@le_pacte_officiel and @cristian_mungiu: Découvrez la bande-annonce de FJORD, un film de Cristian Mungiu, Palme d'Or du Festival de Cannes 2026 🎬✨ Avec Sebastian Stan et Renate Reinsve 🌟 Le 19 août au cinéma ✨🎞️
@asrijasman: Sebastian Stan for @esquiresg June/July 2026, @esquiremalaysia, and @esquire.australia. It was early this January during Paris Fashion Week Men's when I suddenly got a text about an opportunity to shoot @imsebastianstan for our June/July issue. But the catch was that it had to be done in about two weeks, and in Paris. It wasn't an ideal timeframe to produce and ideate (trust that I was completely clenched up) but thankfully I had the support of a stellar crew. And Sebastian was really so lovely to work with; there were plenty of laughs on set for sure. Thank you, team Cartier. Editor-in-Chief:@croatoa Photography: @chuck.reyes Creative Direction: 🙋🏻♂️ Styling: @mjonf at @thewallgroup Grooming: @taliasparrowmakeup at @aframe_agency Producer: @avenxiaof Production Assistant: @manele_z Styling Assistant: @mollymacintoshh On-Set Styling Assistant: @sanyaba21 Watches and Jewellery: @cartier Story: @zyromart
Summary: Bucky is unravelling, doing everything in his power to keep himself is check. Even the smallest things set him off, like his laundry going missing...
Warnings: swearing, sexual themes and depictions, kinda voyeur? but not really?, sexual fantasy.
Word count: 1.8k
Series Masterlist
Previous episode
“Fuck, where is it?”
Bucky dug through his ginormous piles of laundry both dirty and clean, which he had refused to sort and was now regretting immensely because he couldn’t find the one shirt he wanted.
He didn’t know much about fashion, but a vintage and distressed rock tee went perfectly for a first date at a rock concert in the park.
That much he knew.
He just wanted to make a good impression; and actually follow through with a girl this time.
He’d been trying, really trying to get… a certain someone out of his head.
He was dragging the boys out with him constantly, or using dating apps as a crutch when he found himself without his wingmen.
He’d meet a girl, they’d talk, she’d laugh, he’d ask if she wanted to get out of whatever shithole bar they were in…
And it would work, until it didn’t.
He’d be kissing a girl in her foyer, or sat between her thighs and giving her his full attention.
He was excited, eager, all consumed.
And then she’d moan his name.
Suddenly he was transported to that night where he stood in Y/N’s doorway, remembering how her eyes fluttered and her lip fell.
That blue light showing less than what the women he took home did, but somehow giving him more want.
Bucky…
And then he couldn’t close.
So maybe, just maybe, going on an actual date with a girl would mend this broken loop of memory where all he could think about while going down on some chick was his own roommate.
Continuing his digging, he found his glorious shirt crumpled and hidden behind his door.
“I swore I just washed it.” He muttered aloud.
Or did he?
He sniffed the fabric, the unmistakable scent of vanilla lingering.
“SAM!” He yelled, barreling out of his room.
Sam stood at the oven, pulling out the most perfect cinnamon rolls and nearly dropping them at the sudden yelling.
Steve’s brows rose at the call, a smirk forming.
“What did you do?” He teased.
Sam rolled his eyes, “Hell if I know--”
Bucky trudged to the counter, waving the t-shirt in front of the two men.
“Stop stealing my shit, Wilson.”
Sam groaned as he drizzled the icing over the fresh rolls, “I’M NOT! God, how many times are we gonna do this?”
Bucky’s teeth gritted, “As many times as it takes to get through your head. YOU WEAR THEM WHEN YOU BAKE, THEY SMELL LIKE COOKIES!”
The tray clambered against the stove top, nearly making Steve jump out of his stool.
“I DON’T WEAR YOUR SHIT SHIRTS MAN! I like shit that’s actually new, not from your Dad’s beat-up college boxes.”
Bucky scoffed, still enraged as now he was definitely going to be late.
“YOU’RE JUST JEALOUS THAT THEY’RE VINTAGE!” He yelled over his shoulder.
Sam leaned over the island, “ASSHOLE!” He yelled.
“PRISS!”
The insult was hurled with a door slam, and the shaking of furniture.
“Jesus,” Y/N said, “What crawled up his ass and died?”
She slowly rounded the corner, deciding it was best to be out of Bucky’s raging war path.
“Who knows at this point.” Steve chided.
Bucky had gone from jumpy to angry within weeks.
Though one could describe Bucky’s common demeanor as “grumpy”, it seemed he was taking it to a whole new level these days.
Fighting over t-shirts, trudging off to his room, going out every other night and waking up both hungover and… on edge, was the only word he could use to describe it.
Steve figured with how much the guy was getting laid, he would lighten up.
But each night he left with a new face, he almost seemed to come back worse.
Y/N reached behind Sam to steal the bottle of vanilla extract from the counter, dosing a few drops on her wrist then rubbing the excess on her neck.
Sam couldn’t refrain from questioning, “What are you doing?”
She shrugged, “What? It’s cheaper than perfume, smells just as good.”
When Sam’s pointed look didn’t fade, she caved. “In other words, I’m out of perfume and broke.”
The two laughed as she rolled her eyes, “Shut up, I read it in a book once and it works.”
Sam hummed in pity, “Are we still on for the meet and greet?”
She smiled. “Hell yeah. Let me make a coffee then we’ll head.”
As she turned to the coffee maker, Steve’s head tilted.
