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reiderwriter · 4 months

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Here Isn't Where I Wanna Be

Chapter Four of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With Spencer gone, you find yourself spiralling into anger again until a new friend - and a silver lining to your entire situation - appears.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, mentions of the smut in the last chapter in detail, no explicit smut.

A/N: And so we get to it - the plot!! If you're enjoying the series, let me know in the replies or in my inbox, and feedback is greatly appreciated~♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist

With Mondays back to normal, you were surprised to find yourself still under the weather the day after Spencer had left you.

Walking into your office, your body anticipated the fight, muscles tensing, heart beating, blood pumping as you opened the door to your office. Logically, you knew he wouldn't be there. He'd practically shouted it at you the Saturday before. But seeing the vacant desk left you angry once again.

Tense for a fight, you couldn't stop pacing back and forth in your office as the hours ticked on. A small part of you had hoped that the activities you'd indulged in during the weekend - and indulged was the word for whatever it was you'd done - had simply been your over active imagination once again.

But even though Spencer has cleaned you up to the best of his ability, had left you in your bed in fresh clothes and tucked under the covers, he couldn't erase the traces of himself on your skin or in your apartment.

The files you'd both thrown around on the tables were still strewn haphazardly around, the tangle of last night's clothes still discarded suggestively in a line to your couch. He'd washed you up, sure enough, and you'd found a towel and wash cloth in your laundry basket the next morning, but he'd not done a thorough job and you found yourself washing all traces of your activities away from your inner thighs still.

So, yes. You paced in your office, and you waged a silent war against the empty desk.

The first week, you were sure they'd come to collect it, to move it elsewhere.

After all, his time with you - with the university - was done.

After two weeks, you started spreading yourself out across both desks, twisting them around into an inverted L space so you could roll your chair between the two of them. You stacked books on the stupid reminder of him, you used it as a dining table on late nights and short lunch breaks, you kicked your feet up on it as you read and acted as though it were yours and had never been anyone else's.

And then you got angry enough that you unblocked Spencer Reid's number.

You were raging and suffering this torment alone, and why should you be? You'd made a mistake with the case files, sure, but you'd been driven to it by his cockiness, his actions. You deserved the chance to make his life hell one last time as well.

You took yourself home that night, wrapped yourself in a blanket and pulled your laptop in front of you, and unblocked his number.

Immediately, you put the phone down and opened your emails.

You'd take responsibility for the messages, sure, but you had not blocked his email. Searching through the files, you looked through your department database for his work email, searched your inbox for his messages, and came up blank.

It took you two hours of traipsing through each email - admittedly, you'd probably signed up to one to many mailing list - just to be sure. You finally turned to your spam folder, and there it was.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered under your breath as you looked through ten emails. Ten emails from his FBI email account. No wonder they hadn't gotten throug, it was an unauthorised email on a company server.

You only grew angrier as you read through the messages.

“Y/N, I have reason to believe you have a file I need as soon as possible. Please message me back as soon as you get this. Spencer.”

“Y/N. I haven't received word from you in 24 hours. If there's something wrong, please reach out. If you're being stubborn, I hope you see reason. Spencer.”

“Y/N. I have your address. If you don't reply in the next four hours, I will be paying you a visit to collect the file myself. You have blocked my number and resisted adult conversation, and I am tired of playing these games. Spencer.”

Sick of playing games?

From the man that had been playing jenga and scrabble with your bookshelves, that was absolutely rich. You may have worked out that nights frustrations with him easily, but you found yourself angry all over again.

You hadn't even checked your phone yet either, sure that he'd blown that up too until he figured out his number was blocked.

He'd found your address. He'd practically stalked you to get what he wanted, and then he'd just washed his hands of you the night after?

It had been a month, and you were still frustrated.

Your stomach flipped, bike rising in your throat as your anger burned through you.

If he could find you, you sure as hell could find him. You'd assumed he'd found your address through work, and realised it was just as easy to find his as well.

