valentine's day ~ nsfw dbf!bucky barnes
dad's best friend!bucky barnes x reader word count: 11.3k disclaimer: heed series disclaimers. fully consensual somonophilia, orgasm denial, humiliation, etc. themes of severe insecurity, anxiety. mentions of blood. canon typical overthinking. expect the unexpected a/n: guys I am like terribly sorry this is a day late but like um it's the longest chapter ever so plz forgive me
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living in limbo, your future unbeknownst to you, is a worse torture than it is to be condemned for your sins.
that’s the hill that you would die on after the last month you’ve had. a month of sporadic and tense phone calls with your family, speaking nothing but formalities as the strain between you continues to grow. weeks spent calling Bucky at all hours of the day, sobbing your eyes out, paranoid and fearful of how the course of the next few months will go. how the next year will pan out.
what the hell the rest of your life looks like.
you wish you had a crystal ball in times like these, shiny reflective glass showing you the outcomes of all your dilemmas. the pain of knowing what comes next doesn’t compare to the pain of living in uncertainty, because you can deal with that pain. you can learn to accept the situation, learn how to move past it. so long as you know, then there’s an end in sight. you can survive so long as you know what comes next, and you’ll be able to just get over it.
but not knowing? not knowing how things will work out, not even having a clue about how to atone for your misconduct when no one cares what you have to say? how are you supposed to navigate that, especially when no one is making any attempt whatsoever to hear you out?
that’s all you could ask for anymore, is to be listened to. to be given a chance at being honest and for your words to be believed and taken as the truth.
asking for forgiveness and understanding of your situation beyond that, well… that’s another story entirely.
you’ll cross that bridge if you ever get to it.
~~~
behind the screen, Bucky’s guilt eats him alive.
the cruelties he repeats to himself in his mind never cease, like a broken record he can’t fix, can’t stop. but why should he stop when he deserves every terrible word he iterates to himself?
he’s a terrible man who deserves to suffer for his atrocities.
but you don’t.
you don’t deserve to suffer simply because he’s been selfish, self-serving in giving into his disgusting desires for the one he vowed to protect. this isn’t your crime to pay the price for.
which is why no matter what, he will continue to pick up the phone when you call. he’ll listen to you talk and cry and seek solace in him every single time you need him, because you shouldn’t be the one beating yourself up over everything that’s happened. he is.
no matter how selfish of him it is to continue to be the one to console you, to continue to be there for you because he wants to be, he’s not going to deny you whatever comforts you need for the sole purpose of making himself feel like he’s doing the right thing in letting you go.
besides, leaving you to deal with your pain on your own isn’t the right thing to do, either.
his choice to stay for you is a decision he’ll make over and over again without hesitation because it’s better that way. it’s better for him to continue living with his own guilt as long as it means you’re not alone.
despite how much he hates himself for being with you, despite the fact that nothing will ever be the same again?
he’s still happier than he’s ever been when he’s with you.
~~~
this time of year has, historically, never been particularly exciting for you.
with winter in full bloom, the celebration of the new year long past, comes the time for happy couples to proudly and publicly profess their love for one another on a holiday that’s always left a weird taste in your mouth.
Valentine’s Day.
since the moment you knew what it meant to have a crush on someone, a feeling you discovered later in life than most of your classmates did, you knew that the holiday of love would likely never work out in your favor.
how could it, when you’re fourteen years old and realizing that you have a crush on the man who is the closest thing you have to an uncle, for all intents and purposes?
after a while, though, your mindset changed. getting over a stupid childhood crush would be easy. in a few years, you’d be 18 and off to college, a real adult once and for all; you wouldn’t be so stupid as to still have a crush on him all those years later.
that’s what you thought when you were a teenager. now?
now, you haven’t been 18 for years, and you’re still a prisoner to the same feelings and despair that you were nearly a decade ago.
candy hearts and teddy bears and cupid’s arrow have long been a reminder of the shitty position you’ve put yourself in by falling for the one man who would eternally be out of reach. they’re the fantasies of what your life could have been in another universe where you got to be with him, fantasies of what it might be like to feel his skin against yours, to know what it felt like to be loved by him.
that was, until the universe flipped your entire world on its side and turned all of your fantasies into realities, giving you everything you’d ever wanted with him and more.
more, meaning a life filled with fear and anxiety about what your situation entailed for the both of you. more, meaning a relationship permanently haunted by a guilt that you would never face should you be with someone else. more, meaning thousands of miles of distance between the two of you for your first Valentine’s Day together.
you’ve lived with the rest of it for months now, learned how to cope with it. but being so far apart for February 14th…
that's the part that hurts the most as the day approaches.
screw your 18 year old self for trying to do what she thought was best for you.
~~~
“I miss you,” you whisper into the phone, your voice low with your roommate just in the next room over. “how are you? how are things there?”
“well, you know,” he responds, the words purposefully clipped and spoken under his breath. “but I been missing you too, kid.”
your eyes fall shut as the words seep in. his reassurances are all you have right now, and you’ll relish every word he says to you.
“I wish I could come home next week,” you breathe, your voice slightly shaky as you speak.
“why next week?” he questions. his voice is deadpan, but you know better than that. despite the fact that he’s soft under his humorous exterior, he’s still a sarcastic asshole through and through.
“oh, you ass,” you mutter back with a laugh, smiling to yourself as you continue, “forget I said anything at all. you know, you could even–”
“I bet I could even get you to try something new, something really nasty, if you were here. butter you up with dinner and pretty flowers, and–”
“–oh, shut up!” you tell him as you try to keep your tone low and your giggling to a minimum. “I am not that easy, you know.”
“oh, you definitely are. anything for your uncle, right?” he asserts.
you can practically hear the way he’s smirking as he speaks. he can probably visualize you rolling your eyes right now, too.
even if he already knows it, you’ll never tell him that he’s right.
“oh, whatever… keep thinking what you want to think. now go to sleep, it’s late there,” you try to encourage him.
“seriously? what if I want to listen to your voice a little bit longer?” he chirps back.
“you know, you’re not as charming as you think you are,” you fire. his ego could benefit from the hit, not that he’d even take any of your words to heart.
“you really do just like to rile me up when I’m not there to do anything about it, don’t you?”
he’s insatiable, you think, continuing to poke and tease and goad you on.
he already knows you love it.
