He Might Not Be Your Man, But He Is The Right Man

he might not be your man, but he is the right man

simon “ghost” riley x married!reader (based off this reblog comment i got on my last oneshot)

tags/warnings: mdni, unprotected sex, breeding kink, spitting, infidelity (your marriage sucks), overstimulation, reader is plus-size

He Might Not Be Your Man, But He Is The Right Man

Your marriage isn’t the best.

You’ve fallen out of love with your husband—and he is a good man. As good as he can be, anyway. You’re not sure when the neglect from him started, but he hardly touches you anymore. A kiss and a cuddle here and there, but nothing more. It’s been about a year and a half since the two of you have slept together.

To say you are touch deprived is an understatement.

Maybe he didn’t like your body anymore—after three kids, you don’t look the same as you did when you got married. Stretch marks cover your apron belly, a scar on the skin from the c-section when you had your second child. Instead of a sharp jawline, your face is round and soft, the double chin a prominent reminder that you’ll never look how you did six years ago. Your thick thighs hold stretch marks and jiggle when you walk, and your ass—let’s just say it’s a handful.

Despite the weight gain, you like your body. Love is a strong word, but you like it. It housed your three kids for nine months, your kids that you adore with your entire heart.

But something is missing.

Simon is an old friend. Your oldest friend, actually. The two of you have been friends since high school when you skipped classes together to smoke joints in his car. For a while, you had a massive crush on the tall, gruffly Englishman, but it faded when he left for military service right out of school and you met your husband.

Still, the two of you wrote letters when he was away and saw each other every time he came back from deployment. He grew from a lanky kid to a strong adult and all the while never stopped being your friend.

Of course, you invite him to everything. The kids’ birthday parties, New Year’s parties, Halloween, Christmas. Simon doesn’t have a family, so in truth, you became his surrogate family. The kids think of him as an uncle and go into a frenzy every time they see him—“Uncle Simon’s here! D’you think he’d give me a piggyback ride?”

He watches you from afar—not that you notice. He sees the unhappiness in your posture when he’s with you and your husband, the lifeless sort of emptiness hollowed out behind your gaze, but he says nothing. He knows you’ll talk to him about it when you’re ready, as much as it pains him to see his best friend hurting.

However, Simon can’t help but feel like whisking you away from your dumbass husband and showing you what being wanted really feels like. He may not be who you’re with now, but he’s the right guy—the guy you should’ve married instead of your husband.

Tonight, you sat in his living room, the two of you meeting up for a weekly friend’s night. He got back from deployment a few days ago, and this is a ritual the two of you have every time he returned.

You sip on a glass of wine—your drink of choice, dressed in a pair of shorts and a top. When you’re with Simon, you don’t feel as hesitant at showing your body—thick thighs and arms, fabric clinging to your belly. He’s known you for too long to care.

“How’s the husband?” Simon asks, eyes flicking to your face. He never wears the mask around you—and you can see his scars that run along his skin, etched into his features forever.

You shrug, sighing, hesitating. “He’s fine.”

Simon tilts his head to the side, taking a swig of his beer. His eyes scan over your expression before trailing down your body. He shifts on the couch, one hand resting on his thick thigh, legs spread.

“You okay? We’ve been friends for fuckin’ ages, doll. I can tell when you’re hidin’ somethin’.”

Your eyes flick to his, trying to ignore the warm feeling in the bottom of your tummy. It’s stupid—a subtle hint of concern from another human being makes your stomach flip.

“My marriage is sort of…crumbling,” you murmur, one of your thick thighs hitting his as you adjust on the couch.

His brows pull together and he sets his beer down on the coffee table. “Elaborate.” He doesn’t need you to—he knows what you’re going to say.

You drain your wine and grip the stem of the glass. “He just doesn’t…love me anymore, I don’t think. Doesn’t touch me or have sex with me. It’s been almost two years, Simon. I’m going insane.”

“Have you thought of leaving him?” He probes, resisting the urge to reach over and squeeze your plushy thighs and stomach.

“Yeah, but…it’s complicated with the kids.”

“Kids deserve to be raised in a home where there’s love,” Simon simply states.

