so intrigued by this one! the boys are so good at manipulating. at making everything seem okay when it certainly is not, and they are up to no good. I love the aspect of Simon being the devil on Johnny's shoulder, telling him what to do, getting him deeper into the obsession (which is kinda how I perceive it anyway).
The obsession. The unease. The worry. So so good!!
The Pit
COD masterlist
Part 1/2
Ghost/Soap/female reader
6.3k words - AO3
Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.
Winter in the mountains can be cruel.Â
This is something youâve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knifeâs edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable.Â
Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.
There are predators who thrive.Â
âYou closinâ?â Your coworker, the new one, asks from where sheâs settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles.Â
âI am.â She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. Itâs snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top.Â
âYou still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?â You nod.Â
âYeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.âÂ
âFall River? Is that even open right now?â Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one heâs been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.
âIt is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And itâs Friday. Iâm not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.â You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. âIâve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.â Andy snorts.Â
âLike you havenât been gettinâ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.â You nod. Heâs not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like âokay thanks for the concern, weâre done nowâ and he sighs. âWell, drive safe.âÂ
Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. Itâs closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights.Â
Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. Thereâs another road. A less maintained option, but⊠youâll be fine. Youâve driven in worse.Â
The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. Youâve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one.Â
Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind.Â
An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that youâve now realized youâre the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. Youâve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, youâre pretty sure, although you canât be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.
Still, wonât hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded.Â
You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. Itâs not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area.Â
Youâre so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, itâs far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling.Â
Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driverâs window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like youâre still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body.Â
It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm.Â
Youâre going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you donât have service, by the time they find you, itâll be too late. Youâll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and-Â
You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath.Â
You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment.Â
Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, youâd think it was too bright. Youâd say it was blinding.Â
But you canât formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind.Â
Sleep.Â
Youâre drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if itâs slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.
There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain thatâs followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes wonât open. Your mouth wonât work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that canât quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. Youâre drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one thatâs infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.
You try to call for help, but you canât.
You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.
Youâre dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or youâre already dead.
Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, youâd think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel.Â
Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.
Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-
You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?
Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.
The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing youâre tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.
Youâre also awake long enough to truly experience the pain youâre in.
One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.
Thatâs when you see him.
A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.
âShhh. Weâre not goinâ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye wouldâve died out there.â He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident⊠memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. Heâs pretty. âCan ye follow my finger?â He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. âI know, I know.â Thereâs a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You canât even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. âGood love. Well done.â You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing youâve ever seen.
âThose bones need setting.â He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.
âMaybe tomorrow. Iâm still worried about the concussion.â His thumb cards across your brow.
âItâs been three days, Johnny. Canât put it off too much longer.â Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? Youâre starting to fade, trying to focus on what theyâre saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until youâre losing the battle to sleep.
It's snowing.
You donât have to see to know. Thereâs something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains⊠your mind.
You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. Itâs what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.
This snow feels different. It doesnât feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare⊠one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? Whatâs happened?Â
And why do you hurt so fucking bad?Â
âYouâre awake.â A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadnât as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. âEasy.â He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize itâs the brown eyed man, the bigger one. Heâs sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.
âWhere⊠am I?â You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile thatâs racing up your throat.
âAre you going to be sick?â He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. âTell me.â
âN-no, I donât-â You canât even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and heâs springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.
âItâs alright, thatâs it.â A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.
âNnrgh-â
âI know, I know. Poor thing.â He coos, and it sounds⊠endearing, so sweet yet⊠frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.
Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.
âHurts.â He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. âIt hurts.â
âI know it does, sweet girl, I know. Weâre going to fix it.â A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.
âPoor baby. Were ye sick again?â Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after youâve had a few sips with a gentle ânot too much.â
âWho are you?â The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if itâs well water, maybe?
âIâm Johnny.â Heâs setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you canât turn your head to look, and canât quite catch it from your peripheral. âAnâ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callinâ him that quite yet.â Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why canât you remember?Â
âWhat happened.â You try again, gritting your teeth.
