knot building in your throat. You didn’t even consider giving excuses. You’d be short – you knew you would.
Your hand slid along the desk, digging through the drawer, through you kept your gaze on Rumlow as he picked up a single white rose. Your breath hitched as he appeared to study it for a moment. If you were a fool, you might have suspected he was admiring the thing, but he crumpled the petals within his hand, tossing the broken flower to the ground.
You flinched when he looked back at you. In your hand, you gripped onto your keys – on a familiar keychain that you did not dare to use but one that would remind you that you were stronger than this man made you feel. You dug it into your palm, focusing on the sturdiness of the plastic, the warmth as it took on your body heat. It would get you through this. Rumlow would leave, just as he always did. It was only ever about fear. Only fear.
Rumlow smirked. He must have noticed the strain in your eyes. The redness there. The evidence of his effect on you. You struggled to keep your hands still – to not touch your fingertips to the gold watch you knew would give away your panic.
“Are you afraid, darling?”
Yes.
“No,” you replied, trying to keep your voice even. You steadied your gaze beyond his shoulders, to the stars hanging outside the windows; misguided hope that they could draw you some relief from the demon in your presence.
Rumlow tilted his head, studying you as he did the rose. You wondered if he might crumple you within the palm of his hand as well.
“I want my money, Y/n. Tuesday."
He lingered as he passed the register, his fingertips brushing aside your hair as he leaned into your ear. You held your breath, clamping down so sharply on your cheek, blood spilled into your mouth. Copper and bitter and warm on your tongue. Lips grazed your neck and you stopped breathing entirely.
“I will not be so kind with you this time if you hold back on me,” Rumlow gave his final warning.
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You did not dare to move until Rumlow’s footsteps no longer echoed inside your shop, until you heard the engine purr in the alley. Only when the loud hum of the motorcycle faded into an unsettling silence did you finally allow the sob to break you.
A godawful sound escaped past your lips and you fell to your knees, gasping for air. Fingers growing numb, your mind spinning. You desperately clung to the fabric of your dress, touched the cool tiles on the floor under your knees, gripped that damn keychain until your hand ached – but your lungs wouldn't inflate enough. Breath after breath – not enough. Wetness coated your cheeks, spilling down your neck and against your collar.
He'd kill you. Tuesday, he’d kill you. Or he’d do something worse to make you wish he did.
The bell chimed at the front of the shop.
No. No.
He came back.
“Y/n?” a gentle voice called from the door.
You froze, clutching your knees behind the counter as cautious footsteps approached. An agonizing tension bore through you – uncertain whether you should feel relief at the sound of Bucky’s voice or whether you should fear him in the way you had Rumlow.
“The door was unlocked,” he announced hesitantly. “I’m just—I don’t want to bother you, doll. You haven't returned my messages and—and I’m sure that’s on purpose because you don’t want a damn thing to do with me and that’s okay. I swear to you I’ll leave you alone after this. I just want to make sure you’re--”
Slowly, you emerged from behind the counter. Bucky stilled at the sight of you, devastation wrenching through him as his gaze flickered over the tears on your face; reflective until the low dim of overhead lights and the moonlight slipping in through the windows.
“What happened?” His voice was low, restrained by only a thread.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, ignoring his question.
Bucky swallowed, blue eyes flickering to the floor, coated in shame. “Because you don’t want me here?”
“Because you’re in Hydra territory.”
Bucky blinked, the realization washing over him that you knew exactly who he was. Ice pressed to exposed skin, standing in the heart of blizzard; shock and panic, crippling. You waited for the mask to fall – for his cruelty to rise to the surface. But instead, the hardness upon his features began to fracture, guilt swarming through the cracks.
As you stepped out from behind the counter, determined to show at least one of the dangerous men in your shop tonight that you would not be afraid, Bucky’s gaze dropped to your hand and something in him seemed to break. He stumbled into the table behind him, trying to catch his balance.