His words make you look into his eyes, and you can see an underlying emotion there that you’ve never seen before from him. His fingers twitch, and for a moment, you’re certain he’s going to touch you. The thought makes heat flare between your thighs, setting your neglected cunt on fire.

You set the glass down and look back at him, shaking your head. “Pretty sure he’s fucking someone else. Probably that young girl from his work—she’s thin and pretty and—”

Simon’s hand reaches over to grip your thigh, cutting off your sentence. Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes meet his again. His nostrils are flared, and he grips the fat of your thighs like you’re gonna vanish.

“You’re beautiful, doll. Always have been. A little more meat on your bones doesn’t mean you can’t get someone’s cock hard.”

His words stun you. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone call you beautiful in years—and it makes tears well in your eyes as you look at Simon. His eyes flick to your lips, and then his hand is on the back of your neck, tugging you to him.

Your lips meet his in a hungry kiss, lips moving together and tongues running along one another. He grips your waist and moves you like you weigh nothing, settling you on his wide lap. A fervent moan slips past your lips when his hard cock presses against your aching cunt, already soaked.

His big hand moves from the back of your neck to your ass, squeezing the flesh so hard, you’re sure it’ll bruise. His other hand runs down your side to slip under the hem of your shirt. His fingertips graze your stomach until they get to your chest, furiously working to tug the cups of your bra down.

“Get this off,” he mumbles against your lips, tugging your shirt over your head, his fingertips working at the clasp of your bra as soon as the shirt leaves his grip.

Your face flushes when he tosses the bra away, eyes drinking you in hungrily. His hands squeeze the flesh of your ass, a sharp slap echoing in the otherwise silent room when he spanks you. You whimper, and he chuckles before taking a nipple into his mouth and working it with his tongue.

Your back arches, a moan ripping past your lips as his tongue swirls over the neglected bud. Electricity jolts straight to your pussy, and it’s embarrassing to you that you’re already practically dripping for him and he’s barely touched you.

Your nails dig into his neck and he lets out a groan against your nipple before switching to the other side, tongue flicking quickly against the hardening peak. You hear a ripping sound and realize he’s ripped your shorts and panties clean off of you, and Simon grins against your skin as he tosses them to the floor.

His big hands spread your cheeks apart, one hand drifting between your legs to the apex of your thighs. He releases your nipple with a pop as his fingertips run through your soaked folds, the touch making you weak in the knees.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, love. Bet that shithead of a husband couldn’t get you as wet as me,” he murmurs against your skin, teeth nipping and biting up your chest as he speaks. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll show you how a real man should make you feel.”

His sentence is accentuated by a harsh suck on the skin of your neck, and your eyes roll back as you grind down on his hard cock. You want him so bad, it’s embarrassing, and you can’t help the whine when his tongue runs over the mark he just made and up your neck.

Simon pushes your back to the couch, his hips slotted between your legs as he kisses you again, hungry and needy. He’s dreamt of this for years—and he’s not going to waste his time now that he’s gotten it. The kiss is full of spit and tongues, him swallowing your moans as his fingers work at your clit.

Your legs jolt as he rubs in slow circles, back arching when he presses down a little harder. He smirks down at you, taking in your hooded eyes and open mouth, and he can’t help but use his other hand to grip your jaw. He holds your mouth open, letting his spit drip into your mouth before closing it for you.

Your eyes glaze over at the action, whining as you swallow and open your mouth again, almost like you’re ready for more. The sight alone makes his cock throb, and he slips two fingers into your neglected pussy.

The stretch is intense, but you welcome it as he fingers you, thumb rubbing your clit. His fingers curl and he grins as he feels you clench tightly around him.

“Gonna come already, love? That’s okay, go on. Got some making up to do, don’t I?”

The squelch of your pussy is lewd as he finger fucks you, the coil inside your tummy tightens as he stares into your eyes. His fingertips hold your head in place, making you look at him as he brings you to the edge.

Your back arches when you come, juices gushing from your throbbing cunt and onto Simon’s fingers. You whine nonsense, legs trembling as pleasure runs through you. Before you know what’s happening, your legs are over his shoulders and his fingers are replaced with his tongue.