âYe had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Yeâre lucky the one didnae impale ye.â Impale?
âAnd you found me?â You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?
âAye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.â Home?
âYou donât have to worry.â Simon, the bigger one, tells you. âWeâre going to take care of you.â Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.
âI donât⊠why-â
âStorm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.â You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess youâre lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.
âThank⊠thank you.â Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This⊠this is not normal? Are Scottish people just⊠more affectionate?Â
âWant ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.â What?
âDo what?â Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. Heâs got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?
âBite down on this, precious.â Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.
âDo what?â You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.
âYour femur is broken.â A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. âAnd I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.â
Oh. Oh no.Â
âN-no, no, you⊠you ca-canât.â You stutter. They canât. A doctor should be doing that, shouldnât they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong⊠intimate in a way that makes you shiver. âPlease. Please, please⊠donât-â
âItâs alright.â He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you yeâll be alright, that yeâre with them now, and theyâll take such good care of ye.Â
âTake a deep breath.â Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.
âYeâll probably pass out, bonnie. Weâll get the second one done while yeâre down, and I already gave ye somethinâ for the pain.â He assures, like itâs supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simonâs grip.Â
This canât be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-
Thereâs a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw itâs way out of your throat. You think youâre crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-
âWeâre sorry, weâre sorry.â Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.
You sleep and wake in a haze.
You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.
You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.
You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, itâs lovely. Itâs comforting. Even when youâre rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.
You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. Youâre too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then thereâs a void of emptiness around you.
You sleep.
You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something thatâs consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.
You sleep.
You wake. Theyâre there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.
âHey there, dove.â Johnny whispers, smiling. Itâs a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. âMade ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethinâ?â Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. âYe need to eat. Been givinâ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.â
âI- I donât understand.â You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.
âYouâve been in and out consciousness for the last week.â Simon explains, and your eyes widen.
âWhat?â Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.
âWe had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.â
âYou⊠you drugged me?â You stammer, and Simon smiles, but itâs not sweet like Johnnyâs. Itâs severe. Itâs dangerous.
âSoft calluses form around fractures, after theyâve been set.â He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. âYour breaks arenât in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.â
âYe willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but weâll help ye.â Johnny assures. âWeâll be here for ye, as ye get better.â The words donât compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:
âWhereâs my phone?â Thereâs a flash of discontent in Johnnyâs features, but itâs quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.
âI imagine itâs somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We werenât exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.â Simonâs hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all⊠as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down.Â
StillâŠÂ
Didnât Johnny kiss you?Â
The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.
The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnnyâs face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. âI canât.â You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.
âAlright, ye did good.â Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.
âTired?â Simonâs already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. âYou should rest.â Youâre too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.
You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.
Youâre content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.
âSh-sh-shhh.â Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. Itâs strange, like youâre exposed, half floating like youâre high, and half spiraling through your pain.
âItâs okay, weâve got you.â Theyâre repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. âJusâ need to get you clean.â Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. Youâre naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.
Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.
âDo ye like that?â Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. âDoes that feel good?â Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simonâs jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.
Youâre naked. Theyâre fully clothed.Â
âWeâre goinâ clean this up a bit.â Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?
âMy⊠my-â you canât even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.
âYour hair.â Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel thatâs been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. âIf youâre a good girl for us,â Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnnyâs palm, âweâll give you a treat afterwards. Howâs that sound?â
âA treat?â Â You squeak, and then whimper, Johnnyâs fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.
âYeâre alright.â He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. âItâs natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.â He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones.Â
âPleaseâŠâ you whisper, but youâre not sure what youâre asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize whatâs happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream thatâs lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.
âI- I donât want you to⊠shave me.â You whisper. You donât want them to touch youâŠÂ there, and the panic thatâs pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.
âWe have to take care of you, sweet girl.â Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. âIt will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.â He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. âStay nice and still for us.â They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain thatâs radiating from your broken bones. Itâs been so, so long since youâve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didnât want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. âAlmost done.â Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. âI know, I know. Youâre beinâ so good. Such a good girl.â Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. Youâre paralyzed, helpless, and yetâŠÂ soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.