“that’s what you’ve got a left hand for,” you taunt back. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“alright, fine. good to hear your voice, kid. love you.”
“love you, too, Bucky. goodnight.”
and with that, you hang up the phone, and you’re immediately thrown back into a pool of loneliness and worry. a basin of nervous thoughts up to your chin, surrounding you as your whole body fights to stay afloat, as you force yourself to continue trying not to drown in the darkness even as it works to drag you under.
because you can’t help but wonder, who are you without him?
you know that making one person your entire life, making them the main character of your feature film, isn’t healthy or sustainable. you have to stand on your own two feet.
clearly you can, though, can’t you?
you know you can. you’ve proven time and time again that you’re capable of surviving on your own.
but surviving doesn’t equate to thriving. and when you’re with him, you flourish.
if only everyone could see that.
~~~
you don’t know how long you’ve been staring at this screen for.
the words are all blending together, a jumble of letters that are now completely unintelligible as you try to decipher their meanings.
they’re all the exact same thing, anyways: job openings that claim to be for entry-level applicants but expect years of work experience, multiple references, and a number of other qualifications that you simply don’t have.
you would have started planning for this sooner, you think, had you known any better. had you not spent the last year too preoccupied with your little rendezvous with Bucky and instead put a little more time and effort into planning for your future.
Bucky would take care of you, you know he would. it’s not like you’ve wasted the time, nor has the time been spent in vain; but perhaps you have been too distracted, too caught up in him to think about yourself.
you know that’s not true. you’re just upset with yourself for innumerable reasons, on top of the fact that you’re struggling to find the right job openings back home in New York, let alone get any interviews.
scrolling through job offerings more local to your university would be pointless, anyways.
the words on the screen continue to mock you as you begin to feel more and more defeated, realizing how much trouble you’re in.
shutting your laptop, you roll onto your back atop your mattress and stare aimlessly at the ceiling above you. a million questions race through your head, unsatiated curiosities about what comes next for you and internal debates about how you’re supposed to survive entirely on your own in just a few short months.
because with how up in the air your situation is right now, you don’t have a choice. letting everyone continue to perceive you as nothing more than a helpless child will only make your argument about your relationship with Bucky that much less credible.
you’re not entirely sure how long you lay there, questioning yourself and every decision you’ve ever made in your life. it doesn’t feel that long, though, when you’re being startled from your impromptu nap with the sound of your phone ringing.
ignore it, your sleep-addled mind tells you.
against your fatigued brain’s wishes, you sit up and reach for the phone anyways, sliding to answer without even reading the name on the screen.
“hello?” you murmur, wiping your face as you do.
“were you sleeping, kid?” the person on the other end of the line asks you.
“what? no…” you pretend, your own voice trailing off in your haze. “of course not.”
“yeah, like I’m gonna believe that. you should go for a walk instead of sleeping, you know. it’s better for you.”
“oh, fuck you, Bucky,” you mutter. “I don’t care.”
“what, you think I’m lying to you? don’t you think some fresh air could do you some good?”
“no.”
“I think it could.”
“no. why do you care so much, anyways?”
“come on. it’s still sunny out, you still got time to enjoy the day,” he argues as he continues to insist.
why does he care so much?
there’s something about his words that don’t sit right with you. something isn’t adding up.
“how do you know that?” you inquire as you finally shake your sleepy state. “that it’s still sunny out?”
“call it a lucky guess,” he chuckles. “come on. would you just do it for me, kid?”
for some reason, you listen. any other day, you’d think that it’s simply because you’re incapable of saying no to him.
today is not any other day, because you’re already suspicious of him based on how insistent he is. it is most definitely not because you’ve spent the last week dreaming about whether or not he’d surprise you with a floral or sugary delivery for the holiday that’s only a day away.
you find yourself standing from your bed, searching for your shoes and your keys to go on a “walk,” as he keeps trying to convince you to.
“this is stupid, you realize that?” you ask him as you walk down the stairs of your building. “I was having a really nice nap, catching up on my sleep debt, but no, you just had to–”
your voice dies in your throat as you approach the front door leading to the outside of your apartment complex, a vision of a familiar head of hair on the other side of the window.
the phone in your hand falls to the floor as you race to push open the door to find him standing there, in the flesh.
“Bucky?” you whisper, your lower lip trembling as your emotions begin to boil over. “you’re here?”
you instantly wrap yourself around him, your arms ever so tightly clasping themselves around his waist and forgetting all about the fact that you’re outside, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, unable to give a single fuck about anyone who may see you in this position right now.
because Bucky is here, by what feels like nothing short of a miracle.
“how? why?” you whisper as you cling to him.
“airplane. you know, those metal things that fly through the–”
“shut up, you jerk,” you laugh, burying your head deeper into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“of course I am. happy Valentine’s Day, kid.”
your heart could melt from the gesture, you think. you could die happy right now, because he’s here.
after a few more beats, the sensation of his chest vibrating against yours seeps in as he begins to softly laugh. “gonna have to let go of me sometime, you know that, right?”
with a sigh, you lean back and finally look up at him once more. one of your hands extends itself to his hair, another to the side of his jaw, your hands trying to conceptualize that he is truly standing in front of you.
he continues laughing as you simply look at him in awe.
“enough of that. lead the way upstairs, would ya?”
~~~
his warm flesh nearly burns your own as he presses himself closer and closer against you, your hands scrambling for purchase as you try desperately to meld your bodies together as though it will keep him from ever leaving you.
metal fingers curl in your hair as his flesh yanks at the waistband of your pants, both of your shirts already discarded on the floor somewhere.
“y’know, your roommate could walk in any moment,” he whispers to you breathily between kisses.
“then let her,” you breathe back, your lips attacking his once more.
you’ve had it with worrying about getting caught. you’ve had it with being more concerned about what the rest of the world might think in moments like these, moments that are supposed to belong to nobody else but you and him.
his mouth trails down the side of your face before nipping at the lobe of your ear, the crook of your neck, each pinch another reminder of his presence, of the fact that things finally feel normal for once.
as normal as they could ever be in your situation, that is.
“got a real fancy hotel, you know. just for you. could take you back there, make you–”
“I thought you were all about the thrill of getting caught, right, Uncle Bucky?” you taunt him, a smirk playing on your lips as you look at him.
