#stupid warehouse job

[oskyys]

the current days without incident streak is 5- they almost made it to 6 but you know.. the ornament incident

[macbethz]

google search jobs where i dont have to talk to people. jobs where i can be alone. part time employment where i see no one and no one speaks to me and i finish my tasks and go home

[toytulini]

more things open at night for night owls and late shift workers, but also, what if we weren't all toiling daily for 8 fucking hours or more? thats so many of our fucking hours? for what? number go up?

[bravevolunteer]

this is how i think william acted with the in progress animatronics

[jaqkiwine]

=͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇)

[confetti-critter]

Coworker who made everyone sick is still unmasked coughing on everything btw

[sad--tree]

extremely inconvenient 2 me, a person who works saturday to tuesday, that both stat hols are on mondays :|

[itstimeforstarwars]

Sometimes I think about getting the same job at a different location and then some asshole truck driver comes in and gives me a huge ration of shit for absolutely no reason, and I remember that I would rather die actually.

[robiinurheart33]

I’m obsessed with ghost being obsessed with soap.

The way he knows tidbits and fun facts about soap is just unparalleled to everyone despite ghost seeming unbothered. They go on missions together more than anyone else in the task force or god forbid, any other military they’re working with. As much as military life would like you to believe, there’s just as much waiting and planning than there is executing.

Soap is notoriously not patient. Ghost is, but only when it comes to work. Anything else he doesn’t have the time nor patience to deal with it. Unless it comes to Johnny. But no one will ever know that except for Ghost himself. But back to the point, they’re mainly on missions together and they stakeout together, they hide in itchy bushes for hours together, they stay in each other’s space, no matter if they want the other to or not. Soap cannot keep his yapper shut for the life of him and he’ll go stir crazy if he has to stay still for 2 whole hours. So he talks. Whispers, really so as to not give their position away. Ghost is a professional after all, he can split his concentration between the mission and Johnny. It’s endurance training. (Or whatever he tells himself anyways.)

Soap doesn’t mind the mindless talking if it helps him concentrate, and if Ghost doesn’t seem to be bothered then it’s all good. He knows that he isn’t actually actively listening, which is okay. He’s not offended, per se, but he feels an uncomfortable tightness in his chest whenever he looks back at Ghost as if it were an actual conversation to be met with nothing. Soap is a professional and damn good at his job at that, so he doesn’t let that bother him. (He doesn’t.)

One hazy night, Soap and Ghost (Ghost and Soap) are staking out a warehouse across the street, a bone-deep exhaustion hangs in the air as they both slump in their seats near the open windows. Cicadas make themselves known and the humidity doesn’t let down even in the night. Soap’s eyes are hazy, blinking ever so slowly and almost slipping shut for good a few times before he jolts himself awake.

“Go to sleep, Sargent.” Sargent. Ghost’s rough but tired voice cuts through his mind as he slides open his eyes again, not knowing they were closed in the first place. He rolls his head over to Ghost, where he’s sitting rigidly upright. To anyone, it would seem like he’s the picture of alertness, eyes trained out the window, posture perfect. But to Johnny, he can see that his fists are clenched too tight, his gun is still strapped to his side, and he hasn’t even taken a shower yet, when Johnny already has.

Guilt pangs softly in his chest, and he purses his lips in thought. Ghost wouldn’t take a shower now seeing that Soap was so tired. He would probably stay up the whole night staring out the window, sweat trickling uncomfortably down his back but still endure it for the opportunity for Soap to rest. He isn’t stupid, he knows there’s something between them that they can’t name, a connection that isn’t quite friends, but crosses the line of professionalism. Whether Ghost knows that or not is still up in the air for grabs. He pushes himself off the chair with a soft groan, sliding his bare feet over the wooden floors to the bathroom. He splashes cooling water on his face and rubs his eyes, blinking harshly. He stares at Soap in the mirror, and Johnny bristles a bit. He looks like pure shit. His eyes are bloodshot and tired, eye bags threatening to pull his eyelids closed, and he hasn’t shaved in quite a few days. Definitely not up to military regulation. He doesn’t bother to clock in the rest of himself now, wanting to focus more on Ghost than himself.

He walks back out to the shared living room, which is also their bedroom and kitchen, and behind Ghost’s chair. He bends down to swiftly unclip his vest off.

“Wha’ are you doing?” He doesn’t even sound annoyed, just tired.

“Gettin’ all this shite offa’ ya.” Soap doesn’t need to look to know that Ghost is probably even more tired than him. His Lieutenant with all the responsibilities under the sky, and no one to share that burden with.

The vest falls with a heavy thump on the ground and Johnny continues to clatter the remaining knives and guns onto the table, right beside their haphazardly placed maps for future ambushes. He pulls a knife from the sole of his boot, and Ghost huffs in amusement.

“Didn’t know you knew about that one, Johnny.” He’s Johnny now.

“I know everything about you.” It scares him a bit how it slips out that easily, but it scares him even more that he doesn’t take it back.