Your hips jolt and you groan, trying to back away from him, but his large hands hold you in place. “Don’t fuckin’ run, sweetheart. You can take it.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair as his tongue swirls over your throbbing clit, your eyes fluttering shut as the painful pleasure he’s bringing you. He ruts his hips against the couch as he eats you out, one hand on your belly, the other on your hip.

“Simon,” you gasp out as his tongue flicks quick strokes across your clit, legs still trembling as you feel your second orgasm build quickly. “Ple…I can’t…”

“You can,” he mumbles against your clit before diving back in, sucking and licking like a man starved.

He doesn’t stop when you cry out and come the second time, or the third. After the fourth, he kisses up your body, tongue trailing over your sweaty skin. He leaves open-mouthed kisses on your neck before kissing you, gripping your waist and moving you to straddle him again.

His fingers work the zipper on his pants and he pulls his cock free, running his leaky tip along your wet, swollen folds. He breaks the kiss, staring into your eyes as he lines himself up with your pussy.

You slowly sink into his cock and you lean your head forward onto his shoulder, whimpering as he stretches and fills you up. His breathing is already ragged, soft moans filling your ears as you sit on him.

“Fuckin’ hell, love. This cunt was made for me, wasn’t it?” He murmurs against your ear, nipping at your earlobe as he grips your hips.

You don’t have to do any work—he knows you’re tired. All you have to do is lean against him while he fucks into you from below, his thick cock stretching your walls and his tip hitting the spongy spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

His hands spread your asscheeks apart as he ruts into you, the room filled with your moans and his breathy gasps. You never knew sex could feel this fucking good—it’s a new sensation to you.

“God, wanna fuck this pussy everyday,” Simon growls in your ear, one hand moving to your hair to tilt your head back. “Wanna fuck you in every position possible and fill you up till you’re pregnant with our baby.”

The thought makes your head spin, and you feel your breath stutter as your cunt clamps down around him. He grins against your ear, using the grip on your hair to tug your hair back and look into your eyes.

“Yeah, you want that? Want me to fuck a baby into you so you can leave that pathetic man and be with me?” He asks, and you can feel his cock twitch inside of you.

You nod, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes, Simon, f-fuck—”

His smile widens and he thrusts up into you faster, the slap of skin on skin growing louder. “I can do that, doll. Be a good little slut and take it for me, yeah?”

The look in his eyes—feral, protective, hungry—it’s enough to send you over the edge. Your pussy throbs around him and your vision goes white as your body shakes, screaming out Simon’s name as he continues to pound you through your orgasm.

“That’s it, fuck yeah, baby. Feels like heaven when you’re squeezin’ my cock like that,” he grunts out, thrusts becoming sloppier as he nears his orgasm. “Gonna fill this greedy cunt up.”

You gaze into his eyes, your own hooded and fucked out as you nod, whimpering out a “please” at his words. His lips crash into yours as he grunts and moans, hips stilling as he buries his thick cock inside you, throbbing as he spills ropes of cum inside your womb.

Simon pants in your ear, his fingers running up and down your back as he tries to collect himself. He grips your hips, cock still inside you, and you feel him smile.

“Gonna do that till your belly’s swollen with my baby, sweetheart.”

—————————————

see this oneshot’s companion here!

More Posts from Distinguishedsaladphantom and Others

Some Personal Obey Me Headcanons

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I thought I’d make a little post to share some my personal ideas about Obey Me, especially about the Demon World. I think about this game too much, probably. These are all just thoughts jumbling through my head so I’m sorry if they don’t make sense. If anyone is willing to send in some heaecanons of their own, feel free to! I don’t bite! If you don’t want spoilers don’t read ahead!

Keep reading

Yall know that joke about schlatt teaching ted how to jerk off?? That but schlatts teaching ted how to finger you/eat you out😊

Falling asleep in one of the House of Lamentation's common rooms can be a gamble. At best, somebody kindly carries you back to your room and tucks you in. Or maybe they leave you where you were, but drape a jacket or blanket over you.

Sometimes they go overboard, and you wake up with too many blankets. It's sweltering hot and excessively heavy. You thought the brothers were just being supportive in a weird way until Mammon accidentally revealed everyone is trying to break the record of 23 blankets and three duvets.

Sometimes you wake up with a full manicure and facial in progress. Asmo likes the practice.

