#one of my coworkers follows me on here

[baby-prophet]

had a crazy fucked up dream about 3 of my ex/coworkers we'll call them by their initials (D, Y & B) where we plan this whole bank robbery and it was all going to plan until something went wrong when we actually robbed the bank and we had to split up. we agreed to meet at the getaway car but when me & D got there we couldn't find the other two anywhere... so we had to go back and try to find them. we eventually did find Y&B in a tiny closet and it was clear we were interrupting.. something.... B got really really mad at me specifically saying its not what you think.. and he like lunged forward as if he were going to strangle me but just before his hands reached my throat, in a puff of smoke he turned into a bunch of snakes and slithered off. and Y was just like "oh rip..." then we make it back to my car and I'm driving us up this like mountain with the sea on one side. we go around a sharp turn, there's something slick on the road and I lose control of the car. I run off the road into the guard rails. the car is precariously balanced on the edge so we're like holy shit we almost died. we robbed a bank and almost died and here we are. and we are laughing/ relieved until it gets real quiet and I look down and see that I got impaled by the steering wheel. we sit in silence for a moment and then D got out of the car and said well.. good luck with that......... and Y was like im sorry allie and got out too and that was enough to shift the balance and the car went over the cliff and I woke up before I hit the water :(

[composeregg]

^_^ ^_^ ^_^ ^_^

[cavefairy]

hey you. train enjoyer. come talk to me coward. i wanna make plans to hang out outside of work :3

[orcelito]

Ykno I think it's kind of funny how some people r so against sharing that they're into any fan stuff ever with Anyone they know irl. Then there's me. I'll tell my friends. I'll tell my family. I'll tell my COWORKERS. That I write fanfiction.

Like it's rly not that big of a deal I don't think. I like my funny little guys and I like to put them into situations. It's pretty normal.

[hobbitunderthemountain]

nothing like remembering weird nuggets of information and my coworkers are like wtf how do you know this I'm just shouting IDK IDK IDK IM AUTISTIC?!?? LITTLE SHIT LIKE THIS STICKS IN MY HEAD I GUESS????

[artemisiatridentata]

today a couple of my coworkers mentioned they’re watching the x files and that they’re on season 3 and they “love the chemistry between mulder and scully” and “can’t wait to see where it goes” and it took everything in me not to let out a wilhelm scream

[togekissies]

my supervisor is apparently going to retire this year (we'll see if she actually does, she's been saying this for at least five years) and man i know i would be good at that job but god am i sad that i have no management experience to make up for the fact that i've only been here a year lmao. if she DOES announce her retirement i'll ask her if she thinks i should throw my hat in the ring but i'm not counting on it

[ilonacho]

the fucking audacity of watching the pixar short film “going home” while i’m home for my grandma’s funeral.

[cerealmonster15]

I follow a lot of blogs where ppl don’t have their age and I get jumpscared anytime someone mentions they’re in school or like. Have Homework. Like are they talking college. High school. Grad school. You can be in some kind of school at technically any age but I’m always like Wait How Old Are You People that told me so much and yet so little in one go

[alas--pringles]

I was already thinking my suspicions about my brain were a bit more confirmed the past few days due to getting irrationally overly frustrated with a combination of "black and white thinking" "a strong sense of justice" and no one understanding what i was actually trying to communicate.

Then the "all your friends only tolerate you at besr, notice how whenever youre the one trying to make plans they never happen?" mean brain thoughts started up after work which only reminded me of plans i was trying to make (with an entirely separate group than the thoughts were mainly about.) Started that conversation again and. Wow what do you know the plans evaporated.

Ive been emotional in so many different ways before, like lowkey panicking or being anxious for various reasons, or like what may count as RSD (i usually just call it the mean part of my brain.) But this felt different. Sometimes emotions make me quieter or less talkative of course but ive never in my life experienced being nonverbal or anything. Idk if this was that but its the only way i can describe it. I was alone in my room, i wasnt trying to talk out loud, but it felt like i couldnt even really type words. Like i was basically limited to emojis, maybe gifs. (That dumb post about sodo with the emojis last night? That was then, i was looking for emojis and found the 🤏 which reminded me of him mocking rain lol.) So maybe theres a different word than just a general minor emotional breakdown for whatever last night was. Meltdown? Shutdown? Idk.

I'm ok now, probably need a break from certain topics, but wanted to get my thoughts about my weird brain out.

[m0thkiller]

Sometimes I wonder if I should stop boymoding at work. Like itd really help my overall stress, not having to be so performatively masculine while hiding actively growing C cups so that nobody knows that in my off time im an entirely unrecognizable person. And then i have two coworkers talk over my shoulders about absolutely batshit conspiracies about Jews and the NWO and Covid being a coverup for the underground ww3 cities project and i remember

"oh yeah, the baseline attitude around here is that Im not human. I and people like me are demons to these people. and they control my fucking paychecks."