âI think ye need some relief, dove.â Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. âPoor thing is so swollen, Si.â
âDo you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?â Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.
Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.
All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnnyâs shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience.Â
âWill ye show me how?â Heâs eager, and you frown, confused.
âJohnnyâs never made a girl come before,â Simon tells you gently. âYouâll be his first.â Oh my god. âWill you help him? Tell him what feels good?â Your brain melts. You donât know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like heâs exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.
âShe likes that.â Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.
 âNice anâ slow at first, when youâre rubbinâ her clit. Feel how hard it is?â He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnnyâs head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. Itâs sweet, and affectionate, like theyâre the only ones in the room, in the world⊠and youâre intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like youâre a bystander. Or a doll. Itâs confusing, your brain trying to sort everything thatâs happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear thatâs nearly made you dizzy. âSee how her little hole is clenchinâ like that? Itâs âcause sheâs empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, sheâll get real tight.â He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. Theyâre pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.
âFuck.â You hiss.
âThatâs it.â Simon coaches. âAre you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?â You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldnât. Youâre trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until youâre drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.
You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them itâs too much, youâre too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnnyâs wrist and pulls his hand away.
âWe canât overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until sheâs healed up, hm?â He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that donât make sense.
What just happened?
You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. âWhat a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.â He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like youâre made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.
The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. Itâs dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You canât get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. Youâre overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then thereâs a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnnyâs, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.
âSweet dreams, little dove.â
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Unexpected
Pairing: Simon Riley x Female Reader
Words: 4000
Warnings: Pregnancy, secrets, probably a bit out of character
I wanted to write a pregnant!Reader fic so here we are... I haven't written in a long time and this is my first time writing a COD character! Any and all feedback is welcome đ€
Shout out to @babygirl-riley for helping me with this. Thank you!
âSimon?â your small voice echoes from the phone.
âYeah?â He answers, in his typical bored voice.
Only letting the phone ring once before answering. Obviously he wouldnât have answered if he wasnât available at the moment, but you never know.
âAre you⊠busy?â
Your voice is different⊠raising Simonâs curiosity. He could only think of a handful of times since he met you that you had ever even tried calling him without sending a text first to check if he was in at base or not.
âA little, why?â He doesnât mean to sound so gruff, but he does. He also wasnât necessarily busy, but he wasnât in the mood to chat with you. His day was especially shit today.
âI.. um well,â you hadnât had time to come up with what to say. âI am sorry for not telling you before now and if you wish that I would have never said anything⊠well Iâm sorry for that too.â Your words were rushed together, barely making any sense.
âJust spit it out will ya?â
You physically flinch from his rashness. Simon wasnât always this way, but the past few months it seemed he stayed irritated at you. Just the sensitivity of the subject was already difficult enough, paired with his attitude towards you. This was going to be a rough call.
âSorry..â your heart is beating so fast you are wondering if itâs making matters worse, âI just wanted to tell you-â
Pain shoots through you, what once was a small little reminder of the state your body was in began its first real shock of what was happening. You let out a gasp and small noise of discomfort.
That made him stand up from the chair he was sitting in and call your name over the phone. You almost missed it, the pain causing the phone to be pulled from your face.
âLove, what is it? Are you hurt?â Simon was actually worried now.
Once the pain subsides you huff a small laugh. âWell, kind of yeah but no Iâm okay.â
Simonâs brows pulled together at that, he was more confused than ever. Before waiting for a response he snagged his keys from his pants as his legs carried him to the parking lot at base.
âWhere are you?â He all but growled.
âNo, itâs okay, you donât need to come to me. Iâm okay,â you smiled to yourself. You had convinced yourself you could do this alone. Damn your weakness for even calling him to begin with. âI am about to head to the hospital.â
âWhat do you mean? Tell me where you are⊠Iâm on the way.â
You could hear the door to his truck slamming and the engine cutting on.
âYou may not want to once I say what I have to say,â you whispered.