In your grip was the keychain he’d given you the night you met. The one he’d made you promise to use in defense, to hold when you were afraid, to give you strength against the men who would do you harm. Sharp edges expanding from your knuckles. A weapon in your hand. Your fear of him seemed to puncture worse than any blade could.
“Sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt you,” Bucky eased. His hands raised. “I would never—”
“You lied to me,” you seethed, gaining courage in his moment of weakness.
But Bucky was grasping at straws, shaking his head as he closed a trembling hand to a fist. “No, I—I never lied. Not once.”
“You didn’t tell me the truth!” you shouted and a terrible part of you was pleased when he flinched in response. “You should have told me who you really are! The sort of people you run with!”
If this was game, he was playing it poorly. You’d expected him to drop the pretense of the character he’d constructed to manipulate you in favor of the cold, calculating man he hid under the surface. But there was no trace of men like Rumlow or Rollins upon Bucky’s features.
His chest rose high with every new breath as if it hurt to simply pull in air. His hands gripped into the edge of the table behind him to keep him steady. He looked absolutely wrecked, like he hadn’t slept properly in days. He didn’t look like a man who had spent the last month playing games with you – charming you for fun and mocking you behind your back. He looked as though his heart had been broken.
“What was I supposed to say?” Bucky asked instead, his voice calm despite the tension filling the room. “You would have looked at me like I was no better than Hydra. The way you’re looking at me now.”
“I had a right to know, Bucky!” you shot back, a terrible mixture of anger and remorse boiling inside of you. “A right to know you'd beaten four people within an inch of their lives! To choose to not make a fool of myself by caring for a monster!”
Bucky recoiled as if you’d struck him. It hadn’t left you with the satisfaction you imagined it would – leaving only a hollow ache behind instead.
“You’re right,” Bucky admitted, his gaze falling to the floor. He took in a deep breath, slowly drawing his eyes up to meet yours. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze; the keychain gripped tighter in your hand. “The truth is that I am the head of the 107.”
It didn’t feel any better to hear it aloud in his voice – the agony, the aching, the desperation to believe it wasn’t true. Bucky took a step closer to you, only for you to retreat backwards. He froze, devastation evident upon his features as he nodded and put more distance between you.
“I know that you must think that I’m... I’m like Rumlow,” he said, his voice catching on the name that haunted you through the shadows of this shop. “Let me prove to you that I’m not. Ask me anything and I’ll answer you truthfully. I swear it on my life. I won’t lie to you. Never again.”
You stared at him – caught somewhere between your desperation to believe him and the self-preservation screaming at you to run. Bucky had become a steady, comforting presence in the time you’d known him – a sanctuary within his touch – and you could not rectify the rumors of the man standing before you, ones that made him out to be as vile as the men who threatened and extorted you. Split between your head and your heart.
“I’ll start,” Bucky offered when you did not respond. He shifted awkwardly on his heels, steadying his breaths. “The men you mentioned, the ones I sent to the hospital... that night I was lured to the west side by a woman that I had –” he swallowed, biting back the word that had almost slipped past his lips, “—trusted. She called me close to midnight, made me think she was in trouble, and got me to cross the damn border for the first time since the line was drawn. She told me that Hydra had taken her... that if I didn’t come for her, they’d kill her.”
Bucky sighed, the breath near painful. “She was... uh... very convincing. When I got there, Hydra was waiting for me. Four of them. Armed to the teeth. She set me up to be ambushed on their turf where I had no friends, no allies. But she was there. Untouched. Unharmed. Standing behind the row of men intent on ending my life, Brock Rumlow’s arm draped over her shoulders and this... satisfied look on her face. Because she knew I would come for her. She knew I would have done anything to—” Bucky clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if to swallow back the end of the sentence.
“It was the perfect setup, really. She found a weakness and exploited it. A trap was set and I walked right into it.” Bucky pinched at the bridge of his nose and it was then you noticed the slight tremor in his hand. “I still don’t know why she did it. Power, probably. Money. I don’t think she ever cared for me at all.”