Before you could stop yourself, you were loading yourself into a car at 8 pm. and driving across the city to Spencer Reid's apartment.

The red blurring your vision didn't fade until you sounded against his door and were greeted with an entirely too feminine “I'm coming!”

The woman who opened the door was blonde and cute and sweet, and she had a wonderful smile. You were going to rip Spencer Reid's throat from his chest.

“I-I’m sorry, I was told this is Spencer Reid's apartment,” you said, trying your best to disappear into the night.

“Oh, yes. Can I help you?”

“No. No, I'm sorry, I- I don't need help.”

You must've looked uneasy in that second because before you knew it, the woman was inviting you inside for a hot drink, taking your few seconds of hesitancy to push down your guards completely.

“Spencer doesn't keep much here in terms of food, but I know there has to be some…aha! Coffee!”

“No, thank you, really I'm alright, I should leave-”

In another two minutes, she'd talked you into sitting down and had put a mug in your hands. In a miracle turn of events, you'd actually relaxed enough to take in your surroundings.

It was like you'd stepped back into your work office. Spencer's apartment, or at least the main living space, was filled with books. There were stacks everywhere, the shelves alphabetised - obviously - and looking neatly chaotic.

You wanted to examine everything, every picture, every trinket on the shelf, every weakness he had that you could exploit. You wanted to know him.

“S-So,” you started, turning back to the woman who'd sat herself down in a chair opposite you, staring at you excitedly. “How long have you and Spencer been dating?”

The woman spluttered her coffee before sending up a howl of laughter that had your cheeks heating.

Okay. Misunderstanding. You were less pissed at Spencer, but only a fraction.

“Oh, god, the idea of me and the good doctor is incredibly ridiculous. No, it feels incestuous, actually. Really, like shivers down my spine type stuff.”

“So you're his sister?” You asked, even though you knew the answer. Spencer was an only child. You had spent three months with him, you knew at least that much about him.

“I'm Penelope, I work with Spencer. He's on a case right now, and I came to find him a book.”

“A book?” You asked again, taking another sip of your drink. Mistake aside, you felt comfortable sitting with her. The couch was comfy, the entire apartment was damn cosy, and it smelt….

Your spine straightened when you realised it smelt like he did, when you realised that thought was somehow a comfort to you. Your stomach had settled for the first time in a week, and the nausea leaving your body after four weeks of anger had made you sick.

“Yeah, we've been working back to back cases, so he didn't have time to come back and pick up materials, so here I am as his little fairy godfriend to send him a care package.”

You laughed gently and pulled your feet underneath you on the couch, curling up again.

“He doesn't deserve you.”

“What makes you say that?” Her face was open. Her tone was light but you felt that you'd just walked into a trap. Even though Penelope had described her role on the team to you (not a profiler, not a big risk), you couldn't help but feel as though you were walking into a trap.

“Well, he's… he's… You know the man better than I do, right? He's infuriating.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave you a smile but didn't say a word.

“He's domineering. He thinks his way is the best way, he- he- he rearranged my bookshelves!”

And my guts, you thought to yourself, holding your tongue just quick enough to not let that slip out. You still weren't sure where you stood on the sex. It was good. It was great. It was more than great, and yet you'd hated him until the very second he put his lips on yours, and you hated him again when you'd woken the next morning. Surely that meant that you'd still hated him while fucking him, that you'd just been temporarily blinded by lust?

“Your bookshelves?”

“At the university. Sorry, I- I didn't introduce myself, did I?” You told her your name, how you'd met Spencer and regaled her with tales of your office antics.

“Penelope you, you should've seen the look on his face. It was priceless! Like a deer in headlights, his eyes were so wide, it was adorable,” you said, recounting the run-in with the student.