âIâm pregnant.â
Simon felt his blood run cold. He didnât speak, just continued his way out of the base. Brain not keeping up with what was happening.
âI⊠have been pregnant. And the baby is coming. I- Our baby is coming Simon.â Your eyes squeezed shut with the confession.
Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears so loud you almost missed his response.
âWhere are you?â He actually growled this time.
âThe apartmentâŠâ you replied meekly.
You could feel another round of contractions starting up. You dropped to the floor and before allowing yourself to scream over the phone you dropped it to your lap, and road out the contraction.
Once the pain eased up some you heard your name being repeated from the speaker, his voice urgently asking for a response.
You picked back up the phone, âIâm sorryâŠâ you felt tears prickling your vision.
--------------------------------------------
You hadnât meant to keep it a secret. What started as something you happily found out turned into your best kept secret.
It was around the two year mark of you starting this relationship with Simon. You two had met and after many months of being friendly you had fallen for him first⊠it was quick for you to love him and you had fallen hard. Simon took a little more time to open up and things werenât always easy, but you loved each other thoroughly.
Simon was gone on a month long mission when you started noticing something was up. You were getting queasy from random things that never had upset your stomach before. That was your first clue to get a test, so without much thought when you ran to the store for some things for dinner after work, you grabbed a pregnancy test. You got home, started working on dinner, making one of Simonâs favorites as a surprise. He was coming back for a short while before heading off for another mission and he was due home any moment. Since he hadnât made it home yet so you figured you would bring the test into the bathroom and get it over with. Yet 5 minutes later the small white plastic showed you the truth - Positive.
You sat in your apartmentâs bathroom, looking at the little plus sign. Mind reeling, a thousands thoughts flying through your head. Were you ready to become a mom? How would Simon take the news? Does he even want to be a dad? How would you balance having a baby with Simonâs work schedule?
He had knocked at the door, shaking you from your thoughts.
âYou alright love?â He had been in your apartment for about 10 minutes, waiting for you to leave the bathroom attached to the bedroom.
You hadnât even noticed him coming into the apartment. Without much thought you grabbed the test, tossed it in the bin and quickly washed your hands before opening the door.
You grinned at him, âYes of course. Sorry!â
Your arms wrapped around him instinctively as a greeting, but his body tensed instead of attempting to hug back like he usually did. You withdrew with a questioning face.
âI missed you,â you tried to adjust your face into a small smile. âAre you okay?â You questioned.
âYeah.â Was all he offered, then he headed into the bathroom.
Your eyes widened and followed his back until he shut door behind him. Definitely must not have been a great day at work. Simon doesnât tell you much about what he does day to day, but you canât imagine any of it is easy on him.
So without asking again, or following after him you went back to making dinner. Now your thoughts were muddled of the thoughts of parenthood, and this baby. Your face couldnât help the small grin that popped up, a hand coming to gently rest on your stomach. By the end of cooking everything and getting plates ready you had decided you would tell Simon after dinner. Sure you only have taken the one pregnancy test, but you wanted to go ahead and give him the news. Thatâs when you realized he still hasnât came from the bedroom, that used to be just yours and slowly has turned into both of yours.
Now it was your turn to knock on the door to the bathroom.
âDinner is ready⊠I made one of your favorites to celebrate you being home.â You couldnât help the cheerful tone your voice held.
The door ripped open at that. His hair was still wet from his shower, he was dressed down in sweats and a black t-shirt. You smiled at him and reached a small hand out to him.
His eyes met yours for a moment before chancing a quick glance to your outstretched hand. âNot hungry.â
You were usually pretty receptive to his reactions and as much as it confused you, you dropped your hand back down to your side. âOh okay⊠well I will put it in the oven to keep warm until you are,â you suggested. Your stomach was rolling, for many reasons. The news of the pregnancy, the actual sickness the pregnancy was bringing you and how Simon was acting had your nerves on edge.
âYou go ahead,â his eyes didnât quite meet yours âThe crew and I have a lot to debrief on⊠we leave on the next mission in a few days. I think Iâm going to head back to base for the night,â he bluntly stated. He gently walked past you into the room, collecting items into his duffel bag.
