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“open your eyes,” he commands you, his voice deep and rough. “I said, open em. are ya gonna piss me off too?”

and so you find it in you to open them despite the embarrassment that sits low in your gut as he ruts himself into you. It’s not hard to make out who’s in front of you. his warm skin and signature hat makes him easy to identify and as your vision focuses, you can make out the crimson on his cheek and the sweat building on his neck.

you look at him, almost apologetically, as if saying “I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” because Kyle truly is an angel and the idea of his knowing what your eyes looked like when all fucked out seemed like a sin on its own.

first, he calls out soap for texting you late at night. john fists the hair on your head till you’re facing the scot who’s not looking at your eyes, but somewhere lower. “y’know what couples do at night, Mactavish? I’ll give you a hint.” price snakes his arm between your legs, pinching and rolling your clit to which you let out a pained and delicious mewl.

and next in line is gaz, whose gesture of buying you your favorite foods has gone unliked by price. luckily, Gaz is sitting right next to soap so you don’t have to strain yourself to find him. Gaz knows he shouldn’t stare…but he can’t help himself and surprisingly, the captain hasn’t told anyone to stop so he swallows the lump in his throat, and commits the sight before him to memory.

then there’s ghost, who refuses to acknowledge he has actively done anything. “bullshit. wanna tell me why you’re always staring at her ass?” which shuts the brooding man up immediately.

your orgasm comes quick, as it always did. your words come out broken and desperate but they barely register to your boyfriend who has his own agenda.

your eyes roll back as you climax, the euphoria sending you into a blissful state of haze. but john doesn’t stop, not when he has a point to prove.

so he fucks you through your high, and then he fucks you more. your hand presses against his thigh with no real pressure, sobbing cries of overstimulation.

“after today, i want no more foolery from any of you. I’d suggest you take today for all it’s worth because after tonight, you can all go to your beds and jerk off your pathetic cocks to the memory of this and. nothing. else.” he punctuates each word with a sharp thrust, willing either your legs or the desk legs to give out.

“do i make myself clear?”

“ ℐ am gross and perverted. ℐ'm obsessed and deranged.

ℐ have existed for years, but very little has changed.

❝ PREMISE: It's the late 50s in New York city, and there's no limit Ben hasn't crossed yet. He's murdered, mocked and disrupted whoever he pleased, whatever space he walked in and deemed as sparkless. Now, after finding you, such a rare specimen product of V1, of course he isn't about to hesitate when he has the chance to take you somewhere he can take proper care of your situation. And to satisfy his curiosity.

He doesn't care that your teeth are sharp enough to pierce through his skin, or that you thrash and yank away from him every time he tries to touch you, isolated and starved somewhere underneath the Vought tower where he doesn't have to share you with anyone else. You're definitely worth the risk. ❞

ℐ'm the tool of the Government and industry too.

Don't go for help, no one will heed you. 𝒴our mind is totally controlled. It has been stuffed into my mold. ”

CW: +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. dead dove, do not eat. blood, body horror, power imbalance, kidnapping, cannibalism, physical violence against reader, physical violence in response against soldier boy, surgical themes, typical canon violence, mild attachment in response to emotional trauma. ben has the basic academic formation to perform surgical interventions. reader is kidnapped and kept against her will. (to be added)

What you didn’t particularly like was John Price. The way he would make you pick up things, purely to look at your ass or walk past you a tad too close, giving your hip a squeeze. Ask inappropriate questions when nobody else was listening. Always walking along the line of what he could be doing without getting in actual trouble.

Apparently it was a part of his daily routine to be a proper dick to you and you let him get away with it more times than you should probably have. He behaves a bit better when his men were around but is a proper angel to you when Kate is in the room.

You hate him. He is annoying, inappropriate and, worst of all, hot.

Something something the final straw is when you ask for two days off because your friend invited you for a spa trip and you hadn’t had any days off in forever - hadn’t even been sick.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : sub!camboy!dean winchester x gn!dom!reader.

𝐜.𝐰 : +18 MDNI. degradation. submission. dirty-talk. choking. dean tied up. cumming in pants. cum eating. ♬ .ᐟ

The leather bites into Dean's already bruised skin of his neck, choking him a way that has him both grunting for air and leaking inside his jeans.