“And then, infuriating man, he said he'd spent all day looking at me, but like, with the books-”

You realised after five minutes of talking that Penelope had gone completely quiet, just grinning. Uncharacteristically quiet. You'd known her less than an hour, and you knew it was uncharacteristic for her to be so quiet.

“So you hate him?” She asked, noticing your abrupt stop.

“I- yes. Yes, I did. I do."

“It doesn't sound like you-”

“We- we parted on really bad terms. I think. I took one of your files accidentally, and he was very angry, we both said some things-” And did some other things, you thought.

“Things that I'm sure we both regret.”

“Oh my god-” the other woman said, suddenly going wide-eyed and jumping up from the couch.

“You're the- you're the reason he was late! He's never been late, never, apart from - well anyway he's never late but he was late and… oh Miss Y/N, you're not telling me everything!”

“What? N-No, I don't know what you're-”

“Luke owes me $20. This is wonderful. Look at me, I'm not even a fancy shmancy profiler or anything!”

“Penelope please-”

She heard the plea in your tone and sat down again, zipping her lips up and throwing away a non-existent key.

“While we were…arguing, he accused me of having blocked his email, ignoring him on purpose. I found out today that he emailed from his FBI account and not his university email-”

“So it was sent to your spam folder? Yeah, it happens all the time.”

You shot her a tired look, and she repeated her action. Lips zipped, key thrown.

“I came here to….” To what? Fight with him again? See him again? To one up him? To kiss him again, feel his hands on you, feel his fingers inside of you, his tongue on your clit as you rode his face again, his hands around your throat as you came on his dick, as he blew his load inside you, filling you with his cum-

“Shit.”

“Shit? What's… what is shit, Y/N? Please enlighten me, because everything seems very not shit to me right now, other than the fact that I'm due a video call from our boy wonder soon and I haven't located this book yet.

You counted in your head and then recounted again as all the blood drained from your body. You didn't even want to acknowledge the fact that you'd come here just to see him again using whatever old excuse you could find to get back into his arms (or more accurately, his bed).

You counted, and you counted again until your brain fogged, and you couldn't even hear Penelope asking you if you were alright anymore.

“Penelope, I- I think… Penelope, can you keep a secret?”

“Yes, I can absolutely keep a secret. I'm a great secret keeper. Everyone says if you want a secret keeping, Penelope is your girl-”

“Okay, that's- that's enough. I need to- shit, I need to go and get…”

For the thousandth time since Spencer left, you stood up and started pacing.

“Okay, now you're worrying me, friend I just made. Please don't freak out on me.”

“I'm sorry, I'm going to freak out, I think I'm pregnant. Very much freaking out.”

All of a sudden, Penelope was up and pacing beside you.

“Pregnant! With a baby? You think you're pregnant with a baby?”

“I don't see how I could be pregnant with anything else?”

“You're sure?”

“No! I need a test or a sign from God or something.”

The woman took a deep breath herself and then grabbed your shoulders, hauling you to her side.

“Okay, breathe. You sit here, I’ll go pick up a test. Don't go anywhere and don't spiral. Rearrange the bookshelves of you must but don't. Leave. Okay?”

You nodded, and she rushed out of the door in a whirlwind.

For at least ten minutes, you stayed completely still. It had been roughly seven weeks since your last period and 26 days since you and Spencer had sex. He hadn't pulled out. He hadn't worn a condom. He hadn't asked if you were on birth control. As much as you wanted to be angry, though, you hadn't told him to pull out. You hadn't stopped him and asked him to put on a condom, and if you were telling the truth, you enjoyed it all the more when he'd finished inside you. You'd forgotten that you'd gone off your birth control when you'd started your job, knowing that tenure came with health insurance and wanting to get the implant cheaper or included in your premium.

What a brilliant plan.

Still, you weren't expecting this, and you were in a haze.

Seven weeks. You'd missed a period, and you hadn't even noticed.

You stopped spiralling when you paced into the bookshelves and started actually looking at the things laid about on his shelves.