The grip on the keychain slacked as Bucky began to pace. He’d never told the story out loud, might not have even allowed himself to remember it fully since that night– that much you could gather by the strain in his voice as he spoke like every word was harder to say than the one before. Like the memories were digging into his spine, tugging him back into his past and shoving him onto the pavement in the alley.
“One of them came at me with a knife,” Bucky continued. He paused his pacing then, glancing cautiously over at you before slowly, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it above his ribs. A raised scar ran along his torso – pink and faded with time but still angry, still jagged and tangible. Your stomach twisted at the sight. You looked away.
“I did what I had to do,” Bucky said quietly, as though it pained him. “I fought back. They would have killed me. They almost did if Sam didn’t find me in time. It was self-defense. It’s only ever been self-defense.”
You didn’t know who Sam was, but you imagined he was in the 107 club as well. He was either incredibly reckless with little care for his own self-preservation, or he valued Bucky’s life to such an extent that the danger of crossing the border was worth saving his friend’s life. You wondered briefly if Rollins would dare risk his life to cross into enemy territory to save Rumlow’s.
Bucky’s story seemed plausible enough – aligned with cruelty of what Hydra was capable of. But there were still too many questions unanswered, too many pieces of the man standing in front of you, you were not able to reconcile on your own.
“The rumors,” you choked out, wincing at how rough your voice sounded. Bucky’s head perked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes that you would entertain his offer to explain at all. “I’ve heard about the 107, Bucky. I know what you’ve done to the people in the east and—”
“They’re all lies,” Bucky replied quickly. “Nothing but stories we made up to intimidate Hydra, to give us enough credibility to keep those bastards away from as many people as we could. Kids starting telling some of their own to scare each other and we didn’t deny them. It helped keep Hydra at bay.”
You swallowed. Could that really be possible? Could it be that the mask Bucky wore was the monster of the 107, not the man who strolled into your shop each day at lunch and made your heart beat so badly it felt like it could burst? Could he be every bit the man you hoped he was?
“What about the protection fees?” you asked, thinking back to what Wanda had said of the 107 charging businesses under the guise of security.
“A lie to make Hydra think we had a market over the businesses on our side of the border,” Bucky explained. “They were pushing into the shops by the Centenarian, threatening to burn them to the ground. We made a show of insinuating that we already laid claim to them. It’s the only thing Rumlow would respect. We don’t take money from anyone, I swear it. Mrs. Marcovaldo at the café across the street gives me free coffee for keeping Hydra off her back but only because she won’t let me pay a dime. That’s as far as it goes.”
You held your breath, listening intently. The keychain slipped from your grip and you placed it on the counter. Bucky's eyes followed the movement, his gaze fixated upon the tension releasing from your hands, the marks of the keychain imprinted upon your palm.
“So, it’s all a story?” you questioned slowly. “The 107... you’re not... you’re not like Hydra at all?”
Bucky shook his head, relief pouring through his body. “That’s right, doll. We’re still a biker club. Still got rides parked outside the bar, but we’re not interested in staking claim on this town. If there’s a fight, it’s because Hydra didn’t give us a choice. The cops aren’t doing shit to protect this town. Someone had to step up.”
Tears blinked from your eyes and Bucky’s face slacked. Panic rusted into his features, mistaking your tears for the same fear you carried when he walked inside the shop in Rumlow’s wake.
“Doll, please don’t cry,” Bucky begged, his voice barely a whisper. “Please, honey. Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it. Let me fix this.”
You took a step closer to him as he rambled, his hands closed to fists as if to hold back the shaking.
“I’ll take you to the Centenarian,” he offered desperately. “You can meet the club. Steve—Steve's my best friend. Used to be a tiny little shrimp but he’s a giant now. You’ll see. Sam’s a huge pain in my ass. Drives me absolutely nuts. But he’d take a bullet for me, I know that. I’d do it for him most days. Natahsa—you'd like Nat. She's scary as hell but—you'd like her. She likes you, I think.”