Ghost’s eyes bore into the side of his skull as he throws the rest of the equipment onto the table, keeping a gun in the pocket of his cotton pants. Johnny juts his chin towards the bathroom, arms akimbo.

“Go shower.” he doesn’t bother with a jab now, God knows they’re both off the table for that. It’s come to a point in the night where jokes lay to rest and honestly is the only thing left to say.

Ghost doesn’t look like he’s going to move and Johnny won’t blame him. He knows how hard it is to leave your post, how you scream at your body to move but nothing works. Nothing happens. Johnny’s eyes eventually hone in on Ghost’s eyes, trying to get a grip of what he’s feeling at the moment. Brown. It’s stupid, but Soap’s never been good with all the metaphorical side of describing things. Ghost’s eyes are brown. It’s brown. And it looks soft around the edges, calm and present, moving ever so slightly as he looks back at him. And they look at each other. And Johnny melts. He wants to melt and be safe in Ghost’s eyes and there’s nothing wrong now, there can never be anything wrong. How could it when the stars and the moon crafted them to orbit around each other so perfectly and intimately? And how could anything go wrong when this is the most right Johnny has ever felt in his life?

He feels his hand rise like silk, cupping Ghost’s cheek, like he’s done it so many times before. He hasn’t. Johnny’s not so sure what makes tonight different, or what changed, but he doesn’t want to question it. He’s not jinxing or screwing anything up this time. The cheekbone of the plastic skull digs into the palm of his hand and Ghost’s eyes droop. His thumb drags up and down, up and down right under his eye, not breaking the eye contact he has with Simon. He watches in real time as his eyes dilate and flutter, his head tipping forward, as if he could feel his touch over the plastic and the balaclava. Before Simon’s head could fall forward, eyes finally closing, Johnny grasps his face with both hands, murmuring.

“Hey, big guy. Not yet.” Simon’s eyes open again, looking up at him and Johnny wants to cry at how desperately he wants him to just relax right now, but he knows that if he isn’t completely safe and comfortable he’s be screaming awake 2 hours later.

“Shower.” He whispers. Ghost seems to snap back into reality slightly, standing up straight and towering over Johnny once more. Like this, his eyes seem black in the shadows, and things are jagged and sharp again. He grunts once, stepping out of their safe bubble and sliding into the bathroom, closing and locking the door with a click.

Johnny sighs softly as he sits down on Ghost’s seat, the wood still warm as he looks out the window. The gun burns where it’s pressed against his thigh, but maybe that’s just the absurd heat at the moment. His eyes are trained on the warehouse, leaning his elbows on his knees and letting his mind drift off for a bit. There’s no one in the warehouse at the moment, and any movement would be extremely obvious in the dead of night so he figured it would be okay.

Johnny thought of his family. He thought of the soft yearning he felt whenever he wanted to be small and tucked in his mother’s arms again. he thought of how accepted he felt if one of his older sisters threw an arm around his shoulder. He thought of his home back in Scotland, an empty living room with an aging woman who would spend the rest of her life waiting for children that were not guaranteed to come back. The sadness plagued his mind whenever he was alone, wishing he could come back as soon as possible to his home. To what? Put on the obnoxious military persona and acting as if he were immortal to not worry his family? He knows better than that. He knows he’s soft and pliable, that no matter how many muscles he builds, his body will always cave to a bullet. He knows his family will always worry and he can’t do anything about it.

Ghost steps out of the shower and Soap’s thoughts dissipate, head tilting in his direction. He’s swapped his hard skull mask for a clean balaclava, traditional hoodie and sweatpants. He looks…domestic, in a way. A too big man standing in a too small hallway, hunched over and fatigue evident. Love, Johnny realises, comes in many shapes and forms, but it all takes root in the same place.

Simon lumbers over to stand behind his chair, eyes boring down to meet his. Their positions have swapped now, Simon looking down while Johnny reaches up to meet his. Love is a gentle thing. Soap realises with a calmness that shouldn’t be there that he couldn’t pick between his family and Simon. His family meant the whole world to him, but Simon was his sunlight and his saviour. They floated in a nice limbo between everything, Simon and Johnny. Johnny and Simon. Love is a gentle thing.

“Go to sleep, Johnny. you’re tired.”

“You don’t kno’ that.” He’s slurring.

“I know everything about you.” The line is thrown back into his face, and Johnny’s eyes widen. He can feel the butterflies in his stomach, twisting in an exhilarating way. He swallows and watches Simon stare at his Adam’s apple bob up and down, eyes crinkling. Johnny’s a bit speechless, partly due to overwhelming fondness and partly due to his body screaming for a rest. Simon cares. He cares for Johnny. He thinks about him. He cares. He cares. He cares.

Love is a gentle thing.

“Aye.” John whispers.

All is right in the world, because Simon cares and his mother is at home waiting for him, and he is loved. Johnny is told to sleep, and so he will.