Your voice, like a spiked bat wrapped in gauze, travels around the room like it's about to bite him if he stops rutting his hips upwards against your boot that's stomped down against his crotch.

"For someone as pretty as you, it's such a shame you're so fucking pathetic," There's no mercy or a single hint of affection behind your words, and they make him whine again, swallowed by the harsh material of the army green bag you shoved his head into just before you hit "REC" on the handycam propped up about a meter away from him.

He looks lovely like this, you think. Wanton and miserable, drooling through the jute and starting to wet a patch through the front of his pants.

Your boot leaves his crotch and you step away to pace around him slowly, still holding him on a tight leash you've made out of his own belt.

"D'you not think you're pathetic?" The length of the black leather belt gets slowly reduced as you wrap it around your leather-gloved hand, leaning down behind him to murmur into his ear.

One harsh tug from it and he's whining. "Yes! " Dean mutters out a cry, his hips canting upwards, desperate for the feeling of the sole of your boot against his confined cock again. "Y-yes, I'm pathetic—"

You've had him in this position for about half an hour now, granting and taking release away from him through the zipper, not even needing to untuck him from his boxers to have him practically sobbing for you.

Again; pathetic.

But, you can imagine that beautiful, needy expression on him face, those puckered lips and jade teary eyes staring up at you like he's just found out you're God and he's not surprised at all because you already give him everything he needs to survive, and it only makes sense.

And, oh, it's a beautiful sight. Even now—specially now—that three, almost four, of his five senses have been snatched away from him. He's completely reliant on you.

You decide if he cums tonight in front of the camera.

His wrists, tender and becoming raw against the tight rope, have started aching where you've tied them behind his back to the chair. The makeshift shackles on his ankles a little heavy where they sit right atop his socked feet.

He's so hard it hurts. It only makes it better.

"You just need me to stroke this pretty, needy dick, hm?" You've leant your body forward to lay your free hand over the boner fighting it's way up against the front of his jeans, greeting you with a pleasant twitch, the glove squeaking quietly to the friction.

A cruel smirk quivers on your lips when he lets out a meek cry, his head falling backwards against your shoulder.

Whatever pitiful moan just came out of his mouth you're sure it was your name, too lost in the moment, all of his blood pooling between his thighs.

Poor thing can't think before speaking. Too dumb in the middle of the heat.

You give his clothed erection a light, quick slap, and his whole body locks in for a moment, almost as if he's about to break, but he holds it in like the big boy he is.

"Stupid, little thing can't even get hit without thinking about cumming." Your nose brushes against the spot where the shell of his ear is supposed to be under the hood. "That's what you want? You want me to bruise you up real good so you learn how to not make a fucking sound until I say so?"

Dean nods eagerly, but that'll be something for another time. Now you're more focused on the tremble his thighs with the way he's holding his orgasm back.

You grin so hard the apple of your cheeks push the plain black colombina mask on your face a little upwards.

"Say it." Your demand yanks his spine straight, trying to fight off the heat licking down his lower belly.

"Want you to beat me up," It sounds muffled and gagged from the lack of air, but he still manages through it. "Want you to fuck me up. Wanna come— Please, I need to cum—"

He's the prettiest when he begs like the slut you know he is. In this storage room that smells like mildew and the sweat he's grown from forty agonizingly long minutes of working him up.

"You don't want anything that I don't tell you to." You cut him off meanly.

Where your hand pretends to set a boundary right over his bulged lap, his brain, severed by the heat, sees the chance to relieve himself. But he won't, not yet. Not until you let him.

Believe it or not, he's very obedient when he knows the prize will be worth it.

"...Not yet," There's an almost sweet tilt to your voice as the heel of your hand aggravates his ache. "...Not yet, baby, don't you fucking dare." You just coo against the back of his head when he writhes weakly against the chair.

Then, you squeeze him, and he can't even apologize before he's exploding behind the seams.

He's a mess of "m'sorry"s and "fuck"s while the orgasm rattles though his pent up body. You don't chide or pinch him for it.

You just pull the zipper down, freeing him as he's still coming in thin ropes that stain his jeans and make your hand sticky with his release.

"You've been good," Your other hand lets go of the belt to loosen it a little bit and fold the hood upwards just enough to uncover his mouth, taking what you've cooped up on your fingers to his mouth.

