#ly take it off of me for sure so

[kacievvbbbb]

I know this isn’t a particularly common characterization of them (at least not what I’ve seen) but I personally think of the two;

Shanks rarely gets restless, he’s the one more content to just bask in a moment, it may not be in silence but he’s comfortable just doing nothing with his crew. As long as there’s alcohol, a hammock and the people he loves, Shanks is straight.

Contrary to that Mihawk is always itching to do something, entertain himself in some way. If he’s not dueling/training, he’s gardening if it’s not that then he’s cooking or he’s reading and if nothing else will do then he naps. but he’s always trying to occupy his time with something.

I think a lot of people don’t notice it because it’s not the jittery hyperactivity that people associate with it. But Mihawk is restless, endlessly so. He’s in a never ending fight with his boredom but it’s all internal.(except when he decides to make it someone else’s problem ala Don Krieg)

Mihawk’s the type of dude to implode instead of explode so it makes sense that things like restlessness don’t really show themselves in an outwardly physical way. Instead it’s more of an internal pressure and incessant need to stave off boredom. But because of his preference for being alone and the fact that the activities he chooses aren’t ones usually associated with restlessness. It goes unnoticed.

Except by Shanks who’s always going out of his way to make the life of a pretty little birdie a litte more interesting.

[slimslamflimflam]

Wait if all the journal 3 pages were restored after Weirdmageddon why does Bill’s book insist there were still missing pages that just conveniently happened to pertain to his incredibly sad backstory and concepts brought up earlier in that same book

[plushie-lovey]

All of my top posts on mobile are about jellycat dragons rn lmao. I promise I'm not that obsessed guys. I'm normal I swear.

[rush-the-stars]

i actually really need tao silently pining after me as well also miserable and sick over it.

[mylove-thresher]

Gah 💔

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[dumners]

Going on a lore dive on uesp and getting Mad

The hyperfixation is So Back my guys

[elprupneerg]

i have now officially told my dad about my educational, financial, and medical situations. i have also now officially lied to my mom about those things. yippee

[popponn]

rin and his feeling about "rin's similarity to sae" is so interesting but confusing

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[alygator77]

just a little drabble for my current wip. arranged marriage with clanhead gojo.

warnings: mdni, smut, breeding kink, lots of breeding, praise, creampie, bit of angst.

arranged clanhead! satoru who still isn’t used to sharing his space, even after months of marriage. the grand Gojo estate, once his sanctuary, feels smaller with you in it—your scent lingering on the furniture, your soft hums echoing in the halls—not unpleasant, but… unfamiliar.

arranged clanhead! satoru who notices how your shampoo smells so sweet, clinging to his pillow. how your hair clogs his drain and it drives him fucking insane, yet he still finds himself instinctively reaching for your favorite brand of conditioner while he’s out, tucking it into his basket without a second thought. he doesn’t know why—it’s not like he cares… right?

arranged clanhead! satoru who steps into the kitchen late one evening to find you leaning against the counter. your hair falls in loose strands around your face, messy but still maddeningly pretty, and you sip tea from a mug—his favorite mug. you’re draped in one of his shirts, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh—your bare legs illuminated by the dim glow of the overhead light.

for a fleeting second, he freezes. you look… almost at home. he doesn’t want you to look at home. or does he? he shakes the thought away.

“couldn’t sleep?” he drawls, his eyes lingering on the curve of your legs. “or… were you waiting up for me? ‘cause I could really blow off some steam.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who emerges from the bathroom later that night, his snowy hair damp and tousled, a towel slung lazily over his broad shoulders. he’s wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants, the defined lines of his abdomen on full display as he rubs the towel through his hair, his gaze sliding over to you lying on the bed.

“ready for tonight?” he asks, tilting his head with that signature nonchalance, as though he isn’t about to fuck the hell out of you, as though his sole intention isn’t to fill you so full of his cum that there’s no question the Gojo Clan will get their heir.

arranged clanhead! satoru who pushes you into a mating press the moment he’s on top of you, his large hands gripping your thighs as he folds your legs back against your chest, pinning you beneath him. his cock slides against your slick folds before splitting you apart, and his breath shudders as your cunt swallows him greedily.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, panting through thrusts. “always so good f’me. always takin’ me so fucking well.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who hates himself for the shameful thrill that bubbles up within him, the sick satisfaction of watching you come undone beneath him. the way your pussy clenches around his dick, the way your gasps and moans echo in his ears, drives him to thrust harder, deeper, as though his very existence depends on filling you—which it does.

arranged clanhead! satoru who’s pace is merciless, hips slamming into you with an almost feral hunger. he tells himself it’s just biology, but deep down he knows better.

“good fucking girl…” he smirks, pushing your legs higher as you squirm beneath him—your nails digging into his arms, but the sting only spurs him on. “don’t worry sweetheart—haaa—this time, for sure, m'gonna breed that pretty pussy. gonna make you drip with my cum ‘til you can’t hold it all…”

arranged clanhead! satoru who watches your eyes roll back as his cock slams into you, the bed shaking beneath you as his focus narrows on the way your breasts bounce with every forceful thrust.

“you’re mine,” he groans, the words slipping out before he can stop them, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you—hot, thick ropes of cum painting your walls. his body trembles against yours as he buries himself to the hilt.