âWell I made dinner especially for you, I hoped we could enjoy it tog-â
âI said I wasnât hungry.â He didnât yell, but he definitely spoke louder to you than he typically did.
You couldnât help the small breath of air you took in, and he rolled his eyes at that. âPlease,â he said your name with a sigh. âI am not in the mood for this.â
âOkay,â you whispered. Eyes welling up with tears, but before they could fall in front of him, you turned to head back into the kitchen.
You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes before they could fall as you made your way into the kitchen. You grabbed the food you had spent the last hour or so working on and dumped it into the trash. You flung the pot into the sink before reaching for the next dish to toss.
âWhat are you doing?â Simon grasped your arm before you could throw away the main entrĂ©e.
âIâm throwing out the food. What does it look like??â You couldnât help the angry tone your voice took on. âI made all of this for you. And you donât want it, so Iâm getting rid of it.â
âItâs not that I donât want it⊠I just-â
âYou arenât hungry,â You cut him off. âI get it.â Using your free hand to wipe a stray tear that was threatening to fall.
His eyes softened and he released your arm. âIâm sorry⊠yeah? You know I hate when I get back then immediately have to leave again.â Simon tried to comfort you, but it was too late. âI probably should have just stayed at the base as is⊠I just have a lot on my plate.â
âYeah I got it,â you coldly replied as you sat the now cold entrĂ©e onto the counter. To know you spent all day thinking of things to make his day back special⊠and to hear him wish he wouldnât have even came. Just breaks your will. You then felt tired to your bones, unwilling to argue as you decided to call it a night. As you head to your bedroom, over your shoulder you said âTell the boys I said hi.â
--------------------------------------------
That was the last time you had seen Simon in person. A little over 7 months ago since he had stepped foot into your apartment. You had given him the silent treatment for a while. Well, if he would have had access to a phone you would have definitely given him the silent treatment.
He was gone with no way to contact him. Which you didnât mind, initially. It had been a few weeks since Simon had left and since you found out about the pregnancy. Things were beginning to catch up and take a toll on you. From the physical aspects of being pregnant, to you being lonely with Simon being gone for so long, and work was awful. Your stomach was starting to grow, everyone around you noticing the baby bump but you never acknowledged it. You hadnât even gotten to break the news to Simon, it didnât feel fair to talk about the baby to random co-workers. A few doctors appointments had come and gone, confirming the pregnancy. You had decided to not find out the sex of the baby or really even look at the screen during the sonogram appointment. Just letting the doctor check on the babyâs health, that was all that mattered to you.
Itâs the middle of the night, your bladder waking you. You got up and made your way to the bathroom to relieve yourself. Once you were back in bed under the covers you felt sleep pulling you back in but before you could fall asleep your phone started to vibrate.
Incoming call from an unknown number. Simon
You were thinking about not answering but you decided to pick up the phone anyway.
âHelloâŠâ you answered quietly.
âSweetheart,â Simon sighs âIâm sorry to be calling you so late. I finally had access to a phone and I, well⊠missed you.â
Your lip was pulled between your teeth. You were feeling all kinds of emotions. You wanted to still be upset with him, but at this point you couldnât even feel anything except the loneliness of life without him here.
âI miss you too,â you responded as you adjusted yourself in bed to sit up right.
âFuck love, missed your voice.â He is talking low, probably just barely out of earshot from the guys. âHate leaving how I did, and going this long from ya.â
âWas pretty bad Si,â you spoke honestly. âDonât get me wrong⊠I know your job is insanely difficult and hard on you. I just wish sometimes you would think about what it does to me too.â
Simon sighs again, âI know⊠I just⊠Iâm trying.â
And he was trying, he made that obvious to you. His communication was better than it was in the beginning. Simon is a very closed off man, and he has let you in more than he ever told himself he would allow another person in. You just have that way about you, and it drives him crazy in the best way.
âI wish I was calling with better news, it looks like itâll be a while before Iâm able to come back.â
âWhat is âa whileâ?â You whisper back, suddenly feeling choked up. He had already been gone for longer than usual.