[a-winnie-or-a-freddie]

I deserve access to high places. I have good idea for billboards

[oskyys]

you can tell i have a favorite OC from seeing that 98.76% of my OC doodles consist of the same character over and over and over again with no sign of stopping

anyways Rica you are my favorite and i do not care if the others know <3

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Trying to dye my hair with koolaid and I'm getting flashbacks to being like 13 and dyeing my friend's hair with koolaid in my garage (because none of our parents wanted us to make a mess of the bathroom).

[uopenthedoor]

not saying it is, but i would not be surprised if the whole quiet quitting thing was a psyop

like people legitimately cant survive off their income why are we focusing on "doing the bare minimum" like that's revolutionary. many of us CAN only do the bare minimum and it's not revolutionary at all. what WOULD be revolutionary is people demanding higher wages or joining unions or going on strike (WHICH THEY ARE!!!) but again i feel like the editorial focus on quiet quitting is just to distract middle-upper class people and make them think that what they're already doing is somehow ideologically profound

[luvlystarr]

Could you please do a part 2 to Simon -grumpy x sunshine

Thanks so much 💕💕

.・。.・゜❃・.・❃・゜・。.

Part 1

Of course I can do a part 2! I’m really grateful that so many people enjoyed my last post! 🤍

Here’s part 2 of Ghost x Reader - Grumpy x Sunshine.

Content: Pure fluff

.・。.・゜・゜

Ghost still hates you, well, not as much.

You and the Task Force 141 were sent on another mission. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned.

Because of an unexpected ambush, you and Ghost got separated from the rest of the team.

It seemed like the universe wasn't on your side today. Both of your radios weren't functioning even though they were perfectly fine. You tried to call for Price, Soap and Gaz but all you got was static.

On top of all of that one of the enemies managed to cut your arm with a knife.

All of which lead to your current situation. The two of you are stuck in an abandoned warehouse with broken radios while Ghost patched you up.

You were sitting on a chair while you kicked your legs back and forth, patiently waiting for Ghost to finish.

"Quit moving," he said as he glared at you. You followed his orders and stopped. He's already pissed off and you don't want to make it any worse.

"Why can't we just go out there and find them? Who knows how long we're gonna be stuck here," you huffed.

"We're waiting for Price's orders. It's dangerous to go out there blindly."

He was right, there were probably enemies lurking outside and who could easily outnumber both of you. But at the same time you can't stand being in the warehouse anymore. You wanted to get the job done and go home.

Ghost finally finished wrapping the bandage around your wound. "There, how's your arm now?" He asked.

You move your arm around slightly. "Not bad, still aches but it'll do," you shrug. "Thanks, Si."

"Should've been more careful and I told you not to call me that," Ghost sighed.

"C'mon, lighten up a bit! Let's have some fun at least." Just then an idea popped into your mind.

"How about this, where do Generals keep their armies? In their sleevies!" You laugh uncontrollably at your own joke.

Ghost hated to admit it but your joke was a little funny, even your cute laugh got to him.

He managed to hide his chuckle but that didn't go unnoticed by you.

You stared him with a shocked look on your face. At first you thought your mind playing tricks until you see his eyes squinting a little.

"Did you just laugh?! Was that a laugh?!" You exclaimed.

Luckily, his mask was able to hide the dumb smile he had on his face. "Don't know what you're talking about, that joke was stupid."

"You did laugh! I can tell you're smiling, Si!" You grinned.

He shook his head before finally caving in and letting himself laugh. His cheeks began to hurt just from how hard he was smiling.

He gently pulled your head to his chest before wrapping his arms around you. You could feel his laugh vibrating through his chest. Now you were a hundred percent sure that you weren't seeing things.

"Shut up, you're losing your mind cause of the blood loss, love," he chuckled.

Maybe he doesn’t hate your laugh as much as he thought he did.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud but he does love you with all his heart.

・゜・。. .・。.・゜・゜・。.

[chuunai]

I had an idea for the 100 followers thingy- so like the babies thing but you’re a single mother (maybe teen mom?) and dazai (pm) falls in love with you and your baby :} ps- I LOVE YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF SUGAR 💗‼️‼️‼️

I’m trying I swear TvT

✧˚ · . you’re a virgin and I’m just a meth head - pm! dazai osamu

the new hire at the port mafia interests him. the baby, too.

summary ⋆ ★ comfort, fluff with a sprinkle of angst, mentions of teen pregnancy, reader and PM! dazai are seventeen, SFW, mentions of a former abusive relationship, mentions of suicide (it’s fucking dazai), happy ending.

Assistants were something he never cared for much.

They came and go, either requesting to work for a different department in the Port Mafia after witnessing his peculiarities or dying. He hadn’t ever formed any bonds with them. Hell, he hardly knew their names. Dazai preferred to give them childish nicknames such as ‘four-eyes’ for the ones with glasses or ‘baldy’ for the ones who had barely began balding.

No use in actually getting to know them.

All they were good for anyway was organizing his work and making a schedule of meetings and pointless missions he’d hardly follow. And what could they do? Nothing.