“fuuuck, take it…” he rasps, his forehead dropping to press against yours. “so fucking good f’me.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who doesn’t move for a long moment, his chest pressed to yours, his weight pinning you to the mattress. your breath mingles, warm and uneven, and for a fleeting second, he almost forgets why he’s here. why you’re here. but then reality creeps in, sharp and cold, and he pulls out slowly, watching as the mix of his cum and your slick drips onto the sheets.

arranged clanhead! satoru who remembers his duty as clanhead, as the leader of the Gojo Clan. like a good husband—like a good leader—he doesn’t waste a single drop. he shifts, his fingers dipping between your legs to scoop up the cum leaking from you.

“can’t let this go to waste, sweetheart,” he mutters as he pushes the thick mess back into you. his thumb presses against your clit, and he smirks when it earns a soft gasp from you—his fingers sliding deeper. he watches, transfixed, as his cum disappears inside you again, his cock giving a weak twitch at the sight.

arranged clanhead! satoru who rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling as his chest heaves with the effort of catching his breath. he doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t hold you, and you don’t reach for him. the silence afterward is louder than any moan you could make. he tries to ignore the ache in his chest, something he refuses to name.

arranged clanhead! satoru who lies awake long after you’ve drifted off, his arm slung over his eyes as he tries to ignore the ache in his chest. he won’t admit it—not to you, not to himself—but he’s starting to crave more than your body. he craves the softness in your voice when you call his name, the quiet way you laugh when you think he’s not listening.

but this is just obligation. just duty. just… fucking. right?

full fic in the works 🫶🏻 lmk if you wanna be tagged. update: it's out! read it HERE!

[plainclothesdisaster]

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-���

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[snail-day]

Poor Satoru doesn’t know what to do with himself when you get like this.

When you're too sleepy and too stressed to play with him, when your eyes are heavy and your voice is sharp, snapping out little “not now”s and “please, Satoru”s that sting far more than you'd ever intend. He knows it’s not about him. He knows. But still.

He stands there awkwardly at the edge of the bed, fingers twitching at his sides, his usual brightness dulled into something quiet and anxious. You’re lying on your stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow, body still and closed off in a way that tells him you’ve hit your limit.

But he still needs to touch you. He has to.

“Is... is two finger touch okay?” he asks, voice unusually soft. Baby blues raking your body.

You don’t answer, not really. Just make a tiny noise, more exhale than anything. But it’s not a no.

So he climbs into bed with a surprising amount of gentleness. No attempts at disturbing your peace. And then he reaches out, dragging just two slender fingers down the curve of your spine. Featherlight. Barely there. Up and down. Up and down. Sometimes he traces your sides, and when you twitch or tense, he’s quick to shush you, soft, pink lips brushing your shoulder.

“I’m not gonna do anything,” he murmurs. “Just touching. Just this.”

Eventually, when you don’t push him away, he lets out a quiet breath and shifts. Lays down beside you - not quite beside, really. More like on you, curling his long frame to fit your back like a blanket. His cheek finds home against your lower back, arms tucked in as he breathes you in.

“I love you,” he whispers into the silence. “Even when you’re crabby. Even when you’re too tired to look at me. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He stays like that, still and soft, waiting. Waiting until you’re ready to turn around. Until your hand reaches back to tangle in his tousled white hair. Until you mumble that you're sorry, or maybe just press your face into his chest without saying a word.

He’ll wait forever, if that’s what it takes.

Because sure, he doesn’t like it when you’re cranky. But loving you means being close even when you can’t meet him halfway. And if this is all you’ll let him have for now - two fingers and a cheek pressed to your back- then he’ll take it, gratefully.

Because that’s still you. And Satoru doesn’t know how to be without you.

[reignpage]

Doctor's Orders

Summary: in which you can now finally get the fucking from your husband, Nanami, you've been missing out on because of a stupid injury Warnings: smut, fluffy, a little angsty, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cunnilingus, cumplay, unfortunately has a little daddy kink, breeding kink to the max, pussy slapping, dumbification, praise, dirty talk, a little degradation, cum eating, some swearing, very loveydovey - sickeningly so, emotional near the end, not proofread Word Count: 3.1k

“Thank you, Doctor.

You hang up the phone, grinning ear to ear and practically vibrating with excitement. With haste, you run to your husband’s office, the door swinging and slamming. He doesn’t flinch nor look up from the stack of papers on his desk. If you didn't know him so well, you might have found that discouraging, a sign he's too busy for you. But your Kento could never possibly be too busy for his darling wife. 

“Sweetheart,” he begins, a little tired, you can tell, “before you start, I hope I won’t need to remind you once more that I will not let you anywhere near my cock until you’ve fully recovered.”

Slithering behind him, you wrap your arms around his shoulders like you’ve been doing every day and every night since your accident, hoping to make him change his mind. Kento smells clean; he always does. But that cleanliness, that natural scent of a man so disciplined, controlled, and patient, drives you insane. Perhaps that’s why, when you next speak, there’s a hint of crazy in your voice. “It’s great then, Kenny baby, that I’ve been given a clean bill of health, isn’t it?”

His pen clatters. 

Kento gulps. “You know how I feel about lying, darling.”

Your lips skim the shell of his ear, blowing on the sensitive spot there to watch him shiver and grip your wrists with firm hands.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Ken. Not about this. Call him yourself if you don’t believe me.”

And that’s how you find yourself sprawled on his desk, those boring sheets of paper scattered all over the floor. You’re giggling, head thrown back, when he rips your panties off, baring you to the cold air and his desperately observant eyes.

“Oh, God, you’re soaked.” Thumbing your clit just to watch it twitch, he marvels at the swollen lips of your sloppy cunt as if he’s seeing it for the first time. He’s got your legs spread, pushed far and wide to their limits so he can look at you — really look at you. “You're sure he told you you're all clear, yes?"