Like this shits normal around here, everyone i talk to in this town is super chill and friendly and then backhands you with the most insane string of words youve ever heard and you just have to smile and nod while mashing the eject button on the conversation

[hairenya]

I just saw a note from a blog that has the same first initial and last name as one of my much more respectable coworkers and I checked out their blog and it’s definitely not her but that’s the closest I’ve ever come to dying. Like I nearly had a heart attack. Nightmare scenario.

[ironmanstan]

free. in my zone. living my life. zooming

[the-kipsabian]

.

[gibbearish]

Congrats on sending that application!

THANK UUUUUU

[gloomwitchwrites]

You introduce your husband as your "boyfriend" to annoy them.

Anon! This prompt has me screaming! I really enjoyed writing for this one because it's such a fun idea. Sure, our 141 boys might be a little mad that they aren't being called by their proper title, but you know they'll just love punishing you for it.

I went a little different with this one. Instead of introductions, I made it so that reader is constantly referring to them as "boyfriend" in public settings. Depending on the situation, introductions wouldn't make sense if it was with friends, family, or coworkers because they would likely already know that they're "husband" and not "boyfriend." So i changed it up a bit in that way!

Some of these fall into spicy territory without being descriptive.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, non-descriptive mentions of sex, fade to black, brief dirty talk

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shakes his head and you roll your eyes.

“We can ask someone for help,” you suggest, scanning the massive wall of televisions.

Simon grunts and crosses his arms. “No.”

Sometimes Simon’s stubbornness is cute—even sexy—but right now you’re just annoyed with him. It makes you want to stir up trouble, to cause a little chaos just for the fun of it. Pouting, you turn, eyes narrowing to find an associate of the electronics store. When you spot one near the HDMI cables, you take off, not caring if Simon follows.

“Excuse me.”

The man’s head perks up. “How can I help you?”

You gesture behind you, your hand smacking into Simon’s chest. “My boyfriend—”

“Boyfriend?” growls Simon, but you ignore him.

“—can’t decide on a television.”

Simon is not your boyfriend. He’s your husband. But he’s being stubborn, not making a decision, and you want out of this store.

Shifting, you place one hand on Simon’s large bicep, grinning like you haven’t done anything at all. Simon’s hand immediately grabs your ass, squeezing hard. A warning. One that you ignore.

“I can help with that,” replies the associate. You glance at the man’s nametag. Jim.

“Thank you so much, Jim.” You lean against Simon, giving Jim your best smile. “Getting this guy to commit to anything is so hard sometimes, ya know?”

Jim makes a noncommittal noise as he walks toward the wall of televisions. You start to follow but Simon’s hold on your ass tightens, keeping you pressed against him. Simon leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

You elbow Simon in the side but it’s not hard. He lets go, keeping close to you as the two of you follow Jim over to the televisions. Standing back, you watch with glee as Simon is forced to talk to Jim. You stay out of it, but notice Simon’s gaze switching to you every so often.

You already know what he’s thinking. He’ll likely want to punish you, and sometimes those punishments are so sweet.

Once Simon selects something and the two of you are at the car, there is no safety net. Simon shuts the trunk and then you’re pressed against the car, your body trapped between it and Simon’s massive form.

“Boyfriend?” he accuses.

You shrug. “What do you mean?”

The growl in Simon’s throat comes out a groan. “Get in the car.” He lightly slaps your ass as you open the passenger door.

As you start to slide in, Simon’s hand returns, this time slipping under your skirt to find your thin, lace underwear. He tugs sharply, ripping the fabric.

“Simon!”

He stuffs the underwear into his pocket. “You don’t need these.” You feel your face growing hot.

Simon shuts your car door and walks around the driver’s side, hopping in. He reaches out, placing one large hand on your bare thigh. It roams upward, squeezing, sending a shiver of lust up your body to make your head spin. “When we get home, I’m fucking that boyfriend nonsense right out of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“I’m so sorry, but this isn’t what my boyfriend ordered.”

Kyle frowns and glances up from his phone’s screen. That’s your voice he hears, but the term of address isn’t right.

Boyfriend. Not husband, as it fucking should be.

Kyle glances in your direction but you’re not looking at him. You’re smiling sweetly at the barista behind the counter.

“It should be hot. Not iced. I might have messed up. I’m so sorry. I can pay for another.” You raise your hands in a placating gesture but the barista doesn’t appear fazed at all.

“No biggie. Keep that one. Won’t take me more than a minute or two.”

“Thank you so much.” You glance at Kyle, and your smirk tells him all he needs to know.

You’re being a tease. You’re doing this on purpose. The drink order is wrong, and you’re using this as an excuse to poke at him.

Kyle locks his phone and casually slides it into his pocket. Do you think you’re going to annoy him by doing this? Maybe. The little smirk on your face tells him that’s entirely what you have in mind.