âPrice is thinking a couple weeks here, but we have some new intel⊠may keep us busy for the next couple of months, love.â Simon hated breaking this to you after staying away so long. Being with him was insanely unfair to you, but you had convinced him this was the life you wanted. You wanted him.
âOkay.â You had tears falling freely now. And you brought a hand to rest on your tummy.
âI have something to tell you,â you started.
âHang on sweetheart.â He interrupted. You heard commotion on the other end of the phone. Then Simonâs voice was back, âIâm sorry, I have to go. When Iâm back at base Iâll be able to text ya, yeah?â
âOh⊠okay. Yeah.â You gave yourself a sad smile. âI love you. Stay safe.â As much as Simon needed to know about the baby⊠how wasnât the time.
âAlways.â And with that he hung up.
That was the last time you attempted to bring up the baby to him. You realized that Simon was going through a lot and you just could never figure out the best way to say it.
He did text you here and there, letting you know he was okay. Simon let you know when they were back at base a few days ago, with an excuse as to why he couldnât come to your apartment. You wish that you could recall the reason, but it just seemed like maybe he didnât want to come home to you. Simon just hadnât been able to make the time to come see you⊠Until now.
Simon stood in the doorway watching your frantic form gather things from around the apartment. Shoving some things into a bag, before disappearing and returning with a baby bag that seemed to be full. Thatâs when your eyes connected. You felt your eyes well up with tears, oh how you missed him.
âSimon,â your lips trembling with emotion.
He honestly couldnât place what he was feeling. Seeing you for the first time in months, and here you were, a few feet away with a hand on your pregnant belly⊠Belly holding /his/ child. A child he would have never known existed if you didnât bravely call him moments ago.
He ripped the balaclava off his head, showing you the true emotion of his face. One of the downsides of always wearing a mask, he canât regulate his face well.
âSweetheart,â Simonâs voice was almost unrecognizable. âIâm here⊠what do you need?â
You let a tear fall down your cheek and smiled. âIâm so happy youâre here.â You took the few steps left between you and reached in to hug him.
Although at the last moment you hesitated, unsure if he wanted the contact. Instead you let your hands awkwardly fall to your sides.
Simon had never been so upset with himself. Watching you want nothing more than to hug him but withdrawing from him. You were always overly cautious of his needs, but had he ever shown you the same? You were pregnant with his child, yet you didnât want to tell him the news, always scared you were a bother to him. Has he made you feel this way? All this time away from you⊠for what? He could have made the time to check in on you.
âIâm glad Iâm here too, loveâŠâ his voice held a softness to it only held for you. His hand reaches out to brush softly against your arm. Softening you up to his presence. Unsure of what caused the next words to come out, Simon muttered âMay I?â His eyes met yours before he glanced at your stomach.
Your heart was racing, blood pounding in your ears. âOf course SiâŠâ and his hand immediately came to rest on your belly.
You let out a small gasp at the contact. Your hands gravitating to his ungloved hand resting on your protruding stomach. Stopping yourself an inch or two from making contact.
âCan you make me a promise?â Simon spoke softly, eyes meeting yours again.
âAnything, you know that,â you smiled at him.
âWhen you want to touch me, please just do it. When you want me to touch you, you tell me. If you have something you want to tell me⊠just say it. But especially when you need or want me here with you⊠you tell me love.â Simon felt the sensation of being choked up, he only hoped his voice didnât crack. âI love you and Iâm sorry I havenât been here for you,â he whispered. He kept one hand on your stomach while the other came to grasp your face. âI am so sorry.â
You couldnât even try to stop the tears from falling now. âItâs okay Simon⊠I am so glad you are here no-â another contraction began.
You grit your teeth, trying to remember the breathing you had practiced, but the pain was still there.
This is probably the biggest thing that Simon was not prepared for. Had he spent his life inflicting pain upon others? When needed, yes. How many people had he seen in distress and never felt one thing about it? Basically every time. Yet here he was watching you writhe in pain, wasnât something he handled well.