You were halfway across the shop when Bucky’s eyes fell to the tracks of tears slipping over your jawline. He clenched his jaw as you approached.
“Peter’s just a kid. Carries french fries in his pockets,” he continued, listing off his family in an effort to prove they were nothing like the Hydra club you recognized. “Stark’s an old washed-up genius of some kind and he still sticks around in a shitty run-down bar with us. Pretends like he’s above it all, but I know the old man cares more than he lets on. Barton—hell, I don’t even know where Barton came from but I—”
You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s waist and he froze. Arms held out by his sides; his breathing stopped entirely. You rested your ear against his chest, listening for the fast, heavy pumping of his heart. Your hands slid along his spine, touching the thick material of his jacket and the low dip of his back. You breathed him in as your tears wet the fabric of his t-shirt.
“Y/n?” he whispered, terrified to so much as speak your name in fear he might scare you away.
“I believe you,” you exhaled against his chest and Bucky’s knees wobbled. You clung to him, holding him steady as his arms circled around you. You swore for a moment that you could feel the fractured, jagged pieces inside his ribcage mold back together with glue and tape, fusing into the messy, misshapen heart you'd convinced yourself was absent and hollow. The heart he’d had all along when you were too afraid to look beyond the tales whispered in the dead of night.
The warm graze of Bucky’s lips peppered over your hairline – timid and gentle, asking. Hesitant and still, desperate; like the distance had hurt him worse than the lies of the 107 had hurt you. As if being deprived of your laughter, of your pastel floral dresses, of the sunlight smile on your face, of your sheer presence was enough to render him aching and helpless.
You held him tighter, begging for the days lost to your own fear.
Bucky didn’t say a word as his hands slid along your spine, fingertips gingerly stroking the ends of your hair, but you could feel the apologies, the words unsaid, slipping through his touch.
I’m sorry, as a hand brushed against the small of your back.
I missed you, as he rested his lips against your forehead. Lingering. Present.
Please forgive me, as his arms circled around your shoulders, holding you closer to him, like he was afraid you might slip through the cracks in the title if he let go for even a second.
Don’t hate me, as his breath coaxed against your skin. Warm and shaken. Nerves still nestled into his lungs.
Let me make this right, as something hitched inside his chest when your hands slid up along his cheeks, gently brushing the tense muscle from his jawline.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered and Bucky’s eyes widened, stunned you would say such a thing. He quickly shook his head, trying to absolve you before you could even admit to your failing. “I should have known you weren't... I should have trusted that you...”
“No,” Bucky answered instead, his hand resting over yours, fingertips curling around your palm as you held his face. “You were protecting yourself. I know what they write about me in the papers. I know what the town thinks of me, what they believe me to be. Knowing all that, cutting me off... it was the right thing to do, honey. The smart thing. I just wish I’d had the courage to tell you the truth of it when we met, before you found out about this mess on your own. Could have saved us a whole lot of hurt.”
“Could have,” you nodded, your thumb drawing a tender line along the stubble on his jaw, “though I’m not sure I would have had the strength to believe you then. Not with what I know about Hydra.”
A line pressed into Bucky’s forehead, a question narrowing his eyes, though he did not press for an answer. Enough truth had been spilled and you didn’t know if you had the resilience to empty the darkest parts of your shame to him just yet. You ached to. You hoped you’d find the courage to. Soon. Because the chance that Bucky would only miss Rumlow by mere minutes again was too small to risk.
“It’s been easy to forget who I really am under all the rumors. I think I did for a while,” Bucky admitted, the thick tension in his muscle under your palm. He sighed, slowly bringing himself to meet your eye. “I need you to know that no matter what this town thinks of me, who I am with you is the closest I’ve ever felt to being myself again since this all started. Who I am with you is the realest part of me.”
You nodded, offering him a heavy smile. “I know that now. I just wish I had sooner.”
Bucky didn’t reply and you didn’t expect him to. There was little else either of you could say for the missed days stolen by the intricate weave of lies and rumors around this town. But he could hold you a little longer. You could lean into his chest and breathe in the warm scent of his jacket. He could press his lips to your temple and linger there for hours. You could finally feel safe again, wrapped in his arms.