Once, he had attempted to get Ango to apply for the job during an outing at Bar Lupin, but that four-eyes declined. So did Oda. Geez, his friends lacked faith in him. Dazai wasn’t that bad of a boss. His subordinates didn’t die that often compared to the others.

Then again, his most recent assistant had died via overdosing. Straight from the Port Mafia’s warehouses, too. Dying of his own stupidity because karma struck him down. The high may have been sending him to the clouds, but he got too close to the sun just as Icarus did and burned—or in this case, vomited—to death. Fun.

A replacement would be needed, yes, but that would involve looking through so many applications and that was boring compared to strangling himself or pulling Chuuya’s hair when the redhead was speaking with Kouyou.

He’d pick irritating the slug over paperwork any day. At least one was fun.

So he just had Mori pick one out. As long as they wouldn’t be a nuisance and knew their place, he didn’t care who it was. Boy, girl, whatever. All ages welcomed. Dazai preferred younger though. The old farts were annoying and so utterly dumb! So when a subordinate gave him a file for his new assistant, he didn’t think anything of it. He always got those for record keeping.

Although this particular individual piqued his interest as his eyes gazed over the information attached.

The age was young—seventeen, same as him. A girl. According to the report, you were previously stationed as a secretary for some lower ranking member. And you’d just joined, too. Only a few blissful months ago. Just barely a baby in the crime world. All dewy-eyed and truly unknowing of the dark underbelly of Yokohama.

Most interesting, though, and the thing that struck his curiosity was the fact that a small sticky note was attached to the last page.

‘Single mother of eight month old girl’

There weren’t many parents in the Mafia, much less teenage ones. Nobody had time to have a baby with the lack of safety. But you did. Someone desperate enough to provide for their child to the point where they joined an illegal organization without even being an adult yet. That took will and selflessness. Something he lacked.

And without having even met you yet, Dazai found himself fascinated by you.

Murmuring your name to himself, he found himself a bit startled at how smooth it rolled off his tongue. He liked it, too. Your name was nice to say.

Tossing the file onto his desk carelessly, Dazai tapped his fingers on the desk, mind wandering once more. If you had a child then you’d probably work your best to support them. You’d be competent enough for him.

Apparently competent enough to the point where you felt like you could handle bringing the baby to the Mafia HQ.

“I don’t remember hiring two assistants.”

Dazai’s voice came out as slightly amused and startled. There you were, standing in-front of his desk while occasionally shushing your…daughter? It looked like a girl, anyway.

“Sorry- her sitter wasn’t available and I-“

His eyes stared at your reddening cheeks—embarrassment and shame, he could tell—as you spoke again.

“I don’t really have anyone to watch her. I’m so sorry, sir.”

Sir? You called him sir? That made him wave his hand a bit dismissively. The only people who called him ‘sir’ were the random grunts and gunmen that served under him. Or people who were scared shitless of him.

“Dazai. Not sir.”

Sitting up languidly, his uncovered eye focused on the baby. Curls of dark hair fell over her forehead while her tiny hands grabbed at your shirt and hair. Funny, he thought.

“And the baby can stay.”

She reminded him of some of the orphans Oda took care of. Especially Sakura. Maybe they had the same name, too. Unlikely, though. She didn’t look like a Sakura, really.

Picking up a pen, he pointed it at you, a small smile on her face.

“Speaking of, may I know her mother’s name?”

He knew it already. But it felt more right if he convinced himself you told him.

“Oh! Yes, uhm, I’m (L/N) (Y/N). And her name,” Tapping your baby’s forehead, she released a small coo, giggling slightly. “is (L/N) Yukirou.”

“Winter baby, huh. I’ll guess, December 16th?”

This was so much fun for him so far. Maybe Yukirou really could be his second assistant. As a joke, of course.

Nodding, you began to ramble on about the baby as he relaxed back in his chair, spinning around and making funny faces at Yukirou. The small child giggled and outreached her fingers to him, probably infatuated by his bandages and messy hair. He didn’t touch her, though. No need to let such a good small thing interact with a person like him.

And so minutes went by. Technically, he should’ve been doling out tasks and trying to kill himself again—he had heard of a technique where one could inject apple juice into their neck and die, but he wasn’t sure it’d work—but it slipped out of his grasp. Maybe it was the fact you two were so close in age. The fact that in another universe you could’ve been classmates fueled this moment. Dazai didn’t really know people his age other than Chuuya, but Chuuya was Chuuya. You were new.

New to everything in this line of business. The killing, the release of morals. Then again, you were just an assistant. You’d never directly be involved with that. Just helping him out with whatever was needed.

Dazai thought that was a smart choice, whether or not you intended for it to be. As an assistant, you’d be safe from the gunfire and outermost threats. More likely to live and protect your daughter.

So caring in a line of work where lives were dispensable.

He wondered how you got there. Not to the Port Mafia—the file told him. But how you took on such a frowned upon job to solely provide for your child. Was the father a deadbeat? Or actually dead? His father was the same. Dead five years into Dazai’s life.