Sometimes you wake up wearing Lucifer's reading glasses or Mammon's sunglasses. The Anti-Lucifer League must have thought you make a good hiding spot.

Sometimes you wake up with fresh food next to you. Particularly if you fell asleep near mealtime. The strong smell of Devildom cuisine rouses you awake, and you catch Beel trying to tip-toe away.

Sometimes you find... offerings. Bottled tea, or sticker sheets, or a coin placed on your cheek. Levi started taking pictures and in thanks decided to make a shrine dedicated to his idol (you).

Sometimes they draw on your face. The first person to do so will leave a marker for anyone else who happens to feel creative. You've woken up with whiskers, a mustache, fake eyes drawn over your eyelids, money signs drawn on your eyelids, swirls and hearts, a goatee, a big unibrow, and you're pretty sure the twins are the culprits behind a game of tic-tac-toe.

Sometimes you get notes. Simple reminders, or a notice that Lucifer's left the house so please make sure to check that everyone's behaving when you wake up. Occasionally you wake up completely covered in post-its with silly messages.

Sometimes you get kisses. They leave no trace, unless their sender gets carried away and sticks around.

Lmao They Deleted It
Lmao They Deleted It

Lmao they deleted it

I’ve seen a lot of crude jokes going around about the CEO assassination, and I just want to say one thing.

I think we should do worse.

Live reenactments on site. Several scheduled a day, like the shows at Disney parks. Someone brings brownies to pass around for the 10:30am showing. Everyone chants “DENY, DEFEND, DEPOSE” as the shots are being fired. People clap at the end. Someone pops one of those party poppers filled with monopoly money. The real Adjuster is in the crowd. People leave the place with a huge smile on their faces. “Sorry I was late, Boss. I was watching The Adjustment.”

also. Johnny is an accidental cockwarmer. he whines and goads you into letting him fuck you before bed every night because he cannae kip wi'oot fuckin' yer cunt. but it's always a bad decision because after rutting into like an animal, panting and groaning into your ear from being oversensitive and chafed (he'd fucked you three times already), when he does cum, he passes out. instantly. won't budge. won't wake.

and in the morning, when he does stir, well. why waste the opportunity, right? he's already buried inside of you, anyway.

Soap can't handle anything other than accidental cockwarming. he tries to have you keep him in your mouth while he watches a game, but ends up face-fucking you after a minute.

Gaz is a daddydom (without the daddy kink) and no one can convince me otherwise. but it's just about the caretaking. the affection. cradling you in his lap as he leans against the headboard, flipping through reruns of Golden Girls and spoon feeding you desert despite you protest because you're so full already, Gaz, you can't—

but of course you can. because Gaz wouldn't give you more than you can handle, right? he knows what's best for you. so sit pretty on his cock and be good for him, yeah?

(he might also be a lil bit of a mean!dom, too, but it's buried under so many layers of affection that you can barely notice it.)

Gaz, like Price, will keep himself inside of you any chance he gets.

and Simon is just mean. likes fucking you until you're oversensitive and raw and then stays tucked inside of you, tucking a smirk into your nape when you whine and squirm and beg him to just pull out already, it's too much.

he won't, of course. because he likes it when you cry yourself to sleep in a frazzled mess of overstimulation and sensitivity, still wrapped up nice and soft around his cock. likes fucking you through the night, too, while you whimper in your sleep, his come spilling out all over the sheets.

(fucking Simon is a razor's edge of pleasure and pain, and you better get used to the ache, the sting, because he's a big boy with an even bigger appetite and who wouldn't like having their little bird roosting on their lap?)

Simon is shoving you to your knees to keep him warm when the mood strikes him, which is usually whenever is most inconvenient to you.

Eternity and counting

Pt 4

(Pt1, Pt2, Pt3)

(Ragggggh!! Actually remembered to post on a Tuesday this time lol.)

Obey me! X Angel!MC (They/Them Pronouns)

TW: Suicide, depression, self-deprecation, death, big feelings, lots of sad.

MC just can't handle anything anymore and takes their own life. Imagine their dismay to find even death isn't the end for them.