"Healthy as a horse, Kenny!"

He groans. The promise of all that the go-ahead brings is making his knees weak. "I’ve missed this. Her. You. Ah, fuck, I can’t wait anymore. Forgive me, my love.”

That’s all the warning you get before his mouth descends upon you. Immediately, loud slurping resounds. Your husband is feral, moaning and groaning at your scent, your taste, and your warmth. Everything overwhelms him, and he can’t seem to focus his sight because when you meet his eyes through his fogged glasses, they’re half-lidded and glossy. 

“Tastes so good, darling. I love the way you taste. So sweet. My sweet wife. So pretty for me.”

He’s mumbling, muttering, musing about anything and everything he’s seeing and feeling, and his narration sends jolts of lightning through your spine. Working two thick fingers inside your pussy, he attempts to soothe your pained whimpering with an especially eager suck of your clit. You whine even more, hands flying and pulling at his hair. 

“It’s alright, s-sweetheart. Kento’s got you. He’s sorry, so very sorry. B-but you need to be stretched out thoroughly, remember? It’s been too long so be good for me and take deep breaths, alright? There you go.”

You’re writhing on his desk, sending paperweights tumbling off the mahogany and onto the floor. Neither of you pay any mind to the thumping. “K-ken, more, stretch me out more, please! Want to take your cock soon. Need to.”

Fitting a third finger in, you tug at his hair harder, biting your lip to hold back the moan threatening to leave. Every time he scissors his fingers in, pushing your gummy walls to their limits, he curls those fingers against that gooey spot inside you. Always taking care of you even before his own needs. That very sentiment forces you over the edge, body tensing up, crying out his name. 

“Oh, I’ve missed that beautiful face you make when you cum. You’re gorgeous. So gorgeous. That’s it, sweetheart, ride my tongue, good girl. Hmm.”

Kento laps up every wave of cream you grace his mouth, muttering expressions of gratitude as he gulps all the drops he can, lips and chin soaked and shiny, and it still isn’t enough. “Do you think you have one more in you, darling? I-I don’t think I had my fill.”

Dazed, you can barely hear the pleadings he makes. He taps your cheek, spreading your wetness on your skin to wake you. Much is still left to be done, and he won't let you get in the way of your pleasures. You gasp. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, love. Oh, how terrible of me. I’m making a mess of my wife. Here, let me clean you up,” he says right before his tongue licks up the remnants of your juices. He groans and then laughs. “D-do you see what you’ve done to me? I told you I was fine, that I could push my needs away, but I'm starting to think I was lying. I think they might've gotten the best of me, actually.”

When he makes a move to sit back into his leather chair and continue tasting you, you grab his face and keep his focus on your own. “Ken, you’re shaking. Are you okay?”

He slumps over you, bent at an awkward angle, but he doesn’t seem to care. All sticky and sweaty, he suckles one breast through your —his— shirt and flicks the other nipple with his fingers, eyes fluttering shut at the melodic sounds of your moans. 

“Yes. Yes, sorry. I just — I can’t, ha fuck— S-sorry, I’m a little overwhelmed. Would you hate me if I was selfish? If I just filled you up right away? I feel as if I might die if I don’t feel you around me soon, my love. Can I? Please. I’ll try to be gentle, I promise.”

Before you’ve even made the first nod, he’s fisting his cock and sliding his length through your slit, thoroughly coating his length with your wetness. His tip is leaking already, and the pearlescent beads drip down your clit in a tantalising dance. Kento gulps. Hard. 

With his head thrown back, he wallows in the feel of you, reminding himself what he’s been missing and abstaining from, telling himself he doesn’t yet deserve because of what he’s let happen to you in the first place. 

But now you’re fine. Now you’re laid out for him like the most splendid feasts, and his morals seem to have disappeared. He’ll repent later. 

Hurried and somewhat clumsy, his erratic movements almost make you laugh, and they would have if you weren't just as needy as he is.

“How’s your ribs, love? Any discomfort?” He lifts your shirt up, partly to see if there’s still any bruising and partly to see your breasts bounce when he finally thrusts into you. At the shake of your head, he smiles, shaky and fleeting, before his brows furrow. “You know our safe word, don’t you, honey? If, at any point, I’m hurting you, please say something, alright?”

Then, he’s inside you in one unrelenting thrust. 

“Oh, God.” He grunts, fingers digging into your hips. “Oh, God, sweetheart. Y-you feel so -ngh- g-good.”

All you can do is moan his name on repeat as he pounds you without reservation. Deafening squelches, creaking wood, slapping skin — all those sounds make you dizzy, stealing your senses. You’re grabbing his biceps for purchase, and the hard muscles flex under your grip. “Ken! Yes, fuck! I missed this soooooo much.”

“Me too, h-honey. It’s been so —ha, d-don’t clamp down on me like that— so long. My memory wasn’t cutting it anymore. Neither was my fist. Oh, that’s n-not so gentlemanly of me, is it?”

He throws his sweater off, overstimulated by the scratchy material which stuck to his skin from the clamminess, revealing the sharp contours of his torso and a light dusting of blonde hair on his chest. Abs burning with each ragged thrust of his leaking cock, he pushes through the exhaustion his out-of-practice body’s experiencing. 

Craning your neck, you urge, “K-kiss. I want a kiss, Ken.”