His mother tried her best, but she died too and he slipped onto Mori’s grasp. Hopefully your baby wouldn’t end up in the same situation.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by one of his men who dropped off a load of documents, side-eyeing you before leaving.

Dazai wished you hadn’t turned the conversation back to work.

“Sir, sorry- Dazai-san, would you like me to organize the papers..?”

Why did he forget that you were just an assistant of his? The medication must be making his mind woozy again.

“By date and incident, yep. Also, if you see any that mentioned a Chuuya, please throw them out. Or burn them. Preferably the burning part.”

His office was always to be kept rid of that ginger.

“On it.”

And so he doodled a noose on the wood of his desk while you slowly put the papers away. It soon became clear to him that Yukirou was making the job a tad difficult by trying to grab at the papers.

A slight idea of letting her crawl loose in Mori’s office and destroying it entered his mind, but it quickly left.

“Y’know, if she’s being a devil, I can play with her for a bit. I swear I’ll be good!”

The words left him before he could really process them. Next thing he knew he was wearing the baby carrier with tiny fingers pulling at his shirt. Instructions poured from your lips as he nodded and patted the baby’s back.

“I’ll kill you if anything goes wrong.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of that. You? Kill him? Never going to happen. Unless it were a double suicide, but you probably wouldn’t say yes.

And he replied when the slight fear in your eyes registered after remembering that he was your boss in the Mafia.

“If course, cutie. I give you permission to kill me if theoretically anything goes wrong.”

Dazai made sure to sneak a peek at your reddening cheeks before leaving his office with the baby strapped to his chest and tugging at his bandages like a little snake.

That’s how it all started. A boy and a girl who happened to have a baby.

He’d never regret how months went by as you two became closer and closer. Joking around, complaining about work, all the stuff friends did. Hell, Dazai even watched Yukirou sometimes.

Thank god Chuuya wasn’t there to see him watching children’s cartoons on your couch with a baby in his lap and a stuffed animal in the other.

Or how he insisted on covering some of your rent when you were struggling. Yukirou needs a home, after all. He sees himself in her a bit. And he didn’t want her to turn out like him. If he couldn’t change his own life for the better, he’d change hers.

And yours.

Much better than that dickhead that fathered Yukirou. You told Dazai about it one night when he stayed over after babysitting once more. Yukirou was napping in her nursery, and you two were sitting on the couch just talking.

Talking turned into sharing details of your lives, and he came up. Your old flame who ditched you. Breaking a promise that he’d be there for the baby and you. Dazai was silent all throughout it. Quiet when you spoke of the emotional abuse and stress that you had, quiet when you began crying over the fact you never got to graduate high school.

He was just there, daring to awkwardly rub your back as you vented. He wondered if you had talked about it before. Probably not.

Dazai felt like he too needed to share a story of his childhood too in exchange for yours. So he told you about the poor neighborhood he grew up in and the horrors he saw daily.

Did it lessen the impact of your venting? Most likely, but in his opinion, he was trying to show you that he trusted you now too. He assumed it worked when you fell asleep on his shoulder. He took care of Yukirou when she woke crying an hour later. He would’ve been a much better father than that bastard.

It didn’t help either that Yukirou began to see him as her daddy. He was there when she turned a year old, gifting her all sorts of things. Scolding her when she nibbled on his hands. Doing nearly everything a dad would.

Even when she managed to say ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ for the first time, it was when all three of you were in the room together. In her tiny mind, it was her family. Her mama and Dazai—her papa. Oda congratulated him for becoming a father when you came along one day with him to Bar Lupin.

It didn’t live up to Chuuya’s reaction when he first heard one of his guys call Dazai a doting father. The shortstack had gone up to him asking if he really was Yukirou’s dad—rumors went around at HQ quickly—and Dazai had to sadly reply that he wasn’t. Sometimes he wished he was. Months of time with you led to nights in bed where he dreamed of a universe that he was really the dad. That Yukirou had his brown eyes instead of her dad’s blue ones.

It wasn’t fair.

Nor were his growing feelings.

Dazai was smart. A genius thinker and planner. So of course he noticed how his heart began to rapidly beat around you. The sweating of his usually cold hands.

He’d had crushes in the past, sure. But it didn’t equate to this. Such a strong connection only made it worse. Was it wrong his Google history lately was filled with questions about confessing to and dating a single mom?

Did you even like him back?

That question couldn’t be answered by anyone but you. It scared him. You probably didn’t. Not as more than a brother, anyway. His suicidal ideation and tendencies scared off any woman who wanted more than sex. But he probably wouldn’t be living long anyway. So he’d have to shoot his shot eventually.

Which he did after another five months of consideration and thought. Dazai committed this act by simply asking you to sort out some notes for him. A total of eight. Each one had a single word on it. If you correctly put them together, it spelled:

‘I like you. Do you like me back?’

Much to his relief and shock, you did. You did, and he had hugged you so tightly. Tightening their bond, too.

So he became your boyfriend. And he wore the title of ‘dad’ to Yukirou gladly. The little girl saw him as her papa, and he couldn’t deny it. Even if it wasn’t biologically, she was his. And yours.