The Exchange 》 Sebastian Stan x Reader (part four)
a/n: ahhh! part four is live! also, to go with these Instagram posts, i decided to use Lily Collins, i hope that's ok? <3 ugh the manips of these two are perfect and i adore it. let me know what you think of the chapter! <3
**credit for manip used goes to @queensofwd**
summary: You and Sebastian Stan were once a power couple that dominated headlines. After a messy breakup, you two became the worst of enemies. However, to engage popularity, you two are brought together yet again for a publicity stunt. Hollywood’s Hottest Back Together. It’s a tale of fame, fortune, and money all the while trying your hardest to force back those feelings you once had for your lover. Can you make it through six months of fake dating your once real boyfriend?
warnings: mature language, angst
pairings: Sebastian Stan x Model!Reader
face claims: Camila Mendes as Marissa Lewis
L I N K S
THE EXCHANGE masterlist
spotify playlist
Chapter Four 》 Rumor Has It
November 12th, 2013
yourusername: Guys, my first Victoria Secret show is tomorrow! I’m nervous & excited, so how do we fix it? We party! Also, look at this cutie I found?
1,212,341 likes • 45,234 comments
anthonymackie: Big ass forehead you got there. Even your little swoop doesn't help you 🤯
username1: OMG LOL ^
imsebastianstan: anthonymackie Shut your mouth. Also, you’re going to do wonderful this weekend, baby. I love you.
username2: I FREAKING SHIP YOU TWO SO HARD
username3: oh the kids are going to be BEAUTIFUL
chrisevans: Did I hear someone say Sebastian has a big ass forehead? I can confirm
chacecrawford: I agree
edwestwick: I also agree
username3: the fact Seb’s being attacked by GG and Marvel is hilarious
imsebastianstan: I hate all of you
• • •
You took another sip of the liquid from the black solo cup, your nerves unwinding. “Look at you, miss, I'm not even legal yet.” Sebastian chuckled as he snaked an arm around your waist. You leaned your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. You scoffed with a coy smile.
“Oh, shut up. Are you going to hand me over to the authorities?” You giggled, Sebastian laughing along with you. He could tell you were uneasy.
“I’m scared out of my mind.” You admitted suddenly with a defeated-looking expression. Seb’s blue-grey eyes dissolved into yours, running his fingers through your hair gently.
“C’mere, pretty girl.” He said, taking your hand and leading you out onto the balcony that overlooked the city. Your breath caught in your throat at the view, the cup of liquid courage being extracted from between your fingers.
“Hey…” You softly trailed but were pulled against Sebastian’s chest. His hands grabbed a hold of yours and tossed them around your neck, his own moving to settle on your waist.
“Just sway with me,” He murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. The music from the inside gently waved through the air, making its way to you both. Sebastian always knew how to calm your nerves. He was the absolute best at it.
“I’m beyond proud of you. You’re going to do amazing out there tomorrow.” He whispered into your ear, kissing your forehead sweetly. You half-smiled. Tomorrow, you would walk your first Victoria Secret fashion show. The entirety of the summer had prepared you for this moment in which you constantly dreamt of since you saw all of the Angels in the magazines.
You were pulled out of your thoughts by the feeling of Sebastian’s fingers grinding into your hips which made you turn and look up at him.
“Thank you,” You whispered, hugging him tightly.
“I’ll always be here for you, darling.” He promised you, tilting your head back as his lips captured yours. You completely fell apart in his hands, your body becoming absolute deadweight. Something about Sebastian’s lips on yours made you lose your every thought and only focus on the here and now. The way his mouth molded against yours.
You prayed no one else would have this privilege.
You wanted him forever.
• • •
“What in the hell?” Anthony Mackie said as he hit Sebastian across the shoulder, forcing him back into reality. The three of them sat at a high table together, drinks in hand.