“you’re really in for it now,” he taunts back.
the chill that races through your veins does nothing but excite you further.
you’re hypersensitive to it, the way every touch sears your skin, the way every movement he makes feels so much more intense than the last time. his tongue darts down your collarbone, and your own hands immediately reach to grab at the straps of your bra where they lay.
“please,” you whimper unconsciously, your voice acting of its own accord with each moan and whine you utter.
“please, what?” he snaps back, to which your mind instantly goes blank.
please, anything, you think, but the words fail you.
“ah, she’s so used to letting me do all the work, ain’t she? no, that ain’t gonna work this time. you gotta tell me what you’re thinking, kid,” he urges.
you slowly blink your eyes back open and glance down at him, your chin nearly knocking his nose as you do.
all he does is chuckle as he sees the look in your eyes. “no way you’re that drunk on me already, huh? when I haven’t even touched you yet?”
now is when you wish you had jabbed your chin into his face.
“you’re evil,” you muster, your clarity returning. “make up your mind already. fuck me, or don’t.”
“I have. you use your words, or else,” he tries, but you’re already knocked out of your haze.
“or else? or else, what? you’ll make more empty threats?” you snark back.
“or else you’re not going to–”
“you know, these little threats of yours are starting to lose their effectiveness,” you tell him, to which his jaw all but drops at the shock of your blunt defiance. “I bet I can last longer without finishing than you can.”
he loves to torment you and play games. who’s to say you can’t do the same to him?
“oh, you think so?” he asks, “you really want to bet against me, kid?”
it doesn’t matter whether or not you think you can win against him, no. all that matters is that you make him suffer even a fraction of the way he likes to make you suffer.
“you bet I do,” you whisper back before placing a gentle kiss on his lips.
and then you’re shoving his heavy figure off of yours, to his complete surprise. his voice stutters a few times, as though trying to come up with the words to fight you on this. to convince you that this is stupid, that you should just let him do whatever he wants with you.
that would be giving you exactly what you wanted, though, wouldn’t it? telling you, proving that you’re correct.
which is most certainly not going to happen.
“you’re a fucking menace, you know that?” he hisses as he watches you tug your shirt back over your head. “fine. you’re on. and when you lose, you’re going to regret this.”
clothes back in place, you turn to where he’s seated on the bed and plop yourself down next to him. your hands find his hair, pulling him in for another kiss.
only to push away from him once more, proceeding to challenge him with, “we’ll see about that.”
it’s in that moment, with those words and that smirk of yours, that he realizes how much he truly missed you.
~~~
the sun has long past set, the sky fading into dark hues of indigo and grey as the hustle and bustle of the city turns into an even more lively night scene. tens of passersby make their way past you down the pier, scattering down a million different pathways as they follow wherever the night takes them.
you and Bucky sit at a creaky picnic table, the sounds of the wood struggling under your weight with each move either of you make. a plate of none other than your very favorite loaded nachos sit in the center of the table between the two of you, your fingers brushing against each others’ each time you reach for another bite.
“cheers,” you had said when you first said down, clinking your cocktail glass against his beer bottle, “to your first time in LA. and to being together.”
“cheers, kid,” he’d laughed, all too infatuated with the joyous smile painted across your face.
you watched the way his eyes followed the individuals walking by, his curiosity and intrigue of the eccentricity of the city clear in his gaze.
“so, you, uh. you like it here?” he questions now, clearing his throat and clearly struggling to keep his tone neutral.
“I take it you don’t,” you smirk back at him before taking another bite. “don’t worry. the people here don’t bite, you know, unless you ask them to.”
“fuckin’ smartass, you know that?” he claps back with a smirk of his own. “you know me. never even go down into Manhattan. the city scene is–”
“–not your scene. pun intended.”
his eyes nearly roll back into his head, and it takes all your might not to laugh at your own joke.
“we should go, sometime. to the city, when I’m home,” you suggest, watching his eyes carefully to see his true reaction, not the fake one he’ll give you with his words.
“let’s see if I survive Los Angeles, kid, then we’ll talk,” he assures you.
a soft quietness falls between the two of you for a few moments as you work on the food in front of you, both of your gazes settling on the people as they walk by.
when you speak up again, the words are instinctive, not well thought-through.
“how are my parents?” you ask him, the sense of normalcy and ease you currently feel overshadowing the reminder of what your actual normal is right now.
he coughs once, twice, eyes not meeting yours as he responds.
“well, you know,” he says casually, as though there’s nothing left to be said there. as though the situation isn’t far bigger than the both of you are making it out to be; as though he’s brushing it off to try and ignore it, for both of your sakes.
“not really, I don’t,” you mutter, mind too focused on your meal.
he pauses for a few more moments, and when he doesn’t say anything, you look back up to his face. he appears apprehensive, his lips slightly parted as though he’s about to speak but doesn’t quite know what to say.
you finally catch the look in his eyes, the one that tells you he’s confused. he’s wondering why you’re asking, calculating what it is that you want him to say.
because what is there to say?
“well,” he tries again with another short pause, “they ain’t talking to me. that’s for sure.”
his attempt to remain calm and neutral in his response does not fall on deaf ears. it’s clear that he’s trying to give you an answer without blowing you off entirely and without ruining the mood of the evening.
it’s not that you forgot about everything that’s happened, no. but as it hits you once more, that the question you asked is way beyond loaded, you realize you got too comfortable. too used to the friendship between the two of you, too used to the feeling of comfort you felt with him before beginning your rendezvous.
“they don’t know you’re here,” you speak up as the pieces fit together in your mind.
“no,” is all he says.
you feel stupid. what’s wrong with you? why would you even bring up such a thing?
“sorry. should have known,” you tell him with a soft, sad smile.
“it’s alright, kid. just glad to spend some time with you.”
you are too, you want to tell him. you’re beyond grateful that he’s made the trip, that he’s gone to all of this trouble to be here for this weekend, knowing what it must mean to you. a number of sappy responses come to mind, various things you might respond with to show your appreciation.
instead, you appeal to a side of him that’s far more receptive than his emotional side.
“yeah, bet you’re just glad to spend some time naked with me,” you quip.
“oh, but you’ve gone and told me that ain’t possible, kid, what with your stupid little game an’ all,” he begins, at which point you promptly interrupt him.
“I never said we couldn’t have sex,” you taunt, the most devious smile crossing your face as you say it.
his eyes meet yours, and you know the game is on.