~/\~

I catch a whiff of fresh lilies as I continue to the castle. Curious. The castle has always smelled like roses. They were never Lord Diavolo's favorite, but they reminded him of his mother. But the closer I get, the stronger the smell, until it finally comes into view. Bushes and vines covered top to bottom in every species of lily I've ever seen in the human realm run elegantly up the walkway, over the entrance, and across the windowsills. I can't help staring in awe as I approach the front doors, I've never seen the entryway so decorated, even for Diavolo's parties or festivals. I wonder what the occasion is.

Within thirty seconds of my knuckles connecting with the door, it's opened with a flourish. Barbatos grins that trained grin I learned to detest in my time here. Nobody ever understood how I did it, but I could always tell when Barbatos was simply smiling for his Lord's image and when he was smiling for his own enjoyment. Part of me was always nervous he could see the same in me, but if he ever noticed, he never brought it up.

"Welcome to The Demon Lord's Castle. Please, Come in." He bows, sweeping his arm to welcome me.

"Thank you." I nod, stepping inside the frame and to the side of the door. Before he can even close the door behind me, I'm offering him the paperwork I was tasked with bringing.

"Ah, actually, if you don't mind following me. Lord Diavolo has requested to meet you. When he heard that Michael was sending a new angel, he insisted on meeting you. I'm sure you know the importance of those papers. It is quite unlike Michael to entrust a task of this magnitude to an angel we've never even met." He explains as he leads me down the hall.

I nod. "Of course."

I shouldn't have nodded. Why would I agree to this? It was instinct, I'm sure. Babatos could ask me to follow him straight into wild seas and I would, without a second thought. And now I've agreed to follow him to my own torment.

He moves silently as he leads me upstairs and out onto the balcony. My heart squeezes itself shut as I see Lord Diavolo, leaning over the balcony to admire the flowers below. He doesn't turn to greet us immediately, but something about the sag in his shoulders and the tension in his knees begs me to hold his hand. Soothe his worried thoughts until he has no choice but to sleep it off and start anew the next day. Something must be horribly, horribly wrong with me.

But the feeling is fleeting as he turns to us, standing tall as ever with that cover photo smile.

"Ah! You must be Michael's new angel! He seems quite fond of you." He strides towards us, clasping my hand firmly in his own. "Though, I admit he never gave me your name."

He poses the question so simply, and I have to fight the gut instinct to answer him honestly. But it burns, bitter and angry in my stomach as I summon the name Michael had given me for the sake of my privacy in the Celestial realm.

"Well it's a pleasure to finally meet you." He nods, but his wording gives me pause.

"Finally?"

"Of course! Michael has brought you up nearly every time we've spoken in the last several months." He laughs. God that laugh. I've dreamt of it. It makes me wonder for a brief moment if the cloaking spell expresses my growing blush.

But I disregard the consideration for the thought of Michael and the absolute hell I'd be giving him when I return. He's been plotting this for months, that bastard.

"Well, I'm glad to hear he speaks so highly of me." I bow lightly, presenting the paperwork to him. He takes it quickly, tossing it onto the table next to him.

As I stand back up, I wonder what to do with the sudden silence.

"Well, It's been a pleasure to meet you." I grin, wings flicking quickly. A nervous habit I've picked up since sprouting them.

"Right! I'm sure you have some important business to attend to." He claps his hands together. "Give Michael my best." He turns back to the railing and Barbatos moves to usher me out. But before I go, a question was lingering in my mind. "If I may, why lilies? Michael always tells stories of your grand rose gardens."

The balcony grows cold with the fall of Diavolo's gaze. Something unsettling burrows itself in my skin, burning like ice in my mouth.

"Lilies were MC's favorite." He mumbles. Practically whispers it into the wind.

But the sound reaches me anyway, and despite the gentle tone, it feels like being punched through the chest. "What?" I heard him, he knows I did. And he's right. Lilies are my favorite. Always have been. But I ask the question anyway. Because I simply can't comprehend why that would matter. It's been over a year now, they should have gotten over it. And yet, here he is. Mourning, right in front of me.

Barbatos places a tentative hand on my shoulder, whispering to me. "MC was a dear friend of ours. They... passed, some time ago." There's a pitch in his voice I don't recognize. Regret?

"And so, we maintain the garden, to show to them when they are reborn." Diavolo adds, smiling softly at me over his shoulder.

Something in the view of it all chokes me. Like swallowing a cotton ball.