Those plush lips are on yours faster than you can process. You groan into each other’s mouths. Anything more than pecks had been forbidden by him lest they tempted either of you to go further before you were ready. It was killing you both. He needed your kisses like air, and yet he couldn’t even get his morning boosts, as he called it, before he went off to work; his coworkers were suffering under his short fuse. 

“Can you taste yourself, sweetheart? Hmm? Can you —oh, you’re so t-tight— t-taste how sweet you are?”

Shaking your head, you admit, “I just taste you, Ken.”

He shuts his eyes tight, pulling back abruptly and fisting the base of his throbbing cock. “T-that’s bad of you, darling. Very bad. You’re gonna make your husband cum too early. Can’t have that, can we? N-no, you come first. Always. Ha, I didn’t mean to make a pun. S-sorry.”

There are so many positions he wants to do, so many different ways to make you see stars, to make you fall apart in his arms so he can rebuild you back up again, yet he feels there isn’t enough time. It’ll never be enough time. Not even infinity could satiate his need for you but he sure as hell will keep trying. All these thoughts rush through his mind, rendering him stupid, he thinks. Too stupid to keep track of what he’s saying anymore, at least.

You tease, “Dad jokes come so easily to you, don’t they? Oh, you’d be such a good dadd—AH! Ken! Fuck!”

Kento rams his cock all the way back in, your clit tickled by the hairs at his base. He’s reaching every nook and cranny, massaging your pleats with his massive girth, stretching you to your limits and beyond. “Don’t do that. Don’t tease me like that. If you do, I -ngh- might j-just fuck a baby into you and become a real daddy. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’ll get all big and swollen. I’ll have to tie y-your shoes for you, soothe the —oh, are you close, honey? You’re fucking down onto me like you are— w-what was I saying? Oh, yes. Papa Ken will soothe the aches on your feet and fuck you g-gently when your -hah- hormones get the best of you, won't he?”

His fingers splay out on your stomach, pressing down hard. You tighten impossibly more, and you swear you can feel his cock get bigger as he feels for his length through your skin. “Yes, Ken! You’ll take such good care of me.”

“That’s right, m-my love. Papa Ken will keep his f-family happy. Safe. What happened to you, to your beautiful, perfect body, will never happen again. Do you hear me? I’ll keep you safe. Kento will keep you and our b-baby safe.”

Your left hand is carried over to his lips. He breathes warmth into your ring and kisses it, all while keeping his eyes on you. "You sure you won't regret saying that? I'm gonna look all ugly and fat—Ow!"

Kento's slapped your clit. Tutting, he warns, "Don't talk about my wife like that. You couldn't p-possibly ever look -ngh!- u-ugly. In fact, I'm certain I won't be able to keep my hands off you."

He cups both breasts, which bounce with the sheer power in his hips as he works that girthy cock inside you. From where you're laid out, you think you see drool slipping out the corner of his mouth. A crazed look shines in those eyes, blocked only by his foggy glasses — though he resents how they get in the way, he resents even more that he wouldn't be able to see you as clearly without them.

"I especially wouldn't be able to keep my hands off these. Have I ever told you that even before we got married, I imagined these full of milk? Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll help you pump. I'll squeeze them out for you. You won't ever have to lift a finger."

Grinning, you clench down hard on his cock. You both moan. "W-when they get too full, will you drink the milk instead, Ken?"

Hips picking up speed, you're being pushed further and further back on the edge, head dangling. He's no longer looking at your face, just where you're both connected, eyes trained on the ring of cream at his base like to look anywhere else would send him cumming before you, and that just won't do.

"Y-you're too cruel on your poor husband, my love. God, you know just what to say to get what you -hah- want, don't you? My b-beautiful little slut. Must have been starving for cum, no? It's alright. Kenny will take care of you, even when you're all -oh fuck, I'm close- m-mean and grumpy because you can't see your toes."

Babbling now, you can't even respond to his provocations. Your brain's fried from the overwhelming pleasure being fucked into you. The vision of him, grey-haired and bigger from putting on dad weight, has your clit throbbing, perfectly stimulated with every harsh grind of his pelvis against yours. He's no longer concerned about your ribs. You're not even sure he remembers that they were bruised before.

"I know, I know. You're very close now, aren't you? That's alright, dear. Just let go. Kento's g-got you. Show him just how much you love him, won't you? M-make him -hngh f-fuck- p-proud, sweetheart."

The tenderness, the adoration, the damn near deification in his voice drives you over the edge, and your pussy pulses around his cock, the thick veins there stimulating your gummy walls. Sudden tightness stealing his breath, he shudders and follows. Almost at the same time, you both orgasm, steamy air suffocating whilst you both gulp air down desperately. Scalding ropes of cum pool inside your squelching pussy, branding you from the inside. "Soooo goood! T-thank you! Fuck, Ken, I feel so full." 

Many seconds pass while you calm down from your high, vision blurry from the tears. A quietness, welcoming and homely, settles in his office. You’re growing aware of the mess you’ve made and the fact that neither of you have even begun to think about dinner even as the sun sets but you don’t move, much too content to absorb that deep satisfaction you’ve been seeking this entire time. 

Fat drops of wetness fall on your skin. It startles you. “Oh my God! K-ken, you’re crying.”

He shakes his head when you attempt to get up. 

“I’m -hah- alright, love.” Still rocking his cock into you, he keeps your cum, mixed up and making a sticky, gloopy mess, inside as much as he can. You’re plugged up nice and full, exactly how he wants you. “Just happy you’re alright now. Ha, for a while I thought you might forever be bruised and hurt. Silly, isn’t it?”