Dazai’s life used to be mundane and slow, yet with his new…family, he felt genuine happiness for once. A reason to live.

That was the greatest gift he could receive of all.

Regular Tags: @twst-om-lover, @xxcandlelightxx, @sinfulthoughtsposts.

Tags for everyone who interacted with this post (it’s over 100): @walking-simp, @hypocritic-trash-baby, @heartsfourdazai, @cheriiyaya, @depressed-monarch, @nyxt0t, @baby-tini, @h0nk3rs, @internet-angell, @cupidszvlvr, @owosamu, @my-dear-melancholy, @dazaibae, @nekomafumafufan18-blog, @cvsmois, @lizsano, @nanamiinto, @inojuuy, @reomarys, @mayanakahara, @briiscoolig, @maislovebot, @syona-sachyo, @xieqq2, @angelof-darkness, @moriiko, @fuckthisfuckingshit, @daushu, @wrynue, @amnda-ft-fyodor, @rain-alucard, @hanayoshiii, @moemoekunn, @thatwasa, @miiiloo, @probablyzombiedinosaurs, @mauviese, @chips-and-vinegar, @https-dazai, @rragudoru, @leyla3x0, @cheetozai, @jillyfsh, @rylerboi, @linaaeatsfamilies, @zorizoras, @onlinewhisper14, @komicoral, @anim3-simps, @theoddsinner, @caayye, @scaramow, @such-a-silly-little-gy, @bunnybs-stuff, @psychiclovecollective, @sleepy-yumi516, @fromjas, @suzurans-world, @mrstengenuzui, @mitislm, @tealover111, @edgarallanpoeswifey, @baby-tini, @yaz4luvv, @deliciouscandysalad, @isrealityevenreal, @briefcreationcandy, @astr3eaa, @underscoredaniii, @nolongerhooman, @notalooo, @ratinawetsocksweater, @tomiroro,

Rest in comments I’m crying now also if your tag is white it’s because you didn’t pop up when I was doing the @‘s

[sporesmoldandfungi]

The List - Jim Halpert x F!Reader Smut

A/N : This is an AU where Pam marries Roy and leaves Scranton. Reader takes over her position as receptionist. This is loosely inspired off the PDA episode from Season 7. I pictured S2-S3 Jim when I wrote this.

Working a dead end office job had its perks. Very few, but there were some to name. Being able to sneakily play solitaire throughout the day. The fun albeit ridiculous parties thrown by Michael. But by far the best thing about working in reception at Dundler Mifflin was Jim Halpert.

His desk being merely a few feet away from yours gave you every opportunity to sneak glances at the handsome salesman. Out of all the hobbies you had, sneakily eye fucking Jim Halpert was your favorite one. You loved the way his arms flexed whenever he leaned back in his chair. The way his head gently tilted back, revealing his neck and small stubble. The way his floppy brown hair swooped over his forehead, perfectly framing his face. But he was Jim, and you were you.

You and Jim were complete opposites. He was a natural leader, taking charge of the office whenever Michael was out. He was charming, friendly, funny, kind, you could go on and on. He was so much, so much and you felt little in comparison.

You’d only been working at Dunder Mifflin for a few months, taking over once the previous receptionist tied the knot with a certain warehouse worker. You had kept to yourself mostly, still trying to get a read on everyone. When you first started, you’d sworn Jim was stealing glances at you, making you all the more hopeful he would come to his senses and be with you. After that, you two had become inseparable. Being partners in crime, confidantes, friends. You prayed it would turn in to something more. It was only when Phylis revealed that Jim used to harbor a crush on the previous receptionist and was mostly likely staring at you out of habit, did your hopes crush.

After that, you two rarely spoke, only when about work related things. You didn’t sit together in conference meetings anymore, silently laughing to each other at Michael’s ridiculousness. You didn’t eat lunch together anymore, letting Jim pick off your plate while he let you sip on his grape soda. It was almost like you were strangers.

So, when Michael called another needless conference meeting, you thought nothing of it. You filed into the room, following the long train of people. The seats quickly filled, leaving only one open next to him, next to Jim. You swallowed hard and quietly sat next to you, smoothing out the material of your black skirt. He offered you a polite smile.

That bastard. You thought to yourself.

You gave one back, a litter faker than his but still with nice undertones. You both looked ahead as Michael began rambling about PDA in the office. This caused Dwight to read aloud a list of everyone who had in some way done PDA in the office. He went down the long list of people, the only two names he didn’t list were yours and Jim’s.

Jim nudged your shoulder, making you turn away from the unfolding scene. He gave you a look of disbelief and shook his head in amazement, a quiet chuckle leaving his lips. You involuntarily smiled back, shaking your head along with him. So easily, you fell back into your usual rhythm with him.

He leaned over, speaking in a voice only you could hear. “Are you seeing this? Or am I dreaming?”

“Not a dream, Halpert. Unless you want me to pinch you.” you joked, moving your fingers in a pinching motion in front of his face.