Chris’ blue orbs gazed into those of his friend as he sipped his drink, shaking his head.
“You’re fake dating the woman who you cried over?” He asked, Sebastian’s eyes throwing daggers in his direction.
“I did not cry.” He said defensively, Anthony scoffing.
“RDJ said he witnessed it with his own eyes.”
Chris pulled out his phone, pretending to dial Robert’s number. “Should I get him on the phone to confirm?”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, downing the drink. He slid it across the table, deciding it was best if it kept it at one. He seriously didn’t want to appear at this show drunk. You hated him enough as it is.
“I know, it’s stupid. I shouldn’t have agreed. But the payout sounded nice. If I could deal with her for three years, why can’t I do it for six months?” He shrugged as though that were the perfect reason behind it. Chris and Anthony exchanged a warning glance before gazing back at Sebastian who had the ever-present scowl on his face.
“Why would you fake date the woman who you claimed crushed you?” Chris asked him. “Sebastian, you two became toxic. I don’t know when or how, but I still remember that day she screamed at you once you were off of the red carpet during the Civil War premiere.”
Anthony chimed in. “And I remember walking in on a certain phone call featuring you telling her modeling agency to drop her.”
Sebastian grimaced. He hated that he did it to you, but you went ballistic on him for that redhead in Romania incident. Which he never cheated on you with, like you insanely thought.
“Don’t remind me,” Sebastian huffed.
“You don’t still love this woman, do you? What happened to Alejandra?” Anthony asked.
Sebastian laughed. “Hell no. And we’re still talking. Both of our PR guys said we could date other people, it just had to be done behind closed doors.”
Chris clapped his hands together with a laugh before turning serious.
“And you really think you can sneak around the press’ back and date another woman? They’ll catch you and really know it’s a publicity stunt, then.”
Sebastian refrained from speaking, checking the time on his phone. “Well, boys, I think it’s time we go watch a fashion show. Maybe I can score a number afterward.” He smirked, Anthony and Chris downing the rest of their drinks. They each paid and left, making their way back towards the Manhattan Center where the fashion show would be held for tonight.
• • •
November 13th, 2013
You watched as Fall Out Boy entered the stage, performing My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark. Taylor Swift was also there for the night to perform and your nerves were bundled, the anxiety creeping up. You knew Sebastian was front and center at the very end of the line and you knew that as soon as your eyes met his, your worries would wash away.
The first leg of the show was themed British Invasion. You had always adored the city, you were thankfully able to visit over the summer right after your first show to do some modeling for an upcoming magazine and you were head over heels with the place. Marissa and you toured during any free time you two gained.
You were set to walk out as soon as the chorus rang through, and it was soon approaching. Cara Delevingne was just before you, sporting the cutest number. You walked out behind her, the cheering of the crowd loud in your ears. The stage glittered and you put on your best walk, offering your most flirtatious smile.
When you made it to the end of the runway, that’s when you caught a glimpse of him. He clapped the hardest, cheering you on and you easily caught the mouthing if, “That’s my girl” which instantly removed your previous stressors.
• • •
“You look stunning!” Marissa exclaimed, grabbing your hands. You were gearing up for the show and you were taken back to that special night in New York City, now just eight years ago. A time when you were undeniably happy. You heard both of your names being called. It’s how it usually went. Marissa would walk out first, you closely behind.
“Remember to tell me my ass looks amazing?” Marissa yelled out at you.
You laughed, winking.
“As long as you remember to turn and stare at mine.”
Marissa high-fived you, putting herself in front.
Just as you inhaled and exhaled, preparing yourself, you saw a reporter nestled backstage with a camera on her.
“Rumor has it Y/N Y/L/N and Sebastian Stan are back together! Fans of Y/N, as well as Sebastian’s, went absolutely crazy when they were spotted arriving at Manhattan Center together, earlier this evening. Hopefully, once the shows are over, we can get confirmation from either star.”
You grimaced at the mention, rolling your eyes. You hated this so much.