Hips stuttering to a slow stop, he nuzzles the palm of your hand, taking a deep inhale to calm himself with your scent. He never shies away from expressing his innermost thoughts and it’s one of the things you love about him. But the sight of him looking so exhausted, both physically and mentally, has your heart clenching. 

"S-seeing you walk with a limp, wincing when you move too fast or in the wrong way, was killing me. God, it was like I felt your pain. Not being able to satisfy you, even when you begged me to make love to you with tears in your eyes, made me feel like such a terrible husband. I vowed never to make you cry, didn't I? What kind of man am I to not live up to my promises? To deprive you of pleasure? — No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be making this all about me.”

Sitting up, you peck him on his lips, wincing a little when his softening cock leaves your pussy. You’re squeezing around nothing, pushing out all that cum, but soon, his hand creeps between your thighs, plugging you up with two fingers. He knows just how much you hate feeling empty. 

With a reassuring smile, you brush his cheek with a thumb and say, “I’m okay, Ken. You got there just in time and helped me recover much faster than I was supposed to. You bathed me for the first couple weeks and fed me every day! You already did so much for me.”

"I'm afraid that was just the bare minimum, love." Smiling now, slightly energised by your voice, he presses a kiss on your forehead, hand tentatively squeezing your ribs. Visible tension leaves his body when you don't flinch.

"No, Kento. Even from the very beginning, you’ve gone above and beyond for me. Even when we were just friends, remember? You've shown me just how much love I deserve. You taught me to never settle for less. I am who I am today because of you. I'm here because of you.”

He whispers, love softening his features until he looks years younger, until he looks like the boy you first fell in love with, "Likewise."

"Good." The kiss you share with him is sweet. You smile into each other. "I don’t want to hear any more negative talk, alright? It’s not good for the baby, after all.”

You see a glint pass through in his eyes; he’s ready to play along. 

“Quite right, my love. But you don’t really think one time will do it, do you?” He’s sucking your neck to hear you moan, rejoicing in your warmth, your softness, and your sweet scent. As good as he is with words, his actions always prove just how much you mean to him. So, as a thank you, he slides his cock, already hardening up, inside your fluttering cunt. “Don’t be silly, darling. We have to go a couple more rounds, at least.”

“Just a couple?” You tease, grabbing the hand he had inside you. Your mixed cum drips down his long digits and he watches you with bated breath draw them in, cheeks hollowing so you can suck on them, making nasty noises that sends his cock throbbing.

Delirious with the captivating sight you've put on, he acquiesces, “F-fine. We'll go all night. As many as it’ll take to satisfy my insatiable wife b-but every orgasm must be accompanied by a name suggestion, doctor's orders.”

You laugh, clinging to him when he carries you out of the office and into your bedroom. "Isn't that a little early?"

"On the contrary, my love, we're behind schedule."

[notquitecanon]

Search History // Poly!141 x Reader

A continuation of this thought

Summary: Reader (based loosely on Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds) has to be face-to-face with the boys for the first time since they started including her in their late-night fantasies. They've decided it's time to take it off-screen and move in IRL.

I'm taggin the peeps who replied to the last part bc I'm desperate for attention lol (in all actuality y'all really encouraged me to actually write thank you!!)

CW: allusions to porn, allusions to female genitalia, they're all horny in the workplace, this is basically workplace harassment but we're excusing it because they're hot and fictional and I say so, no outright smut

Still nsfw though so MDNI pls and thanks

“The 141 just touched down. ETA twenty minutes.” 

Your eyes flicked up from the muted video on your monitor, cheeks flushed red but masked by the light radiating off your screen in your dark office. Thank God, your monitor faced away from the door. A young private was standing in the doorway with a tablet, looking at you for an acknowledgment, probably running about starting preparations for their arrival back on home base. 

“Thank you, private.” You murmured, teeth toying at your thumbnail, chipping the polish. The young soldier gave a short nod at the quiet dismissal and disappeared once again. Your eyes, with embarrassingly blown pupils, flicked back to the video. 

After your discovery two weeks ago, the sites and links you had to review furthered down the rabbit hole. And this video you were currently watching had been one that all the men had been visiting, and revisiting, and revisiting… 

By god, they’d done it. 

Similar build, skin tone only a shade or two different - you could probably share foundation and it wouldn’t look too bad. Hair and eye color so close it was uncanny. And when the woman looked over her shoulder at the mountain of a man hitting it from the back, the angle made the resemblance almost scarily uncanny.  The Had you had a porn career and simply forgotten?- kind of uncanny. 

Sure there were differences- she was a little taller, maybe a bit leaner, with boobs that had definitely had some work done. Tattoos where your skin was bare and vice versa, different piercings. Her voice was pitched different, and her accent was completely different from yours but within three minutes of the video she’d stopped speaking words, so accent didn’t matter much.  But as far as porn actresses went- she might as well be your twin. 

It seemed the 141 had perused her entire.. filmography. Different videos, different scenarios, different partners. They all had videos they seemed to like better than others. Soap seemed to particularly like the POV video where the man had a thick Scottish accent. Gaz had bookmarked a soft-core bondage and forced orgasm scene. Price, a shorter video of an unseen man pushing the actress under a desk for oral, and Ghost… the only link he’d visited was your instagram. It was hard not to let it stroke your ego a little bit. 

God, if you told anyone about this… They’d tell you to file a workplace harassment suit, and maybe a police report.  To start job hunting, and therapist hunting. Distance yourself. You should have been embarrassed or uncomfortable- you knew you should be. That you should feel objectified or disrespected, disgusted. 