~~~
“fuck, Bucky,” you can’t help but whine out, “needed– been needing–”
“yeah, I know you been needing this, haven’t you?” he breathes as your hips drop once more, seating yourself further down into his lap, the burn radiating throughout your whole body with the sting of his cock stretching you open.
absolutely not, is what you told him when he knelt in front of you, his fingers pulling at the lace of your panties as his lips kissed up the insides of your thighs. it doesn’t matter how he touches you; he always succeeds at making a complete mess of you, anyways.
but you weren’t going to make this easy on him, and you most certainly were not going to give him the opportunity to try and make you lose your bet.
and, if you’re honest, you’ve missed the glorious pain of feeling him like this, completely unprepared for it and yet forced to take him anyways.
your eyes roll back in your head each time his hands tug you further down, the heat between the two of you already manifesting itself in the way you’re both covered in a sheen of sweat. his grip on your hips is a firm reminder that you’re not going anywhere, that you’re stuck, that you’re his.
a reminder you crave every time you’re away from him.
in a moment of lucidity, you can’t help but laugh out loud to yourself as your thoughts race through your mind.
“what’s so funny?” he questions, his own voice completely wrecked and distinctly breathy as he struggles to get the words out.
“you’ll never know how good this hurts,” you murmur while leaning forward and taking his chin in hand. your lips find his, unable to help yourself from shamelessly biting at his bottom lip, the action encouraging a moan of his own to emanate from low in his throat.
“you’re something else, kid,” he tells you when you let up on your attack on his lip, his hands tightening their grip on your waist. he proceeds to surge his weight forward and pushes you onto your back, not daring to let go of you as he follows you with the motion.
the instant your back hits the cold sheets of the hotel bed underneath you, he thrusts his own hips forward, sheathing himself inside you entirely as your breath is entirely expelled from your lungs.
“that’s better,” you hear him mutter under his own breath, coupled with a sense of self-satisfaction inside, you’re sure.
when he begins moving atop you, your hands find his shoulders and press against him, softly urging him to pause.
“what’s wrong?” he breathes, at which point you finally open your eyes to meet his gaze.
“jus’ enjoy it. unless, of course, you want to lose even quicker,” you remind him.
you note the way his jaw clenches when you say that, the way the cogs in his head are surely turning as he debates whether or not the potential blow to his ego is worth it.
except his ego is too big for that. no way he’d let you win, especially when he knows for fact that he can hold out for longer than you can.
“alright, kid. you wanna just keep me warm for a while? think I can make that happen,” he tells you, summoning every ounce of willpower he has to calm himself down and focus on what’s important: winning, so that he can lord it over your head every time he tortures you in bed from here on out.
you take a deep breath and nod your head yes against his, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and pulling him in tight. his chest meets yours, the weight of his figure resting on you. he’s a wall of muscle, like a weighted blanket on top of you, and it once again reminds you that he’s real. this is real.
despite the craving in the back of your head itching for him to fuck you properly, the same one you’re sure he’s feeling right now, you can’t help but feel peaceful. enjoying the fact that you get to have such a close moment with him right now, this entire surprise visit something you never could have anticipated happening.
you’re so in love with him it hurts.
but then again, when hasn’t it?
his hands dance over your skin, tracing indeterminate symbols and patterns against your hips where he holds you. warm puffs of air graze the flesh of your ear and your neck as his lips taunt you with feathering kisses.
“I’m gonna win,” he whispers. “you know I can last longer. admit it.”
“that’s bullshit,” you immediately mutter back.
what you won’t remind him of is how you spent years without him, years of hating yourself for wishing for exactly this sort of thing. this, being something that was never going to happen.
until it did.
this was never supposed to happen.
you won’t remind him how patient you’ve been, how you’d wait a lifetime just for a sliver of his attention, a single featherlight touch of his skin against yours with more than just friendly, familial intention.
so, yes. you know you can win against him, because he’ll never know the depths of the pain and desperation you’ve endured just to get to this point.
“we’ll see about that, kid,” is the last thing he whispers to you before beginning to place kisses over your face, across the planes of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the cupid’s bow on your lips. his words are clearly a facade, a falsehood to try and throw you off as you can tell he’s growing restless and impatient, his hips beginning against yours with soft, tormenting thrusts that do nothing but remind you of how full you feel with him inside you.
you let him do as he pleases, slowly rutting into you as you watch him slowly begin to lose his composure.
“that’s what I thought,” you murmur under your breath, watching the way his eyes cinch tightly shut as his shallow movements grow erratic as his self-control continues to dissipate.
it’s quite the sight, you think, the vision of him losing himself in you in a way you’ve never seen before. or, perhaps, you’ve always been too drunk on his cock inside you to notice how beautiful his face looks like this. the way his jaw alternates between clenching and falling, his breaths becoming quicker and sharper. fingers dig into the flesh of your waist, holding you below him as he ever so softly uses you to pleasure himself.
“you feel too good, kid,” he tells you with a strangled voice. you’re shocked at the implication of his words, the complete 180 he’s pulled, now hinting to you that he’s putting his ego to the side to instead simply enjoy the feeling of you beneath him.
when his flesh hand begins to trail its way between your legs to rub at your clit, you immediately bat it away, taking his hand in yours and returning it to its seat in the curve of your waist. “no,” is all you say, too entranced by watching his blissful face to let him interfere.
“not fair,” he groans, to which you scoff.
“suffer through,” you smirk.
you can see the cogs in his head turning as he tries to decide what’s more important, winning against you and protecting his ego or saying fuck it and letting himself go.
the moment he decides, you know immediately, as his lips crash back into yours and his hands grip you tighter and hold you firmly in place as he finally fucks into you with abandon.
it’s not long before he begins whining into your mouth and his motions lose their fervor as he rapidly approaches his release.
“inside me,” you breathe out, nothing more than an encouragement for him to finally let go, to give in to the desire and make himself lose.
he doesn’t even hesitate as he gives you exactly what you asked for, the warm sensation of his release blossoming in your tummy as his facial expression goes slack and his breaths grow heavier.
you run your fingers through his hair, softly brushing long strands behind his ears before he finally collapses on top of you. laughter bubbles up in your chest, the pressure overwhelming you as his weight presses into yours.
“you’re heavy,” you tease, turning your head towards his where it lay next to yours on the pillow.