Walking out once it was your turn, the cheers carried through the venue. You put on your best smile, strutting with absolute precision. The walk had come as second nature once you were well-versed in the world of modeling. Easily, you could perform this in your sleep.
Making your way to the edge, you held a serious face but added a coy smirk towards the end, your eyes settling on the three men seated at your left side.
Anthony Mackie, Chris Evans, and him.
Chris and Anthony clapped their hands with smiles on their face, Sebastian putting on his best fake smile, his eyes focused on you.
Eight years ago, he would sit at the edge of the runways, adoring you.
Now, he sat there acting as though he never knew you.
To say you felt a pain in your chest was an understatement, but who cared? The money, fame, and fortune that would come out of this had to be worth something, right? The night carried forward and by the time the show was finished, you felt sick. Each time you circled out there, Sebastian would be sitting right there with the same exact expression.
You two went through so much shit and this is how he’s acting?
By the time he made it backstage, you felt tears pricking at your eyes in your dressing room. You sat in the tall black chair, your eyes gazing at your reflection in the mirror.
You heard the door open and you immediately sucked it up, putting on your usual expression. That dark hair and those crystal blue eyes met yours, his lips pressed into a tight line.
“Huh, you didn’t fall on your face.” Sebastian chuckled, closing the door.
“If you’re here to be mean, then get the hell out.” You snarled.
Sebastian shook his head.
“Why do you always have to be so hostile? What the fuck did I do that was so bad?”
Your eyes widened, your posture becoming straight.
“We’ve been through this a thousand times, Sebastian!” You turned around to face him, pushing yourself out of the chair. “You cheated, I made a scene. You got me fired from a modeling agency, I classified you as a whore. You pushed, I pushed back!” You grew closer.
Sebastian watched you closely, noting how close you were getting to him.
“Also, let’s not forget you nearly ruined every fucking relationship I had after you!” You growled. “Zac Efron, Pierson Fodé, but let’s not name the others because then you’ll call me a slut.”
Sebastian didn't change his expression. He kept his hard eyes glued onto you, boring into your soul it felt like.
“Chris was right.” He sighed. “We were toxic.”
You scoffed.
“All because of you.” Seb pointed at you. “When I wouldn’t answer your phone calls, I was cheating, when I wouldn’t come home some weekends due to filming, I was cheating, when I was with my family in Romania, I was cheating!” He yelled, throwing back all of the times you accused him.
You laughed at that, wiping your eyes.
“Oh, but the sweet little redhead on the boat in Romania was a part of that affair, wasn’t she?” You threw your head back.
“I never cheated on you.” He said, opening the door. “I would’ve never dreamed of it. To think I had your fucking engagement ring bought, too.” He chuckled, making your eyes widen.
“What? Engagement ring?”
Sebastian shook his head.
“Who gives a damn about it now, Y/N?”
He slammed the door shut, making you flinch.
That was when the tears filled your eyes even more, and you walked back over to the chair, climbing into it. Your head fell into your hands as the sobs shook your shoulders, making you want to scream.
How could he?
• • •
November 14th, 2013
imsebastianstan: So proud of this beautiful woman. She literally stole the show. #MyFavoriteAngel
1,344,183 likes • 50,234 comments
robertdowneyjr: How much did she pay you to write that?
username1: she is so stunning
chrishemsworth: Seems like yesterday you were gushing over her beside me... at a fashion show 🤧
username2: that's MOMMY RIGHT THERE
marissalewis: robertdowneyjr I would slap you if I were Y/N
yourusername: Just you wait, RDJ. I'm kicking your door in 😘
let’s talk about the fact that despite an initial rejection from coldplay and concerns from warner brothers, jon chu still wrote a personal letter to the members of the band asking them to grant permission to use their song “yellow” in crazy rich asians to help reclaim a word that has so often had a negative connotation for asians, and now we have this gorgeous mandarin cover of that song sung by katherine ho.
tangentwithtanner
jacobvanloon
andulkaphoto
2087
pixelskylines
origamiaround