They're still waiting for me.

Are they all still waiting? Lord Diavolo is one thing, but the brothers? Do they expect me to come home? Do they want me to? Why would they want that? After all I've done.

Before I can even consider it, I feel the familiar warm slip of tears down my cheek. Emotions I haven't grappled with in some time burn in my throat, clawing at my vocal cords and squeezing my airway shut. I hate this. I hate this feeling so much my hands shake with it. I never should have come here. It's selfish to say, but I could have gone on not knowing this. Had I stayed in the Celestial realm, I could have gone on for eternity, selfishly unaware that I was still wanted.

I swipe pathetically at my tears, wings flicking as I straighten my posture. "I'm, uh, terribly sorry for your loss." It's barely above a whisper but I know they can hear it. "But I... I should be getting back now."

They can tell something is wrong, of course they can. But rather than stick around for questions, I take off, sprinting through the halls of the castle and out through the front door.

I'm running on instinct as I navigate the streets of the city. I don't remember where I'm going, all I know is I need to get there fast. I should just return to the courtyard and wait for Michael to send the portal back to get me. But something in the idea of going back to the celestial realm brings bile to my throat.

So I follow my subconscious blindly, feet slamming against pavement and heart nearly shaking with the effort of it all until I come to an abrupt stop. My eyes, bleary as they are, recognize the sight before me like I had last seen it yesterday. The House of Lamentation looms over me, glass eyes challenging me from within the gate. The elegant iron rods of the gate twist around themselves and each other like a den of snakes. And I feel the same warm comfort from them as I always have. I pointed out the striking serpentine similarities between this gate and himself to Levi once. He was offended at first, but was quickly struck dumb when I pointed out how much I liked snakes.

The urge to press the gate open burns like fire in my hand, but I know that if I do, I won't be able to go back. There's no way I'd leave on my own once granting myself entry, and there's no explanation for my presence if I'm caught.

But if I turn around now, I will never come back. Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

(UGHHHH I hope y'all are still enjoying!! As always, comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist)

-Your friend, The Author <3

*tags*

@spffldlbrnf @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @seraphlies @averageradstudent @sasa-mya @ayshela @miracl3d

Can't stop thinking about the brothers calling MC "master" since that new teaser trailer came out. The game is called "One Master to Rule Them All." It's always been called that. This massive potential has been right in front of our eyes the whole time.

Lucifer, who only uses it in private when he's feeling particularly devilish. He wraps his arms around you, looks you right in the eye, and asks, "how does my master feel today, hmm?"

Mammon, who has an empty wallet and the urge to gamble: "Maaaster! Can I borrow some cash? I can, right? I'm your first, after all. I'll just take it from your wallet."

Leviathan, who wants to go to an anime collab cafe but is too anxious to go alone, so he begs you: "Please! Master! It's only open this week and I just have to collect all 24 limited edition cafe coasters! It'll be easier if we go together!"

Satan, who catches you when you stumble and jokingly asks, "are you okay, master?" He likes seeing the little sparks of wrath in your eyes that mirror his own.

Asmodeus, who thinks the word is hot and enjoys your reaction when he comes to steal you away from other people by saying "hey! I need to speak with my master. I'll be borrowing them for a while. I'm sure you don't mind."

Beelzebub, who hungrily stares at the food in the fridge with your name on it. He knows he needs to butter you up to have any chance of success: "Hey master, are you gonna eat that?"

Belphegor, who uses it at the most unexpected times. He texts the group chat, "does anyone know where our master is? I can't find them." It sets off a long chain of messages. "Master's not in their bedroom?" "Master? Haven't seen 'em." "Did you try yelling 'master!' and seeing if they respond?" "I saw master getting something to drink about an hour ago." "Master, are you reading our messages? I know you are." "I can't believe master is ignoring us." Several crying emoji are sent in quick succession.

Solomon and Barbatos, who witness the brothers doing this on occasion. Solomon turns to the latter and says, "You never call me your master. Want to give it a try?"

Barbatos looks at him with barely repressed revulsion. "I only have one master, and that is the Young Master. If you ever make such a joke again I will have you tried in court for lese-majeste."

it's good for your mental health to have mutuals who are wildly horny about kinks which do nothing at all for you

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