“yeah, well,” he says, voice hoarse and breathy, “you’re gonna keep me warm a little longer. til I’m ready to fuck you dumb.”
a smile forms on your face as he meets your gaze, your noses brushing against each others’.
“you didn’t even last a day, Bucky,” you tease.
you watch his eyes roll before shutting once more. “shut the hell up,” he murmurs.
and for a moment, the world stops.
you’re alone with Bucky, and nobody is going to walk in on you. you’re alone with Bucky, and not a soul in this city will know the two of you. there’s no need for sneaking around, no need to go an hour out of town just to go out together and avoid being caught by someone you might know.
you’re together, and every worry and anxiety you’ve ever had is simply gone.
this is how it should be, you think, to love someone. to feel so carefree and happy, to not care about what another soul on the planet thinks because all that matters is the two of you and your happiness.
the future doesn’t matter right now, nothing does.
this kind of happiness is all you could ever ask for.
~~~
you wake disoriented a few hours later.
your eyes open to the darkness of an unfamiliar room, a soft light filling the room from the cracks in the curtains allowing the passage of the bright fluorescents that light up the city at nighttime. your whole body feels heavy, and your arm is asleep with pins and needles beginning to prick at your nerves.
the hotel room.
Bucky.
it wasn’t a dream, you realize, as the faint scent of his shampoo fills your nose. his head is buried in the crook of your neck, his hair fraying in every which way and tickling your skin. you pick up on the soft sound of his snoring as he sleeps so peacefully on top of you, crushing you and causing your chest to ache because of it.
there’s another ache because of him, too.
your body clearly hasn’t forgotten that despite your slumber, and despite the fact that it’s likely been hours since you fell asleep, you haven’t gotten to finish.
this isn’t something to wake him for, though, is it? of course not. you shouldn’t bother him when he’s finally getting some rest after a long flight the day before.
you could excuse disturbing him with a more valid excuse that you need to get out of bed for water, only to then bombard him with a heinous request to use his mouth to help relieve some of the heat between your thighs.
but… you know Bucky. you know he’d be more than amenable to help fix your little problem.
you weigh your options, debating whether or not you should just try to fall back asleep or onslaught him with your sexual dissatisfaction, before eventually coming to the selfish conclusion that he’s only here for a short period of time. you should make the most of it.
besides, it’s Valentine’s Day now. how can he say no to you?
you can’t stop yourself once your decision has been made, slowly pulling free your arm that’s stuck underneath him before bringing both of your hands to take his prosthetic hand in yours. your chin tilts downwards as you direct your gaze to him, watching to see if he’s still asleep as you move.
you could just wake him up.
but as you slowly part your thighs, bringing his hand to rest against your cunt, the idea leaves your mind entirely.
a soft gasp falls from between your lips as you gently angle his fingertips up against your clit, rocking your hips up against his hand once, twice, a few more times as you firmly hold the metal in place.
you bite your lip between incisors as you drag his hand lower and begin to crook two fingertips up into yourself, still dripping with his release from hours prior. the sting takes you by surprise, and you let out a sharp hiss of pain under your breath, your eyes flying open to see if the sound has woken him.
it hasn’t, you don’t think.
you’re undeterred as you continue to use his fingers like a toy, pushing them deeper and trying to maintain a careful hold on your breath and the sounds that threaten to escape your throat.
“you could’ve woken me up, you know,” you hear all of a sudden, giving you the scare of your life despite knowing he could’ve woken at any instant.
“what the hell, Bucky…” you utter, the frightened feeling going straight to your clit and heightening the sensations where his fingers sit inside you. “come on, help me out here.”
“I think you’re doing just fine on your own,” he murmurs, bringing his free arm to press into the mattress and lift his weight up and off of you, allowing his gaze to slip between your bodies and find the sight of where your hands are tucked between your legs. “just keep doing what you were doing.”
you can’t help the humiliation you feel from suddenly being put on display for him to watch, his own little show centering you and your desperation to get off. your cheeks instinctively heat up as your actions have halted, barely able to move under his keen eye.
“if you wanna get off, kid, then you gotta work for it. come on, let’s go,” he instructs, his eyes finding yours once more. his hand next to your face moves to cup your cheek in his hold, brushing his thumb over your soft skin for a few moments, all the while you stay frozen in place. his voice lowers and he sounds far more firm when he speaks, “now.”
a groan of embarrassment falls from your throat as you look away, only for him to grab your chin between two harsh fingers and force you to look back at him. “you keep your fucking eyes on me, you got that?”
you can’t stop the way you clench around him when he speaks to you as such.
“knew you fuckin’ like that,” he murmurs, his eyes darting back and forth between yours. “you like when I tell you what to do, no matter how much you whine and bitch about it. admit it.”
“yes,” you whimper, hoping it will appease him.
it only spurs him on.
“yes, what?”
“yes, Uncle Bucky,” you breathe.
“better,” he replies, eyes darting back down to where you’re holding his prosthetic hand hostage. “you like using me to get off, too?”
another involuntary whine falls from your lips before you affirm, “yes, Uncle Bucky.”
“then hurry up before I change my mind.”
you force yourself to do as he’s instructed, deliberately embarrassing yourself for his entertainment as you finally start rutting your hips up against his hand once more. your moans that follow do nothing but worsen your humiliation, degrading yourself even further as proof of how badly you need him and how much you love being in this position.
“that’s a good girl,” he coos at you, continuing to hold eye contact. “you like that, don’t you? using me to make yourself feel good?”
“yes, Uncle Bucky, please–”
“tell you what, kid. you come for me, like this, right now, and I’ll make it worth your while, yeah? how’s that sound?”
“please,” you whine again stupidly. “please, I need…”
“please, what?”
“please, I need to come,” you beg of him.
“good girl, asking nicely. go ahead, make yourself come. do it for me.”
it drains every ounce of your energy as your breathing nearly stops, your whole body tingling as you race towards the orgasm you’re more than desperate for.
“Uncle Bucky, I–” you begin before the words die out in your throat.
“what is it, kid?”
“I love you,” you breathe out, and then it hits: the beautiful drop, the release of all the pent up energy in your body you’ve been dying for. a pleasure you’ve only ever felt with him, something so unique and perfect.
it’s beyond heavenly.
“you know I love you, kid,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your lips as you come down from the high, your breathing ragged as your hands find his shoulders, clinging to him as your body tries to calm itself. “more than you know.”