But hell, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t send yourself the links and watched them in your free time at home. It was hot- turned you on in an almost concerning way that would set feminism back twenty years if you told anyone. 

The video kept playing on your monitor, one of the videos that Soap had visited more than once (little did you know it was one that Ghost had picked out). A gloved hand smoothly glided down the actress's spine before curving around her throat and pulling her upright on the man’s lap, filthy praises in a British accent playing through your single AirPod. 

“Holy shit…”  You muttered, thighs clenching because if you squinted it really did look like you, even some of her mannerisms. And the rough accent was like a mix of Ghost's and Price’s. 

Abruptly, you shut down the entire monitor completely, ripping out the AirPod and tossing it on the desk. Pressing slightly shaking hands to your too hot face. You needed to get it together, because Price was your boss and the others were your superiors. They’d been gone for a month and a half, and it’d been your voice in their ears guiding them through missions, and you knew you had a flirty disposition, especially from the private safety of your dark little office half way across the world. 

It made sense that their wires got a little crossed, but your wires- like those off all your monitors and hardware- needed to stay neatly organized and separate. Focus. Focus. 

Your nails were bitten to the quick, the bitter taste of old nail polish on the back of your tongue. The skin around your nails was raw from your teeth toying with it as your so intensely focussed on the videos. You needed to get out of this too small, too hot room.  Which is how you found yourself, twenty minutes later, in the communal break room fighting with the vending machine. It was withholding the ice cold water you were desperate for, despite your curses and attempts to jostle the machine. Right as you delivered a frustrated kick to the machine-

“Just the bird we were looking for!” 

It was Kyle’s voice first, that tipped you off to the herd of men entering the space. You almost jumped out of your skin- brain flitting through several scandalous snippets of the videos he’d replayed. His smile was dazzling as always as he came into view, tapping the yellow warning stickers that instructed people not to jostle the machine, with the little illustration of the stick man getting crushed, “What’d the machine ever do to you? It might start fighting back.” 

A gloved hand reached between the two of you, skeleton fingers curled into a fist that delivered a blunt strike, and, like magic, the water bottle fell in to the receptacle. You peeked over your shoulder at Ghost, standing just slightly too close and looking down at you intensely, but not meanly. An easy to miss bit of mirth that was usually reserved for Soap. Thank god you’d bitten your nails to stubs or they would’ve drawn blood from how they were digging into your palms to distract you from the gloved hands and the brutish display of strength. 

Kyle put the drink sweetly in your hands after cracking it for you, like he would do when bringing Ghost or Price something, eyes twinkling like he knew something you didn’t.  Another hand, warm and large clapped gently on your shoulder, pulling you back a step, almost directly into Captain Price’s chest. 

The men shared a look over your head before focussing back on you. 

“Your intel was good.” It was a simple statement, but delivered in a warm, proud tone that felt so much like praise that your stomach flipped a bit, with that warm smile that made him look soft despite the fact he was still in full tac-gear, “They didn’t even see us coming.” 

“They never see you coming, that’s kind of your whole thing.” You tried a joke, your voice a touch strained. His hand was lingering, right on the curve where your shoulder became your neck, fingers flexing into the flesh just so. Just like it did on the boys when he thought others wouldn’t noticed. focus, focus, focus. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was Soap that interrupted the kneading of Price’s fingers. 

“Don’t be so modest, bonnie!” He was laughing as large arms caught you around the waist, lifting and spinning you slightly. His voice so similar to that one Scottish co-star that had done such filthy things to your lookalike, it made your head spin.  Despite your startled yelp and squirming, his grip didn’t waver, “Couldn’t of done it without our lass in the chair.” 

“ ’nough, Johnny,” Ghost called firmly, leaning against the vending machine that they’d all but cornered you against, “Put ‘er down.” 

Soap’s laugh was still good natured as he set you on your feet again, a little roughly for the heels you had on to match your skirt, you wobbled only for Ghost himself to steady you, giving you another intense look, that you had trouble meeting, “ 'e’s right though. Intel was good.” 

They were all staring at you, varying degrees of smirks, eyes a spectrum of mischief and something that was dizzyingly close to hunger.  Unable to keep still, you were squirming, shifting your weigh from foot to foot, fiddling with the wrapper on the bottle. You found your eyes flitting around settling anywhere but their own gaze, cheeks feeling hot, mind full of vile images that you knew they’d seen and enjoyed- ceiling, the exit sign, Johnny’s tac-vest, the floor, the water bottle in your hands. You gulped, eyebrows raising as you puffed a breath, trying desperately to reign yourself in.

“Glad to be of service.” You smiled tightly, nodding meeting each set of eyes briefly and hoping your foundation masked your blush (it didn’t). Jesus Christ, you couldn’t do this.  You couldn’t tell if you felt turned on or awkward or both, but you needed to go. Preferably before you did something that would cost you your job. Your voice was rushed as you squeezed between Gaz and Price, double timing it to the exit, “Enjoy your leave, boys, you deserve it.” 

As you all but fled the building, you typed out a mass base-wide memo email, language formal as you professionally reminded every soldier, specifically four of them, that any website visited by government devices was subject to internal review. 

You swore you could hear them laughing as the memo went out. But maybe that was just your overactive imagination. 

____

You’d gone home for the evening, and then clocked back in the following morning. Surprised to find all of the 141 was still there, debriefing must have ran long. 

“Morning, love.” It was Kyle that greeted you, pressing a cup of coffee into your hands. He looked tired but happy to see you. Soap was with him, eyes bright and grin wide as he whistled lowly, fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt as you passed his seat. 