Needless to say, he opens up for you and licks your wrapped fingers greedily.

He's not even embarrassed that he just came in his underwear. He's just happy that he gests you to manhandle him like this.

It makes you smile fondly at him, your body facing half away from the camera. "You did good, baby." Your lips hover over his, leaving a peck on the left corner of his mouth, and he sighs contently, lax and spent on his seat.

After he's came almost completely down from his high, you step away from him and towards the camera, turning it off.

NOTES: heyyy... it could've been better, but i think i'm getting my spark back. i'm severely sleep deprived.

your husband was not a bad man.

he did not raise his voice, save for those business calls that invariably left him rubbing his temples in sheer frustration, he had never raised a hand at you, not even when you tried to push away as he cornered you against the kitchen table, body pinned as your fingers gripped the spatula you had been using to stir the dinner

hand sliding beneath your undies, fingers, weathered from work, kneading into your skin as they crept to cup your cunt, only to find you dry “’m so tired, baby, just let me” he croons low, pressing heavy, sloppy kisses just beneath your ear, your hands flailing uselessly, eyes fixated on the bubbling pasta sauce.

he lay in a closed coffin, the surrounding cries and whispers reduced to the mere midge buzz in your ears, the dress feeling too tight, squeezing your shoulders, while every sympathetic pat on your spine brought a new suffocating wave, each more stifling than the last, a few tears forcing their way out your careworn eyes, leaving a bitter burn in your throat

one by one, the mourners began to drift away, family members, long not seen friends, women whose faces you didn’t recognize, among them simon, a man who had known your husband from the army, appearing with a visit perhaps once a year, if at all, blonde eyelashes fluttering upward as his gaze found yours from across, umber eyes barely blinking

taking in your mourning attire with a subtle tilt to his head, his balaclava exchanged for a simple cloth mask that now dangled from his ear, thin, nicked lips clamped around a burning cigarette, none recognized him, none could be seen pleased by his unsettling presence, imposing and broad shouldered, heavy combat boots caked in grime, rugged scars with mute signals that broadcast danger.

simon had helped you into his truck to take you home, thoroughly exhausted, drained from the endless questions, the lingering wailing noise, and the looming weight of the paperwork waiting to find its way to you, his palm steady and warm against your back

thick fingers surprisingly deft as he reached over to buckle your seat belt, driving off abruptly the moment your mother in law approached, poised to ask what you planned to do with your late husband's belongings, a man of little patience, and he knew you had endured more than enough today

intent to have your thoughts away from the tragedy, and doing so flawlessly, your tight dress ripped in jagged line at it's hem, panties tucked aside to let him grind into your sopping wet cunt, fluttering restlessly around the gorged girth that stretches your tight hole out, his fingertips as calloused as your husband’s, but much more attentive

counting your ribs with slow wonder, trapping your swollen clit under rough circles, you're dripping all over your trembling thighs and his pants, his cock carving it's place within you, the bite undisguised, voice a husky drawl “he wasn't' even worth a nail from yauh littl' finger” against your tender skin, where he pressed demanding kisses, crooked nose nuzzling into your sternum.

At first you thought maybe he had hurt himself, then it sounded again. A soft, gravelly moan from deep within his chest. Unmistakably erotic.

"Johnny!" You cried, dropping your bags and storming forward to scold him. "Seriously? On the couch? That we share? That is so gr... gross..."

Your steps slowed as he came into view. Large hand wrapped around his cock. Slick from the precum drooling from the tip. His thick, bare thighs spread across the couch that you had bought. Hair curling from his navel down to his balls.

All that didn't matter. You could ignore it. You knew how much of a pest John was. What you couldn't let slide was the little image on the phone in his free hand. A picture of you. Your bloody instagram. Not even a sexy picture either. Just a picture of you.