But the joke is on you. Doesn’t matter if you refer to him as “boyfriend,” because all it’ll earn you is a punishment.

As the barista slides the new drink across the counter to you, you thank them profusely. “Thank you so much. My boyfriend will really appreciate it.”

The barista only nods and turns back to the espresso machine.

As you approach with the coffee, Kyle gentle removes the drink from your grasp.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, amused.

You shake your head like you have no idea what he’s on about. “What?”

Kyle laughs and snags the other drink from your hand. With shock on your face, he strides up to the counter. “Can you set these aside for us? Be right back.”

They only nod and continue working. Kyle snags your wrist and drags you to the little hallway that curves out around. There are a few private corners in there, and the hallway itself opens up into the nearby bookstore.

Kyle checks the handle on the unisex bathroom. Finding it unlocked, he draws you inside.

“Kyle,” you hiss, but he’s not having any of it.

Kyle engages the lock and presses you up against the door.

“You owe me an apology,” he says.

“For what?” Kyle tuts, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Get on your knees,” he murmurs, undoing his belt buckle with the other hand. “Apologize with that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

John Price

John leans back in his chair, agitation irritating his spine.

House hunting isn’t something he’s particularly excited about. He is happy that it’s with you, his wife, but the tediousness of it all is exhausting to him. John would rather have you select a few places to tour and then be done with it all. Money isn’t the issue. He just wants you to find a place you like and the two of you can go from there.

He’d live in a tent if that’s what you want.

“My boyfriend isn’t all that picky.”

Boyfriend? John is tugged from his inner musings by your voice and that term of address. Boyfriend. Why the fuck would you call him that? John isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your goddamn husband.

You reach out, planting a hand on his thigh. You squeeze softly as you always do when you’re trying to reassure him, but John frowns down at it, and then looks up at you. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the realtor, completely ignoring him.

John licks his lips, considering whether to correct you or not, or leaving it up to a simple mistake, but you do it again.

This time, John didn’t mishear you.

Your hand squeezes his thigh again and Price rests his hand over yours. His fingers enclose your palm and he holds firm. You glance at him and John shoots you his best warning look. You don’t even react. Don’t event blink.

No. He’s going to correct you. He is absolutely fucking correcting you.

The realtor pivots the computer monitor. “I think any boyfriend would agree that these are excellent selections.”

That’s fucking it.

Price shoots up from his seat, keeping a tight grip on your hand. “I need to speak with my—” John pauses, swallowing down his annoyance. “Girlfriend. Privately.”

The realtor shrugs, smiling, but John is already turning around, dragging you out the door. Outside, the stuffy, summer air does nothing to soothe his annoyance.

“Boyfriend? Fucking boyfriend?” John crosses his arms over his chest, looming over you.

You shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“Behave yourself,” he says, lowering his voice.

“Or what?” you ask in mock innocence.

So, this is what you want. John understands the moment the words leave your mouth. You’re fucking teasing him. Fine. He’ll make you learn.

“We are gonna go back in, thank the kind woman for her time, and then we’re leaving.”

“No. I want to stay.”

John leans in but he notices the way you glance away from him and back, clearly flustered. “Good girls don’t play games.”

“Funny,” you reply, head tilting slightly. “That as my boyfriend you have any authority over me.”

John pivots, blocking the view of the front door from you. “I will bend you over that bench so fast, wife.”

“You won’t,” you stammer.

John arches an eyebrow and you visibly swallow. “Want to test me?”

You pout, and then playfully shove him in the chest. “You’re terrible.”

As you turn for the door, John grabs your waist pulling you close. “You started it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“My boyfriend and I are redesigning our bathroom.”

Johnny’s attention splits. The associate showing him floor tiles is a distant thing. He might be talking about the newest ones on the market, but Johnny is no longer interested.

Did he just hear you right? Did you just call him boyfriend?

“That’s wonderful,” comes a reply, and Johnny notes an older woman talking to you near the laminate flooring that mimics wood. “Where is he?”

“Over there,” you wave at him, a smug smile on your face.

Boyfriend? Johnny is your fucking husband.

“Sir?” prompts the hardware store associate. “What do you think of these?”

Johnny grunts. “Fine. We’ll come back.” He waves the man off and starts for you even as you continuously refer to him as your boyfriend.

You’re doing it on purpose. You’re doing it to annoy him.

And it’s fucking working.

Johnny saddles up beside you, snaking his arm around your waist, pulling you taut against him.

“This is the boyfriend,” you begin, smiling.

“Husband,” corrects Johnny, flashing the same devious grin. He holds up his left hand, showing off the simple gold band. “Happily married to this one.”

The older woman’s eyes round.

“She likes to joke,” continues Johnny. “Come on, love. Better get home.”

Johnny easily guides you away. He leans down, whispering. “You little terror.”

“Bite me,” you reply.

“Oh. I will. Everywhere. When we get home.”

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