“Looking good, bonnie,” He smiled devilishly, rubbing the fabric between his fingers before letting go, “Tired of all the green, black, and beige tac gear. Missed seeing something a little… softer.”  

You somewhat doubted that. He seemed to appreciate military khaki when it hugged Gaz’s ass, and he sure didn’t seem to mind an all black tactical ensemble when it was on Ghost. But the compliment still brought heat up your neck, which you coupled with a sip of the hot coffee Gaz had brought you- fixed perfectly the way you liked it. It elicited a pleased sigh as you swallowed, humming in content. 

“Price wants to see you before we all leave. Brought you some new stuff to work on.” Kyle smiled, watching how your expression softened at the taste of the beverage, clearly proud of himself for drawing out that reaction.   

“A present? For me?” You smiled sarcastically back at the prospect of more work added to you caseload, “It’s like Christmas.” 

“You been good this year?” Kyle grinned back, accompanied by Soap chiming, voice low and chiding, “Nah, she’s definitely been naughty.” 

Both Sergeant’s shared a look as you almost choked on another sip of coffee. 

“I’m leaving now.” You shook your head, turning on your heel away from where they were hanging around the rec room, clearly waiting for Price to dismiss them, “Y’all should shower. Or take a nap.” 

“You want us naked?” Kyle questioned, raising his eyebrows at you, leaning back against the wall, standing so very close to Soap, who was sprawled out in his chair, long legs splayed and spread before him as he waggled his eyebrows. “And in bed?” 

Now that was some imagery. Taking the lord’s name in vain you didn’t dignify that with a response other than a huffed, “Leaving now.” 

____

The good thing about Price and Ghost was they were business first. So if you really focussed you could almost ignore Ghost's thigh pressed against yours as you sat beside him in the dark room, reviewing body cam footage. They pointed out different things to you, things to include as you started your next dark web deep dive. 

You could almost ignore how Price’s fingers grazed and lingered on your palm as he gave you a thumb drive to decrypt and analyze, how he stood close enough to you that you had to look at him through your lashes. 

“Has a self destruct program that Gaz didn’t want t' aggravate. Figured it needed your... soft touch.” Price smiled down at you as you curled your fingers around the thumb drive. You had to try pretty hard to ignore the slight emphasis on soft. Ghost seemed to chuckle lowly at your expression at the captain. 

“What’s on there'll point us in the next direction of our next target.” Ghost nodded to you, his leg shifting so it pressed harder against yours. In the guise of stretching out, he’d draped an arm over the back of your chair, the cotton of his gloves half tickling the sensitive skin on the back of your bicep, where the flesh was soft. 

“So don’t screw it up, got it.” You swallowed thickly, shifting so you couldn’t feel his thumb against your skin- it was making it hard to think about hacking and terrorism and military operations.  He took it as an invitation to spread out more, his fingers grazing the exact spot only seconds later. 

“Precisely,” John laughed lowly, his hand moved to your shoulder, back into that sweet curve that was partly your shoulder and partly your neck, and gave it a lingering squeeze, that kind of made you want to melt, “You won’t screw it up, love.” 

The captain gave his Lieutenant a nod, and Ghost quickly stood, his boot giving the toe of your pretty heels a slight nudge as a goodbye before silently stalking out. Price took a seat across from you, leaning back and his arms cross comfortably over his chest.

“I’m having the boys over at mine tonight. A couple of drinks, I’m gonna grill, put the footie on, celebrate another successful mission to start our leave.” Price listed out their plans casually, noting how you squirmed a bit, uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you tugged at the hem of your skirt before continuing, “We want you to come. Couldn’t have done it without you, so you should celebrate it too.” 

“Oh, uh-“ You started before you could think of a good excuse, “I’ll be really busy… with.. with the flash drive. And stuff.” 

“What stuff?” Price rose a single brow, his stare pinning you still as he reached across the table and took the flash drive back, “This can wait.” 

“Files. Coding. Security checks.” You mumbled the first couple aspects of your job that came to mind, the intensity of his gaze making you want to adjust your collar or shrink in your seat. You figured you’d have a couple more sites to clear off their devices, if they’d been sitting around base all night. Your cheeks heated just at the thought. “I’m a little behind. Been… distracted lately."

“Everything all right, love?” He ‘asked’ with at signature warm smile and amused eyes, he seemed to already know the answer to his question, “You’ve been… skittish, since we got back.” 

Your teeth worried the seam of your lips as you considered the question. Skittish, was one way to put it- fidgety, fleeing rooms, avoiding eye contact, barely speaking as opposed to your usual chatter and banter. Your eyes flitted away from his gaze again, swallowing dryly again- geez when did you get so shy, “ ‘m fine. Absolutely fine. Never been better. How’re you?” 

Cringing at your own rambling, you sighed shoulders drooping as he fixed you with another look, and muttered your name in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a look that expected obedience, as his legs shifted into a natural man spread. Your brain flitted back to the video of your look alike being shoved under a desk… 

Him saying your name again, slightly louder but just as bemused drew you back to him, realizing you were staring at his legs, debating if you could fit between his knees and you almost sputtered as you cleared your throat, “I’m fine, really.” 

“Either lie more convincingly or tell me what’s bothering you, sweet.”  Price chuckled, leaving forward against the table, drumming a knuckle against the table. Sweet, that was new. You’d have to add it to the laundry list of nicknames and pet names the boys had for you. You’d always told yourself that it was nothing personal, that British/Scottish people just did that. But this on wasn’t as easy to write off as ‘love’ or ‘bonnie’, average pet names in the UK colloquial, no sweet seemed personal. 