Squeezing the base of his cock and letting it slap against his lower stomach he grinned at you. Head rolling back so he could fully take in your stunned and disgusted expression.

simon was just going about his day-off as usual, running errands he had been procrastinating for weeks. he owned multiple nice cars, as owning autoshops across town granted him the wealth to be able to do so, and today he was cruising around in his face.

when you happened.

it was your fault that you'd crashed. young and reckless, not thinking about your actions until the consequences manifested in a crumpled hood against the side of another car. a nice, expensive car.

simon was pissed. he knew full well how reckless people could be on the road. hell, he used to drive like them, but he wasn't expecting it to land him in this scenario. he jumped out of his car, fist clenched with rage and ready to tear the other driver a new one.

and stopped dead when he saw you. rage simmered to irritation because the fear in your eyes, airbags deployed around you. your hair was a mess, tears streaming down those full cheeks. simon knew anger wasn't the answer.

so he approached your car, leaning in the rolled down window with a gruff question. "you 'right?"

a soft gasp left your pretty lips, not expecting him to be at your door side so quick. you had seen the manner in which he left his car, mentally preparing for a verbal beat down.

words started spewing from your mouth. apology after apology. "I'm so sorry, it's all my fault, I'll pay–"

"that wasn't my question." he cut you off, blunt and harsh. "are you okay?"

he stuns you. doesn't he care about the car you just wrecked? it looks nice, expensive, and way out of your tax bracket. he should be yelling, berating you, scolding you for the recklessness that caused the crash. instead he's asking if you're okay?

you manage a slight nod. "I'm fine." despite that being far from the truth, there were bigger things to worry about.

yet he calls you out anyways. "yer not. yer shaking', nose's bleedin', and you've got a nasty bruise forming." his eyes scan over you again. "stay in yer car, paramedics'll be here soon."

you listen to his advice, seeing as there's nothing dangerous happening with the car that would force you to get out. it would prevent further injury you'd be paying for.

meanwhile simon turns to ring up his buddy who works for a towing company, calling in a favor to retrieve his and your car to tow back to his shop.

when the paramedics take you away after a once over to simon—deeming him healthy enough, but stressing the importance of a checkup if anything feels funny—he leaves and gets to work.

he spends all day at his shop, working and repairing the car for the sweet, reckless thing that plowed through his car. simon wasn't blind, could tell this car meant something to you, with the panic in your eyes as you looked back at the crash site before being taken in the ambulance.

by the end of the workday, he was finished, waiting around for you to show. he had exchanged information after calling for a tow, texting you when he had finally finished the repair work.

and there you walked in, still a little banged up but just as gorgeous as before. your looks floored simon, which is probably what compelled him to do this. he's easy.

you began rummaging in your purse. "what do I owe you?" you didn't have much, and simon knew.

which is why you were settled on your knees, working up his thick cock with two hands in the middle of his shop. a bead of pre dripped from his slit. the length of him was slick with saliva thag you spat in your palm, twisting your wrist as you gave him his preferred payment.

because this was a common occurrence, which you didn't know, but his mechanic mates did. they weren't phased by the site of a girl taking simon, as it was just another form of payment he offered. he's the owner, he can do what he wants.

guiding the bulbous tip of his cock to your lips, he urged you to take him in your mouth, to suck him off with the audience of his mechanics. you did it, you had to in order to get your repairs for free. you'd be lying if you said you weren't soaking through your panties.

"yeah, that's it." he grunts in praise, forcing inch by inch into your mouth, whether or not you could take it. he smiled a perverse smile as you gagged around him. "lil' deeper, there ya go. atta girl, show m'how eager ya are to make it up t'me."

head bobbing, you swallowed as much of his cock as you could, despite your gag reflex and the way his tip punched the back of your throat.

"show me those pretty eyes." he ordered, and you obeyed. his hand slide around the back of your head, using the leverage to push you down further. "such a good cocksucker, 'nd I bet yer pussy's just as good at takin' cock."

his dirty words do nothing but turn you on further, except he won't get to fuck you properly. as soon as he cums, he smears the excess cum on your lips before tucking himself back in his jeans and sending you off with your car. the glare you send him makes his dick twitch because they all do that when he makes them leave.

⚠︎ — 18+. fem!reader. fauxcest. daddy kink (dad). daddaughter roleplay. use of the word ‘kid.’ dead dove do not eat. not proofread.

“You’re the kid I always wanted,” Soldier Boy speaks the words in a staccato-like tone, each word followed by the stroke of his cock ramming into you with speed and pressure Ben has curated just for you. Beneath him, your legs shake. Your wet cunt shines as he has his way with you. Traces of your arousal paint the sheets a glossy slick that reflects in the bedroom lighting. “Not all dads treat their daughters this good. Say ‘thank you,’ babydoll.”