âJesus ChristâŠâ he grasped onto you. Keeping you upright. âLetâs get to the hospital, yeah?â
You didnât put up a fight, letting him help you to his truck. Before he could open the door you stopped him.
âWhatâs the matter?â He asked worriedly. âWe canâtâŠâ you took a deep breath before continuing. âWe canât drive the baby back in your truck. The car seat is in my car.â You avoided his eyes.
Simon felt a pang of something up his spine, similar to jealousy but close to disappointment in himself. You were completely and wholly ready to have this baby without him. He felt a huge sense of pride in you and your independence but he was also upset at himself for making you do all of this alone.
âAlright yeah, makes sense,â he kept his voice calm. Leading you to your car, asking for keys and guiding you in gently to the passenger side.
âIâm going to run backup for your things lovie⊠Iâll be back in a minute.â With that he was off and Simon was back in under the minute. Bags in hand, tossing them in the backseat before heading to the closest hospital.
Simon is as silent as ever. He was doing his best to drive safe, but he also had a huge sense of urgency to him. His mind couldnât slow down and allow him to catch up with what was happening. Thoughts clouding his mind and taking up all his capacity to think.
âIâm sorry..â you started again. Breaking him of his thoughts. God how long had he been silent? âI know youâre busy and I ha-â
âStop,â he said with a sigh.
Your eyes cut to him quickly, before returning to your lap.
âPlease stop saying sorry to me,â eyes cutting to you. âI am the one who is sorry and who should be begging for your forgiveness. I canât believe I havenât made you understand what you are to me. Iâm not upset about you not telling me, sweetheart. Iâm just sad you have been through all of this alone.â He let out a dry chuckle. His hand reached out for your stomach again. âI have done nothing in this life to deserve you.â He let out a wet chuckle, âbut fuck⊠am I glad youâre mine.â
You grinned between the tears. Your hand covered his easily now, without hesitation. The feeling of his warm hand softly brushing your stomach was something you had been longing for. âYou deserve more than me, but Iâm glad Iâm yours too.â You let out a small wink when his eyes let yours briefly before they were back on the road in front of him.
You felt another surge of pain shooting through you. The contractions n were definitely getting more frequent. You started your breathing again, this time squeezing his hand to help take your mind off it. Once the pain subsided some you could hear Simonâs voice sweetly talking you through it.
After a couple breaths, you steadied yourself. âI found out I was pregnant the day you left, ya know⊠before.â You admitted.
You heard his big inhale at the confession.
âThe night with the⊠dinner?â You arenât sure why you felt the need to clarify. It could have been a big moment to you and not to him, you suppose.
âFuckinâ hell babyâŠâ Simon sighed.
âI just wasnât sure where we stood,â you gulped. âI couldnât tell how you were feeling and I honestly donât even know if you like kids.â You let out a dry laugh. âI had this whole plan, god it was a halfway thought out plan. We would eat dinner, celebrate you being home and I would tell you the news.â You hadnât let go of his hand even as it fell to your lap. âBut with the way everything happened I just didnât know what to do or how to tell you⊠so I didnât.â You finished with a shrug.
âI like kids,â he admitted. âIn case youâre still wondering.â
You couldnât help but smile at him for what felt like the 20th time since he arrived at your apartment.
âAs for the rest⊠I donât know how to explain how I behaved that night. Of course if I knew⊠I wouldnât have acted like that. I shouldnât have treated you that way. Fuck whatâs wrong with me.â
âItâs okay,â you reassured him. âIâm glad you like kids.â
âChanging the subject, yeah?â You can hear his grin.
You turned a little to look at him better. âWe will get through this. Will probably have to have a few talks about everything but for now. Letâs get this baby out of me.â
You can see the lights of the hospital casting over his features as he pulls into the emergency lane. With one deep breath that you two seemed to share, âItâs go time Si.â
I hope you all enjoyed this! If you would like a part 2 of the hospital and then the aftermath... feel free to let me know in a comment!
Thank you for reading đ€
Part Two
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