“I’m not bothered.” You glanced away again, nose wrinkling, even though you were bothered- hot and bothered. John Price had a way of drawing details out of people with just a look and a couple of well prodded words.  With a deep breath, you tried to keep your characteristic rambling to a minimum, a losing battle as he starting stroking at his beard with those long fingers- two parts of him that you’d been thinking about way too much lately-, “Listen, I’m not judging, you’re grown men, watch what you want to, but just a reminder that it’s my job and obligation to review every link and site that government devices visit. Which includes at least skimming videos.  In case you didn’t know or maybe forgot that I can and do see these things, so maybe you could pass that along to the boys-“ 

“You can tell 'em yourself. ’s your job, sweet.” Price said firmly. The girlish part of your brain corrected ‘firmly’ to dominantly. Before his demeanor relaxed again, giving you an amused, appraising look again, “At my place. Tonight. 8 o’clock. Not a request.” Shrinking in your chair a bit, hoping the chair hid the way your thighs involuntarily clenched, you couldn’t help but nod and squeak, “Yes, sir.” 

___

Part Two

Was supposed to have actually smut in this but I got carried away on the build-up, laugh out loud. Maybe a part three or you can just imagine how the little dinner party goes (hint, she's the meal)

Tags: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @viviennevianna @savas-q1 @cringeycookies @lainey-laines @buttercup337 @acosmisted @carqueensworld @tmartin0918 @dreamland08 @sheepdogchick @hidden-wildflowers @lilynotdilly @astrxsee @joopyjup @originalsoulcollector @henhouse-horrors @ohdrey89 @red5tars @cod-z @balletbiscuit @spacecrawllerr @scrumptioussportstoadgarden-blog @blues-of-neptune @monster-effer @yunho-leeknow @ungodlydilf @pluviofleur @jandthecrow @fangtoothgod @coquetterie-dancer @sapphires-and-silver-things @ghost-is-my-bbg @loveergirll @silly-starfish @popkle @honestlymassivetrash @not-mentally-sane @devoetee @beloveds-embrace @jellyamour @simon141price @divinecat

[ryoflix]

sukuna as your [social media] manager | f. reader, s/h prns., fluff, estb. rl ؛ ଓ

some people really have the audacity.

like, unironically, out-loud-in-the-comments audacity. typing with their whole chest: “doesn’t your boyfriend literally live off of your influencer money?” like they weren’t just watching your GRWM for the third time in a row, seething. and sure, maybe sukuna doesn’t clock into an office or wear a badge or fill out tax forms labeled “department of soul obliteration” anymore, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t work. he works. oh god, he works.

you think your brand deals just materialize out of thin air? that your inbox isn’t an absolute hellhole filled with subject lines like “hi dear!!! collab proposal uwu” and “hello sexy want be brand ambassad?” sukuna filters through all that. he filters ruthlessly.

he’s basically your manager, except meaner and hotter and allergic to bullshit. he reads every email like he’s reading a death sentence — mouse in hand, furrow between his brows, muttering things like, “what the fuck is a micro-essence water serum?” and “why do they spell ‘natural’ with a zero?”

he doesn’t just care about the check. no, no. sukuna cares about the feel. you’re not about to promote some face mist that smells like melted crayons just because it pays well. but also? you’re not about to let some fake-smiling oatmilk start-up guilt you into a collaboration just because they think their font is soft enough to disguise their shady labor practices. sukuna reads everything. everything. he has spreadsheets. color-coded folders. PR schedules. blackout dates.

he once emailed a skincare CEO back with the words: “we are declining. your tone is weird. fix that.”

you didn’t even know about it until the brand retracted and apologized two days later. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on just a little.

and look, it’s not like sukuna is heartless. he’s just selective. his whole system — this whole fortress of precision and firewalls and well-timed posts — has made you desirable. you’re not just a face, you’re a brand. brands want you. they beg for you. you have exclusivity now, and you have him to thank.

but sometimes, the walls soften. like that one time, after three straight rejections in a row (“too generic,” “branding is off,” “are they serious with this pastel goat mascot?”), sukuna opens a new message from a gmail address with no signature and a tiny subject line that just reads: hi, um...!

and the email. oh man. the email.

it’s all over the place — typos, weird fonts, some high-schooler somewhere explaining nervously that she makes loom band bracelets in her free time and thinks you’re really cool, and she just wants to send you a couple because “your energy reminds me of the purple & pink color combo :)”

you glance over his shoulder mid-read. “rejecting that one too?”

but sukuna’s quiet.

then he snorts. “...what kinda business plan is ‘vibes only’?”

you lean into him, grinning. “the best kind.”

he clicks archive. and then — quietly, way too casually — “tell her to send the address. we’ll post next week.”

a few days later, you’re lounging in bed with your feet up, phone in one hand, sukuna tangled around you like the world’s angriest oversized cat. you’re both wearing those bracelets, matching purple and pink, the ends frayed, one of them too tight around his wrist but he refuses to take it off. your caption is something like: “support small creators 💕 (even the really small ones)” and the post has half a million likes by morning.

you tell him the response was sweet. you say the girl messaged crying because she was so happy. you lean into his chest and mumble, “see? you are a softie.” he tugs the blanket over your head and grumbles, “shut up. i’m still rejecting that dumb oatmilk brand next week.”

softie or not, he’s still got standards.