“now spread your legs and let me reward you for being so good for me.”
~~~
the sun beats down on your skin, every step you take exhausting you further as you trail a few yards behind Bucky.
“why the hell are we doing this?” you ask him, reaching to adjust the brim of your cap on your head as you take a large step over a tree root protruding from the dirt beneath your feet. “oh, that’s right. because you love to torture me, that’s why.”
you hear him chuckle from up ahead without bothering to stop walking to give you a break. “hiking is fun. you’re just used to sitting around on that pretty little ass of yours.”
you have to resist the urge to throw something at him upon hearing that.
“why the hell is it so hot out? isn’t it supposed to be winter?” you question, the sweat on the back of your neck beginning to stick to your hair.
“would you quit complaining?” he says, finally stopping and turning to look at you. as you step up closer to him, a small pout forming on your face, you see his demeanor crack as he decides to take pity on you.
“okay, fine. maybe we aren’t used to winters this warm, I should have thought of that.” he concedes. “let’s just get to the viewpoint at the top and then I’ll carry you all the way back, deal?”
“you’ll blow your back out doing that, old man,” you tease as you continue walking ahead of him up the hill. “but that’s nice of you to offer.”
“you little shit,” he says with a laugh as you hear his steps begin to pick up behind you. “I am not that old.”
“you kind of are,” you toss back, turning your head in his direction to flash the smirk on your face. you clock the way he’s smiling even in his exasperation with your antics, and it fills you with a sense of giddiness.
“hey, kid, look where you’re–” he says quickly, but it’s too late. you’re already halfway to the ground, having tripped over another tree root sticking up from the ground while you were too busy looking at Bucky’s gorgeous face behind you.
“shit, you okay?” he asks as he steps in front of you and reaches his hands out to you. as you take them, he hauls you to your feet, at which point you look downwards to assess yourself. you’re practically covered in dirt from the waist down, and there’s blood pouring from your knee where you scraped it.
you can’t help but giggle even as your knee stings. “I’m fine,” you assure him, reaching to brush the dirt from where it coats your shorts, sticks to your legs.
“let’s get up to the viewpoint and I’ll clean up that knee for you, yeah?” he offers, and you nod your head in agreement.
he keeps hold of your hand the rest of the walk up the hill, carefully watching every step you take to make sure you don’t take another tumble, almost tripping in the process himself. he tosses jokes left and right, yet never teasing you for the fact that you fell, to your utter surprise.
only a few minutes later, you find yourself standing in the most perfect spot to look out over the whole city. the buildings that look so ominous when you’re standing next to them on the street now appear so small, the cars driving by looking like ants as you stand so far away.
“you know what, as much as it pains me to say it, you were absolutely right about–” you begin, turning to find where he’s standing, but you quickly pause when all the breath is stolen from your lungs.
instead of finding him somewhere behind you, he’s next to you, getting down on one knee.
“what–” you begin with bated breath, overtaken with bewilderment.
that is, until you see the bottle in his hand, where he begins to pour the water over the cut on your knee.
“sorry if this stings,” he tells you, completely oblivious to the massive heart attack you just had at the vision of him getting down on one knee in front of you. “but I gotta try and…” he trails off.
“it’s fine,” you mutter, turning to look out at the city again, unable to let yourself fixate your gaze on him in such an assuming position.
after a few more moments, he rises to his feet and leans in to kiss the top of your head. “I’ll finish getting you patched up when we’re back.”
you hum in acknowledgement, too busy coming down from the sudden spike in adrenaline you’d just experienced.
you hardly even know how to feel about it.
on one hand, you’re relieved. you know you’d mentioned it to him, but you haven’t even graduated from college yet; you’re way too young and nowhere near ready to make such a huge commitment. you’d always planned that you would have done so much more with your life before you got married, before… before you got to where you’re at in life now, too.
how did the time go by so quickly? where did it go, how have you let yourself just coast by without doing everything you’d always planned to by now?
it’s for the best that it was just a scare, you think. there’s absolutely no way he’s even thinking of asking such a preposterous question, especially with where he currently stands with your parents. where you currently stand with them, unsure of what the reaction would be if you came home with a ring on your finger.
with Bucky’s ring on your finger.
fuck, if the idea doesn’t turn you on. part of you is relieved, yes; but the other part of you? the part of you that’s spent years dreaming of him loving you in the same way you love him, dreaming of him as the groom in your imaginary wedding fantasies? the part of you that you’ve always tried to shove down and move on from because it could never be real?
that part of you is so disappointed you might just start crying immediately.
you know he’s completely unaware of what he just did, that he had absolutely no intention of sending you into the spiral you now find yourself in. he’s done absolutely nothing wrong, but you feel like you’ve been stabbed through the heart, and it hurts. you feel like that little girl again, looking at her dad’s best friend and dreaming of stupid, idiotic love stories that would never come true because you’re just an idiot kid, and he’s the closest thing you have to an uncle.
it feels like a slap across the face reminding you that everything you’ve ever wanted is unattainable and laughable.
you hate yourself for feeling so fucking selfish and self-pitying when nothing happened, when he didn’t do a thing wrong.
you suppose you can’t control how you feel about it. you’ve never been able to control how you feel about him, otherwise you wouldn’t be in this position right now, feeling like your heart is being ripped out of your chest, tossed to the floor, and stomped on. feeling like your family is falling apart, like you’re about to lose everyone who has ever loved you. feeling like your relationship is always going to be haunted by demons in one way or another.
if you could control it, maybe you’d be standing here with a nice boy your age that your parents, and your uncle, approve of. someone you’ve never had to worry so much about whether or not you could make a life together, whether or not he loves you the way you love him.
if you could control it, maybe you’d be standing here with that boy with a ring on your finger, your heart overjoyed at the prospect of getting married instead of feeling like your whole life is crumbling.
your mind stops.
how dare you think such things when the man you love is here with you, standing next to you on some random hill, having travelled thousands of miles from home all to make you happy?
what the fuck is wrong with you?
“you know, I thought you’d want to take a bunch of pictures of the view up here,” he says after a few minutes of silence, knocking you out of your haze.
“oh, yeah, just… trying to enjoy the moment,” you reply, still intently staring out at the city below.
you love Bucky more than anything and you always have. you wouldn’t give up this, give up him, for the world, even if it did mean things were easier for the both of you. being with him is more than worth all the pain and uncertainty.
you just hope he feels the same once what you now consider to be the future soon becomes the present.