“Thank you, dad…” Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to focus on not reaching your climax prematurely, but the pressure of dad rocking into you is too intense— it’s too fucking good. This is why John can’t stand you. You get the attention that he craves, but it’s not your fault you can seduce your father with big, wet, doe-eyes. It’s not your fault Ben craves you in ways John could never satiate.

“Your dad’s little girl, huh? My perfect little angel. Can’t believe I got so lucky to have a girl just like you.” Ben’s sweet talking is one of the many ways he can coax an orgasm out of you. Your warm, wet walls clench around his cock. The soft tissue of your pussy squeezes just enough to make out every single vein that protrudes from Ben’s shaft, and if you really focus hard enough, you can feel every crevice surrounding the tip hook into the base of your cervix. It’s almost like a lock and key, Ben’s cock acting as a puzzle piece that fits into you perfectly.

“Yeah,” you moan, gripping his biceps as you try to stave off the orgasm for as long as possible. You want this feeling to last forever, “Yeah, I’m your little girl. Love being your little girl. I’ve always wanted a dad.”

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 804

#𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: this idea came to me and i haven't written in ages so be nice to me (hides).

the vought penthouse was a monument to excess. floor-to-ceiling glass and cold polished marble that overlooked a city that belonged to the most evil of people. you were just another one of ben’s high-end acquisitions. the closest thing to a 'sugar baby' a man like him would ever allow. though he’d never use the word. all because the term implied a transaction, and ben preferred to think of it as your natural duty to always be at his beck and call.

draped in silk that cost more than you could ever afford , you nursed a drink you didn't even want , while the sun dipped below the skyline. you’d been waiting for hours, dressed and ready for a dinner ben had more than likely forgotten about , the moment he stepped out of the room. it was like this every night; ben didn't operate on a schedule, he operated on his own whims. he did what he wanted , when he wanted— and not a second sooner.

ben had finally stalked in, the heavy thud of his worn boots echoing off the marble. heading straight for the heavy mahogany bar, his suit still on, smelling of gunpowder. the dark green scales of his suit catching the dim light made him look like a relic of a more violent age.

“you’re late,” you murmured, the frustration finally bubbling over as you stood up. “i’ve been sitting here for three hours. i thought we were going out.”

𝜗୧ ⸝⸝ Thinking about sexually repressed 𝓕irecracker who sneaks into your Vought tower suite to find relief from the stress of working under Homelander. ( 18+ )

“He’s so fuckin’ mean. He was such a jerk today,” she mutters into your swollen mouth, riding your thigh with vigour, her own knee pressing up against your pebbled clit.

You lazily nod along to her words, grinding your bare cunt against the soft pale skin of her thigh, searching for the same friction she’s eagerly seeking out against your leg.

A low whine tumbles out of her mouth—her red lipstick messy and smudged down onto her chin—as you rub harder against her, tugging her head back by her hair.

Lowering her face beneath yours, your gaze peruses down over her soured expression. “You’re not much better, y’know? Running around, chasing after that maniac like some sad neglected puppy.”

Firecracker groans, half-heartedly protesting while her face scrunches in pleasure, despite your words. Her teeth nip up at your lower lip, and she whispers, “Don’t call ‘im that. What happens when he blasts through that door and guts you for speakin’ about him that way, hm?”

“Well, I guess you’d lose your little stress toy, wouldn’t you?” you breathe out superciliously, the corners of your mouth curling up into a knowing smirk, watching her face twitch—the same way it always does when you press into that open wound. “It’s too bad… ‘cause you need me. You pretend you hate this, but you need it. I know you do. You always keep coming back to me… to this. For this.”

She tries to scoff, as if your words hold no truth, but the way her body arches into yours says it all. She does need you. You’re the only thing keeping her sane in this artificial hellscape, even if it’s too painful for her to admit.

Ahhh tyyy!!! Here's some thoughts with the other guys for you!!! >0<

Price – absolutely loves it. Price likes the challenge of getting you there, it makes him feel like a proper husband when he can feel you clench around his fingers as your body finally goes lax. His favorite is definitely trying to get you off with just his hand in semi-public spaces...