Adorning her frame was a worn-out foo-fighters t-shirt. Very similar to the Scorpions one Bucky had just walked out in--
“Wait…” His shoulders rose, “is that Buck’s shirt?”
Sam looked to get a better look, his eyes only growing wide.
“Oh… yeah. Please don’t tell him.”
“Don’t tell him?! He nearly just ripped me a new one, thinking I was stealing his stuff!”
Steve put his head in his hands, he did not need Bucky any more mad than he already was.
“Y/N,” his hands rose in desperation, “why?”
“Look at them!” she grabbed the front graphic, “They’re vintage Foo Freakin Fighters bro, I can’t find any good ones like these.”
But they weren't hers. Yeah, sharing coffee is one thing. But clothes?
Bucky could clearly not handle that.
“This is weird. This is weird and I do not approve.” Sam stated.
“You don't have to approve!” she grabbed his hand, her coffee in the other while dragging him out of their apartment. “You both just have to keep quiet until I chuck it in his room at the end of the day.”
“Y/N--” Steve started to warn, in that “all-knowing” fatherly tone.
“Love you Steve, you’re the best!” She called out, slamming the door behind her much like the brooding man had before.
Steve’s head fell into his hands again.
Dear god… this was going to be a blood-bath, wasn’t it?
~
Couldn’t close.
Couldn’t. Fucking. Close.
God, was he ever going to get out of this slump?
Bucky slumbered up the stairs, exhausted and disappointed as ever.
The girl was beautiful. Funny. Had an amazing taste in music.
And went so far as kissing him in the crowd, telling him this concert blows, and they should go to her place for a real good time.
But with her hands wrapped around his neck, his around her waist, his mind betrayed him.
Thinking back to the closet, thinking back to the kitchen, thinking so far back to when Y/N first entered their apartment and stripped in front of him in the laundry room.
You don’t mind a bit of mine with yours, right?
Then the thought of touching the girl in front of him seemed all too overwhelming.
A scent he didn’ t recognize, a gaze that wasn’t familiar, a smile that didn’t warm his chest the way she did.
He made his conclusion at the front door; it wasn’t even about sex, or desire, or proximity anymore.
The reality was; he would’ve had a better time doing anything else with Y/N than he would being intimate with someone new.
He had fallen for her. Suddenly and harshly, to the point where it was contaminating every interaction he had with a potential partner.
He had women begging him to take them home, and all he could picture was his friend half naked in front of a washing machine.
His key twisted in the lock, the door slowly opened. He entered and tossed his jacket on the hook like he had so many times before.
Then he turned and saw her. Curled up on the couch, asleep, in one of his best--no, no-- his favorite t-shirt.
The light of the TV strobed across her face, adjusting against the cushions while softly snoring.
As she moved, the t-shirt rode up above her stomach, edging against her rib cage.
Bucky’s mouth went dry.
The balled up clothing, the lingering scent of vanilla, it made sense! She was stealing his shirts.
So why didn’t it bother him the way it did when he thought it was Sam?
Why did a girl in a sexy-form fitted top and low riding leather pants pale in comparison to the woman in front of him, who more than likely had covered his crappy old shirt in crumbs and vanilla?
This was doing nothing to curb his stupid delusions, or newfound epiphany that he was utterly head over heels for her.
He shook his head, nearly laughing at himself.
There was no point in pretending anymore that he didn’t feel the way he did.
The least he could do was accept it; and move forward.
He had feelings for Y/N.
He could keep that inside, but he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.
He sauntered forward, slowly reaching for the remote and turning off the TV.
She curled further into the couch, and Bucky gently covered her with the blanket at her feet.
Tucking her in, and admiring the way her hair fell across the pillow, he whispered to himself; “You drive me crazy.”
She remained asleep, as Bucky quietly made his way to his own room.
~
Y/N decided she was never, ever falling asleep on that couch again.
Even if it had been the consequence of bingeing Bridgerton, the back pain was so not worth it.
She had been spoiled by her loft bed, and was hereby never returning to it ever again.
She groaned loudly, and dramatically at the island,in between bites of Sam’s day-old pastry.
“Ughh,” She wailed again.
Sam leaned against the counter. “Stop. Whining. Take a hot shower and an advil like a normal person.”
“No,” she muttered, face against the cool stone, “Then the couch wins.”
Sam shook his head, “You’re a ridiculous person.”
She was suddenly met with an object hitting her face, only adding to her pain.
“Hey! What the--” She looked up to see Bucky beginning his rounds in the kitchen.
He side-eyed her, while making his coffee.
“What gives Barnes? Who throws a--”
But she stopped once she realized what was now balled up in her hands.
A RUSH t-shirt, soft and worn with the graphic starting to peel.
She winced, scared to meet his eye.
“Bucky I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have taken it—”
“Whatever.” He shrugged, eyes focused on the mug in front of him. “I never wear that one, you can keep it but stop stealing the others.”
Sam’s jaw fell to the floor. “ARE YOU SERIOUS? THAT’S IT?”
He threw down his spatula, pointing a finger in Bucky’s face, “YOU NEARLY CHEWED MY HEAD OFF!”
The two started their screaming match, Y/N winced in her seat, whilst Steve stood frozen in the hallway.
Oh my god, he thought, oh my god.
He figured it out.
The moodiness, the new hookups, his rushing out of the main living areas, the loft bed, the exhibit, the goddamn t-shirt.
It all made sense; everything finally came to one point.
Steve wasn’t sure who he was more in awe of; Bucky for acting this way, or himself for not figuring it out earlier.
Steve leaned against the wall in silent realization; Bucky was in love with Y/N.
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