~~~
when you get back to the hotel, he does exactly as he said he would, sitting you down on the countertop in the bathroom and tending to your knee.
your throat nearly closes up with the memories that come with it. all the times he used to sit you down and clean your knees and elbows you scraped while running around at the park when you were a kid.
there’s something disgustingly wrong with the both of you, you think.
“Bucky?” you murmur, your voice coming out as though you hadn’t fully thought through whether you should ask before speaking.
“what’s up?” he asks casually, unaware of everything going on in your mind at the moment.
you shouldn’t do this. you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t…
“you still have the, um… the stupid bracelet?” you question. it’s truly a bad idea, you know it is, to reminisce on the past.
except there’s something about the fact that things have felt so much more normal recently, so much more like the friendship you used to have before last summer. it hasn’t felt this normal with him in so long.
neither of you deserve to feel normal with the grave sin you’re committing simply by being together.
and yet you crave it, crave the synergy of what you had before in conjunction with the sex and romance the two of you have now.
you suppose you’re finally getting to have both, yet only now while you’re thousands of miles from home. thousands of miles from reality, from the life you have waiting for you when you return, a life where you don’t know if you’ll be able to have both.
“sure do,” he says curtly, and you know that he’s picking up on exactly what you’re thinking. “and don’t… don’t call it stupid.”
the tenderness in his voice is all too apparent to the both of you.
“told you I did, didn’t I?” he continues, clearing his throat and forcing himself to sound more casual as he finishes bandaging your knee and washing his hands in the sink.
“yeah, just… just wanted to check,” you excuse.
the tension in the room is thick, like an inescapable humidity in the dead of summer.
neither of you dare say another word on the matter.
his hands find your hips as he pushes his way in between your legs, spreading them enough for him to stand in front of you and fit his figure against yours just perfectly. your forehead rests itself on his chest and you let out a sigh of contemplation as he holds you against him.
“made us dinner reservations for tonight,” he tells you, bringing flesh fingers to the back of your neck and gently massaging your skin. “you’re the local here. got any ideas for what to do before then?”
you pull back just enough to look up at him and meet his gaze. “how many days are you in town for?”
“a couple more, at least.”
“sightseeing can wait, then,” you whisper, bringing both your hands to his hair and dragging his face in close to yours before kissing him.
it’s an intense feeling as he kisses you slowly, deeply. the both of you so infatuated with one another, clearly both tired of everything and everyone telling you that this is wrong.
it can’t be wrong. not when you love him, not when he loves you.
you hope he loves you.
“I–” you begin as you pull away, but you manage to stop yourself before the words come out.
“what is it?” he questions, voice raspy.
“I– I want to be on top,” you recover, the first words you think of to backtrack and throw him off the scent that you’re still thinking too deeply. still thinking about what the hell is going to happen in just a few short months to your relationship, to both of your lives.
he hums in agreement as his lips find yours once more, arms wrapping themselves around you as he lifts you from your seat on the marble and moving the both of you to the massive bed in the other room.
you both move slowly but with a clear goal in mind, stripping clothes off one another until you’re finally skin to skin once more.
he doesn’t let you stray away from him as you slowly rock your hips back and forth against his, his hands gently cupping your breasts as his mouth goes back and forth biting and tugging at each of your nipples. your moans continue to softly fall from your throat as you move over him, your mind overwhelmed with the heat of the moment and the heavy thoughts that still weigh on your mind.
“Bucky,” you whisper, unable to help the concerns that keep bubbling up in your mind. “Bucky?”
“what’s wrong?” he utters back, his lips finding yours and brushing against each other as you speak again.
“Bucky, please,” you try, to his concern.
“what’s wrong, kid? you okay?”
another particularly deep thrust of his hips against yours causes another moan to escape your throat before you finally find your words.
“do you love me?” you ask. your voice is so low that if you weren’t directly in front of him, the words would fade away into the space between you, likely to be misunderstood and forgotten forever.
his hands span from your chest to your waist then, gripping you firmly.
“of course I love you,” he assures you, his own tone of voice gentler than you think you’ve ever heard it before. “you don’t ever need to doubt that. you understand me?”
you’re helpless to stop the way your eyes begin to heat up, the way tears begin to prick at your eyes.
“Bucky, please,” you whine, years of your self-hatred and self-denial bubbling up in this moment. you should stop, need to stop speaking before you humiliate yourself further.
you can’t.
“please, Bucky. please? I need– I need you to love me, I–”
“fuck,” he utters, scared by the sight of your tears falling down your face, accompanied by the soft sounds of your beautiful whimpers turning into pained cries. you can feel the way he tries to still your hips to stop you, and you immediately begin to protest.
“no, don’t stop, just… just tell me you love me. please,” you whisper.
he listens like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, the only thing he can do.
“I love you, more than you’ll ever know, baby. I mean that,” he whispers back, your name passing his lips as he repeats, “I love you.”
since you were a kid, you’ve always relied on him, always needed him in some way or other. you’ve always trusted him with your life and with your secrets, trusted him to keep you safe, because that’s what you needed from him.
but this? him loving you, showing you this kind of love and attention?
this is all you’ve ever wanted from him.
you need to know that he loves you with everything in him, because otherwise, you’re going to lose him. if he doesn’t love you like you love him, then there’s nothing worth fighting for, and he’ll let you go in favor of pushing you towards the life he thinks you should live.
but if he loves you the way you need him to, he won’t let you go for anything.
that’s the only way your relationship will survive.
“I love you, Bucky,” you whisper, your movements growing more erratic and desperate as you crave your impending release.
“come on, go ahead. I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I fucking love you, so much.”
as your orgasm crashes over you, your tears falling harder as you cry out his name into the room, you just pray that he means it with his whole heart.