He laughed and pushed your hands away gently. “Man, out of all the inappropriate things that has happened in this room, this meeting takes the cake.”

“I wouldn’t be to sure about that. From the sound of it, everyone else has done it in here already.” You joked, earning a disgusted looking face out of him.

You laughed at his stupid expression. Damn it, why is it so easy to like Jim Halpert? Why can’t he be more of a jerk?

Toby quickly ended the meeting before any more HR violations could be made. The rest of the office quickly left the room and went back to their desks. Michael and Dwight went into his office, no doubt trying to hatch some plan to fight back against PDA.

You rose from your seat next to Jim’s and smiled at him. He stood next to you, practically towering over you. He returned your smile and looked down at you softly. “I’ve missed you, Y/N. Where’ve you been?”

You felt the guilt rush into your system at the vulnerability in his face. You shrugged and honestly said to him, “I don’t know.”

He nudged your shoulder softly and gave you a more friendly smile. “Well, don’t do it again. As your superior, that’s an order.” He said, waving his finger in front of your face with fake authority.

“Aye, aye captain.” you responded, fake saluting him.

You shared a quiet laugh before following the train of people out the door, both of you returning to your respective desks.

The rest of the day was somewhat normal compared to previous. You and Jim ate together at lunch again. You didn’t realize how much you missed the taste of grape soda until you snuck a few sips from his can again. He frequently came up to reception, snacking on the candies as you two caught up with each other.

It was nearing four o’clock when he came back up to your desk. Leaning down, popping a M&M in his mouth, watching you type a memo for Michael.

“I still can’t believe it.” he said, breaking the silence.

You paused your typing and looked up into his hazel eyes. “Believe what?”

“That everyone has been getting it on in here. It’s disgusting!” He joked, popping another candy into his mouth.

You shrugged, “I don’t know, I kinda get it.”

He looked shocked and shook his head. “What do you mean? Why would anyone wanna hook up in the office?”

“Well, it’s kinda erotic. Sitting at a desk, knowing that no one else knows what you’ve done it. Well, except for you and him. I get the appeal.” you said, a blush creeping up to your cheeks.

Jim smirked and looked at you in disbelief, “Man, I didn’t know you had such a dirty side to you, Y/N.”

You leaned forward, close enough to him that you could smell his cologne fan off his skin. Newfound confidence and boldness grew in you as you spoke, “Well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Halpert.”

His smirk faltered for a moment, surprised at the sudden shift in the conversation. He regained it quickly, moving in closer, his lips hovering inches above yours. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

And with that, he popped another candy in his mouth, stuck his hands in the front pockets of his slacks and walked back to his desk.

You sat there in shock for a brief moment. What the hell was that? Where did that sudden confidence come from? And was Jim seriously flirting back? Maybe you were the one dreaming. You tried shaking it off, returning to typing the memo.

Before you could get two words in, you see an IM pop up on your screen. It was from Jim. You looked over your desk to see that he looked normal, drumming his fingers against his desk as he worked. You took a breath before opening it.

Jim : You look a little red over there, something on your mind?

Your eyes reread the passage over and over, still sneaking glances at him when you could. He still sat in his chair, looking as bored as ever. Not at all like he was flirting with you over IM. You took a deep breath before replying.

Y/N : I’d bet you’d like to know.

You watched as Jim leaned forward, obviously reading the message. He looked over to you, catching you in the act of staring at him. He smirked when he saw the pink flutter back up your cheeks. You watched as he quickly typed a response, the message appearing on your desktop within seconds.

Jim : Pretend there’s something wrong with your computer.

You looked confused. What the hell does that have to do with anything? You looked over at him and he just nodded, leaning back in his chair slightly. You took a deep breath and groaned loud enough to get the attention of a couple of people.

“Damn it!” You mumbled, pretending to struggle with a loose wire behind the monitor.

Jim stood up, casually walking over. “What’s up?” He said, loud enough for others to hear.

Once they saw he was helping with whatever problem your computer was having, anyone who saw the interaction went back their work, leaving you two in silence.

“I-“ you said, trying to think of a lie.

He leaned close down and whispered a fake lie for you to say in your ear. You repeated it loudly, playing along with whatever game he was playing.

“Well, I could probably fix that for you. But I’ll need to check under your desk. Mind if I poke around down there?” He asked.

You reluctantly nodded, still having no idea what he was up to. You watched as he smirked, walking around the desk and meeting your side. He slowly sunk on the ground, his body now covered by the large desk. You looked down and watched as he settled in between your legs, no where near the computer he claimed to be fixing. You opened your mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing, but was cut off with a gasp at the feeling of his hands slowly traveling up your legs.

You quickly covered up the sound with a cough, averting any attention it may have gotten. Once you finished, you leaned down, ducking your head low so you could talk to Jim without anyone hearing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you whispered at him.

“Well, I’m simply fulfilling a request. You were the one who said having sex in the office was hot. I’m simply following orders, Y/N.” He said, smirking. The feeling of his hands traveling closer and closer to your thighs burned into your skin. You clenched them, refusing him entrance. He looked up at you and shook his head in disapproval. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Y/N. It’s your call.”