Gaz – now hear me out on gaz also being hyposensitive...since neither of you can really get to an orgasm easily, he prefers to lazily grind with you while doing something else. Either you both watching a show or doing your separate tasks. Sometimes you just spend hours rubbing together and chatting about your day, he never makes it a big deal if you don't cum. Half the fun is getting there anyways.

Soap – he's met every kind of person in terms of sexual quirks and is not at all shocked. Might call up an old partner for some tips on how to make things best for you. Soap doesn't get snippy about toys, either. If you have a favorite vibe then it's also his favorite. He definitely isn't above teasing you, though...

You’re still at your desk at 7:30 because Price hasn’t sent you home yet.

That’s the truth of it, no matter what you say to yourself about emails or the brief. The door to his office is open enough that you can see the yellow light from the lamp inside across the linoleum. You can hear the rasp of his voice coming through when he leans back in his chair — low and rough, the rumble of it cutting off at intervals when whoever’s on the other end speaks. You’ve long since stopped pretending to type anything.

He’s been in there for hours. You brought him coffee at six and his hand brushed yours when he took the cup, and he didn’t say thank you like he usually does, just held your gaze over the rim until you turned around and walked out with hot ears.

You haven’t been able to focus since.

It's embarrassing, something you avoided talking with Simon about even though you know you should. How you just...don't feel as much down there as you should. Fingers hardly do anything for you, and even vibrators need a bit of a rough hand to really get you off.

Most men you've been with didn't exactly...take well to the news.

Which is why ghost's reaction shocked you so much. When you told him it'd likely take hours to get you off if he decided to use his mouth like he wanted, you expect him to scoff or get defensive.

You don't expect the growled "fuckin' perfect, love." Before he hauled you to the bedroom.

Which is how you learn that ghost can genuinely spend hours with his face shoved between your thighs, lapping and sucking at you more for his own enjoyment than anything. The first time he spent so long sucking on your clit, fingers rubbing inside you, that by the time you finally rolled into your first orgasm his fingers had pruned.

Now it's like a routine to destress.

Ghost pops in his earbuds, picks a nice Playlist, and gets to work, meanwhile you spend a few hours reading the new romance book gaz recommended. He spends hours eating you, savoring you. Sometimes you don't cum, just enjoy the sensations, but it's always good. Ghost doesn't make you feel ashamed or bad because you don't act how others think you should.

The first time you stop struggling and cursing all day, you get a small blanket to keep warm at night. When you don't have to he force-fed the strange-tasting food, he adds little snacks you actually like on the side.

It piles up from there. Good behavior is rewarded, and bad behavior means you lose things. You've been his pet for....you're not sure how long, he doesn't let you keep track of that sort of stuff, but you know it's been a while.

You have a comfy little dog bed in the living room, a major upgrade from the cold basement. You get snacks and drinks and tv time in the evenings when he cooks dinner and later when you comwarm him.

After a while it...stops feeling like captivity. Can anyone even call it that? When you don't fight him, when you eagerly lap at whatever he asks you to, when you don't scream for help the two times he takes you out in public?

The thought terrifies you.

So you disobey. You knock your bowl of kibble over, you ignore his commands until the second time, you even go places you know you aren't allowed unsupervised. It's so obviously deliberate and begging for punishment that ghost almost refuses to, almost wants to see what will happen if you realize you could have left long ago.

He likes to see the horror and disgust with yourself.

“ His wicked sense of humor suggests exciting sex.

He believes in beauty.

He's Venus as a boy. ”

( 18+ ) ── Thinking about 𝓙ensen 𝓐ckles impatiently waiting for his press/con interviews to be over, desperate to get back to you in the green room. His phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket from all the vulgar texts you keep sending him, taunting him while he’s busy, trying to break his trained facade of being a good respectable man.

Meanwhile below the table, his cock strains against the confines of his jeans, his tip leaking and swollen, begging for that smart little mouth of yours to wrap around it and lick his weeping slit clean. He’s so beyond fucked, and he knows it, biting into his bottom lip until there’s teeth marks, attempting to seem sane while his neglected cock throbs. His mind races with obscene images of your body, along with the heavenly sound of your moans, the way you taste, and how utterly perfect your greedy cunt feels around him. Part of him thinks this would be kinda funny if he wasn’t at work, in front of a crowd of people and dozens of cameras.