~~~
your dinner that evening is beautiful.
the reservations had to have been made weeks ago, you’re sure, one of the higher-end restaurants in the area that you’re sure has earned at least one or two Michelin stars. you sip champagne that’s older than you and order from a prix fixe menu.
red rose petals adorn the white tablecloth over the table, an assortment of fake candles set as the centerpiece between each of the two place settings.
the lighting in the corner you’re seated at is dim, each of his facial features looking far sharper and more defined in the favorable lighting. he’s slicked his hair back and wears a black suit you didn’t even know he owned. his arms barely fit in the jacket, the seams struggling against the thick muscle of his biceps.
you love the typical rugged look he sports, but he looks so fucking hot like this.
it was a struggle not to jump him once again before leaving the hotel to make your reservation on time.
who knew that your suburban, laid-back, loves-to-get-his-hands-dirty Bucky would fit in so well at a place like this?
maybe he has more surprises up his sleeve than you realize.
“knowing you, I’d have thought our dinner reservations would have been at some place like Olive Garden,” you tease as you sip from your flute of champagne.
“you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” he asks, but dons a smile of his own. “nah, I thought you’d like something like this.”
“I do,” you affirm. “thank you, Bucky.”
“you don’t gotta thank me for nothing. just eat your food,” he jokes.
~~~
you find yourselves inside a Taco Bell an hour later.
“next time I try to do something fancy like that, I’ll consult with you first,” he laughs as you both eat your combo meals.
“maybe just consult the menu first,” you suggest. “but I appreciate the gesture.”
if everyone else is staring at the both of you for being dressed up so fancy, neither of you even realize it. it’s unfortunate that your high-end dinner was a bust, but at least the food at the establishment you’re currently sitting in is far more appetizing.
“you ever think,” you begin with a mouth full of food, “that you’d let me peg you?”
“what, you think I haven’t tried it before?” he replies, completely unfazed by your question.
you’re completely taken aback, the element of surprise you’d hoped to spring on him being turned back on you.
“seriously?” you ask him, the word coming out high and squeaky, but you’re too focused on his answer to care.
“fucking Christ, of course I’m not serious,” he tells you. “I thought you’d know when I’m messing with you by now, kid.”
oh. of course.
“jerk,” you fire back. “but, seriously. would you?”
“not if you paid me a million dollars,” he replies. “nice try, though.”
you continue staring him down, observing his expression as you chew, looking for any signs that might indicate he’s fibbing, maybe any nervousness surrounding the suggestion
nothing. he’s still unfazed.
you smirk to yourself. you know better, though. he’d do anything you asked him to, simply because it’s you.
“so, when are you actually leaving?” you inquire next.
“Tuesday. are you that desperate to get rid of me already, hmm?”
“no, just planning ahead. we have actual sightseeing to do, you know, sights other than the walls of your hotel room,” you inform him.
“good point. we can do it in front of the mirrors and the windows,” he retorts.
you kick his shin under the table.
“what the hell are you kicking me for?” he asks, unable to contain his laughter. “are you saying you don’t want me to fuck you?”
“would you keep your voice down?” you hiss before looking around to make sure no one overheard his vile words.
“of course you can show me around this fine city of yours,” he says, genuinely looking into your eyes. “I have to see what all the hype is about. figure out why you keep coming back.”
“it’s cool,” is all you can think of to say. “I want you to like it here. I do.”
“well, maybe if we lived out in the valley, you know. coming in to the city on weekends for whatever fun plans you dream up,” he suggests, ever so casually.
and you freeze.
moving here? no, you’d given up on your dream to stay here after graduation when you and Bucky started sleeping together early last summer.
choosing to attend university here had only been a desperate attempt to get away from him, to create a life of your own where your feelings for him wouldn’t rule your life anymore. you hadn’t planned on loving the city as much as you do.
but you’d completely eliminated the possibility of moving here permanently when Bucky suddenly started showing interest in you, even when it was nothing more than shameless sex. no way in hell were you going to give that up once it had been offered to you, once it became something you actually got to have.
getting into a relationship only solidified the fact that you wouldn’t stay here any longer than you had to.
so why is he talking like it’s something he’s actively thought about?
now isn’t the time to delve into it, you think. that’s a conversation better left for another day.
“so, in front of the windows, you think?”
~~~
the thought stays with you that night as he touches you, as he holds you afterwards. it stays with you over the course of the next few days as you ignore all your responsibilities in favor of spending every waking moment you have with him before he leaves.
part of you thinks it’s a bad idea. you’d only be stirring the pot with your parents when they find out Bucky is moving here, that you’re moving in together.
you’ll be in the same situation if you move back home and move in with him, anyways.
there’s truly no right answer here, you don’t think. that’s simply the curse of your relationship; it’ll never be perfect, never quite work out as easily as it would for any other normal couple.
maybe, if he did move here, it would at least be easier than the alternative. you’d get to have a fresh start, in a way. you’ll have a better chance at finding a job, and it’s a huge city. there’s no way Bucky couldn’t find one, too.
when it first came up the other night, it seemed like a fever dream. but the more you think about it, turn it over and over in your head, it seems more feasible. it seems more doable, more realistic.
you see the look in his eyes, the way he seems beside himself with joy the entirety of his trip, away from all the strings and weights holding him down back home. how he feels so much more carefree, as though his own doubts and concerns about your situation have dulled, that they don’t have as much of a hold on your relationship here.
maybe it’s possible. maybe there is a future for you where you can have everything you want, where you can have your cake and eat it, too.
the future suddenly seems so much more hopeful.
~~~
as it always does, the day comes when it’s time for you to part once again.
“thank you for everything, Bucky,” you whisper into his ear as you hug him one last time. “really, this… this meant the world to me. it does mean the world to me, I mean. that you came all this way just for me.”
“kid, you know I’d move heaven and earth for you,” he says, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “you hear me?”
you nod, his hands both pressed against the sides of your head as he stares into your gaze to make sure you’re getting the message.
“good. I love you, yeah?”
you nod again, trying to stop the tears from falling.
“I love you, too,” you reply. “I’m going to miss you.”
“don’t you worry. I’ll be here for your graduation real soon. the time will fly by, yeah?”
yet again, you nod.
“good girl,” he whispers before pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “love you.”
“love you too,” you mutter as he steps back, watching as he opens the door to the taxicab waiting for him.
“call me when you get to the gate,” you tell him just before the door shuts.
you give him one last wave as the car begins moving, the car driving off into the distance and taking him away from you once again.
a deep breath in, and out. another.
you’re going to be okay, you tell yourself. the world isn’t ending; there’s hope for you yet.
because Bucky loves you, and you believe him.
that’s what will get you through the next few months and the rain of hellfire that’s likely to follow.
✦ masterlist ~ next part ✦
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