You weighed your options, looking down at the image of Jim, smirking between your legs. On one hand, you had dreamed of this day the second you laid eyes on him. On the other, this was not the place you imagined it happening. The idea of him eating you out with everyone around, with anyone being able to spot it, made your stomach twist with delight. You looked down, seeing the impatient look on his face. You took a deep breath and parted your legs slowly for him.

“Good girl.” he whispered, his voice low and dripping with sex.

You almost let out a moan at the sound, but you bit your lip to suppress it. You sunk in your chair, hiding your face behind your monitor trying to relish the feeling of his hands going up your skirt. Your eyes fluttered close as you felt his index finger trace the outline of your panties. You were almost certain he could see the damp spot forming on them, getting wetter with each touch. His finger just about went under the waistband, but the phone rang, interrupting it. You looked down at him with wide eyes, silently asking him what to do.

“Answer it.” he ordered, looking up at you with hooded eyes.

You nodded and breathed a sigh of relief when you felt his hand leave the threshold of your panties.

“Dunder Mifflin, this is-“

Your words cut off in your throat as you feel Jim’s lips place a chaste kiss to your clothed pussy. You jerked in your seat, your knees hitting the desk as you reacted to the feeling. You feel him smirk against your panties as you try to find the words again.

You clear your throat before speaking, “Dunder Mifflin, this is Y/N.”

The sound of the person on the other line merely go in ear and out the other. Your mind is only focused on the feeling of Jim’s tongue, licking a long stripe up your clothed heat. You try your hardest to focus on the words going in your ear, and push back the feelings of pleasure Jim was giving you. You were almost succeeding until you feel his index finger slide under the side of your panties and tease your hole, covering itself in your arousal. If that wasn’t enough, his words made it impossible to hear a single word coming from the phone.

“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked. I haven’t even done anything yet.” he said.

You let out a small whine at his words. Quickly trying to salvage the noise as it leaves your lips, you cough loudly. Apologizing the to person on the phone, you continue speaking, your voice wavering as Jim continues teasing you, his finger just covering itself in your dripping pussy.

As the man on the phone starts to ramble about prices, you have to bite your hand to repel the moan that’s about to leave your mouth as you feel Jim shove his fingers into your tight hole, curling upward as he does.

As you make ‘mhm’s and ‘uhuh’s at the man’s words, you squeeze around Jim’s fingers. You take a quick glance down, locking eyes with Jim as he pumps his fingers in and out of you at an agonizing pace. You pout your bottom lip, silently begging him to speed up. He smirks and mimics your pout, enjoying the needy look on your face.

“So, do you think you guys can cut me a deal?” the man on the phone asks.

You open your mouth speak and cry out as you feel Jim increase his speed immensely, his thumb toying with your swollen clit as he does.

“Yes!” you moan into the phone, earning to strange glances from your coworkers. You struggle to compose yourself, fighting urge to scream your head off in pleasure. “Y-Yes. We can.”

“You’re so fucking tight, I can feel you gripping my fucking fingers.” Jim say quietly, kissing your thigh.

The man on the phone asks to be transferred to sales, surprisingly sold on purchasing paper from you, despite the strange phone call. You frantically type in someone’s extension, saying a quick goodbye before hanging up the phone. Using your free hand, you use it to grip Jim’s hair, your fingers tangling themselves in his brown locks. You hear him moan at the feeling, his lips sending vibrations against your thigh. You feel the coil in your stomach tighten more and more, threatening to snap at any second. Your hand digs into Jim’s hair tighter, feeling like if you let go of him, you’ll lose this feeling.

“Jesus, are you already gonna cum?” He groans, looking up at you from your thighs.

You sneak a glance at him and nod fervently, afraid to answer him without moaning.

He groans quietly in response, ducking his head down once more. His fingers increase in speed and go deeper if that was even possible. You feel them graze against your g-spot, making your head roll back in response, your eyes screwing shut.

You chase the feeling of your climax, feeling it approaching closer and closer. As if he can read your mind, Jim pulls aside your panties more, granting his mouth access to your pussy. He removes his thumb on your clit and replaces it with his mouth, licking and sucking on the swollen nub. You don’t even have to warn him, you feel yourself cumming before you know it. Your pussy squeezes around his fingers as he helps you ride out your orgasm. It washes over you like a tidal wave. It takes all your strength and willpower to not let out the almost pornographic moan threatening to leave your lips.

You sit in your chair, breathless and dripping. You feel his fingers leave your entrance, whining quietly at the feeling. He takes a long lick up your pussy, licking up the mess you made. He gently fixes your panties and skirt before rising. Your cum glistening on his chin, dripping down his jaw. He sits up, wiping his mouth before casually saying, “Should be working a lot better now.”

You watch in disbelief as he walks back to his desk. It takes you a few moments to compose yourself, but once you do, you only have one thought on your mind.

You’re now determined to return the favor.