There were chess pieces, small rooks placed here and there, as if dropped and forgotten. Paper stuck out of the books at all different angles, and you noticed his looping scrawl on a few of them, his notes brief and indecipherable, but still bringing a faint smile to your lips.

Then there were the pictures. There were a lot with an older woman you instantly recognised as his mother, and your heart softened as how they looked very protective of one another. Others showed him with his team, with Penelope, and a stern looking middle-aged man, two women, a happy looking, well-built man. There were weddings, faces that popped up here and there. There was a very young, very vulnerable looking Spencer playing chess with an older man.

The room was filled with family, and you couldn't stop the tears from welling up in your eyes as you took in how much Spencer could love.

He cared, and he cared deeply, and there were all these people in his life that enjoyed being around him. And he hated you.

Your heart sank, and you were about to leave when Penelope appeared again, test in hand and gently pushed you into the bathroom.

You took the test and waited. Penelope waited beside you, clutching your (clean) hands in hers as she talked you through her day, distracting you in the only way she could.

But your brain resisted everything, focused only on how you were about to grow a family with a man you knew didn't enjoy your company.

“What am I going to do, Penelope?” You whispered, suddenly afraid of what your future looked like.

“I can't - I can't raise a baby with a man that doesn't love me the way-”

You ran a hand through your hair, biting your tongue quickly.

“You don't have to answer me, but is it… is there a chance it could be Spencer's?”

You nodded before you could even think of lying, too wrapped up in your mental to-do list building up and up and up.

“It could be negative? This could just be panic and stress and-”

You heard the alarm you'd set for the test go off and jumped up, sprinting into the bathroom.

Two lines. What did two lines mean? Two lines meant baby.

Baby. You were having a baby.

“Y/N, what does it say?” Penelope asked from behind you.

“It's… I'm…shit.”

She came up behind you and looked herself, cursing the same way you did as she watched you for your reaction.

There was a baby. You were going to have a baby.

Okay. You could have a baby. You could bring a baby into this world. You just had to figure out how, and write a to-do list, and avoid telling your boss until you got tenure, and tell your parents, and tell Spencer.

Spencer.

You had to Spencer. You collapsed to the ground, mumbling to yourself as Penelope fanned you with her hands, squeaking at your unresponsiveness.

“Spencer…” you mumbled. “I have to tell Spencer.”

You blinked the fog out of your eyes and stood quickly, absent mindedly making a note to check if sudden movements were good for the baby or not.

“Penelope, I need some help,” you said, moving to the living room and pulling our your phone. She trailed behind you, sending you a worrying look, and you thanked the heavens that you'd managed to run into the most forgiving angel of a woman on quite possible the best/worst day of your life. The jury waa still undecided.

You snapped a picture of the shelves, and then, throwing your phone down, you started tearing each stack apart.

Once you'd made a large enough gap in the stacks, you turned back to Penelope.

“We're going to tell Spencer. Like this.”

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good-chimes · 24 days

Text

[HOTGUY!] HAS ONE NEW MAIL

Users with permissions to this shared mailbox:

Bdubs (role: Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes, Actor). Last login: Today.

Cub (role: Hotguy PR Agent). Last login: Today.

Scar (role: IT’S ME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE ONE AND ONLY!). Last login: 215 days ago.

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: are you there?

is this hotguy’s email? i thought you were coming on patrol?

Why do you NEVER ANSWER YOUR PHONE

-cg

------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: The VALUES AND PRINCIPLES of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

Dear Cub (if that’s your real name),

Now that you’ve been working for Scar for several weeks, I realized I never sent you any AGENCY INTRODUCTION documents. That’s okay! None of us are perfect, despite what you might feel when you look at me.

For your ENJOYMENT and EDUCATION, here are:

The Founding Principles of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

1. Bdubs is Scar’s favorite employee.

1a. Bdubs is also Hotguy’s favorite employee DESPITE the fact he does not technically work for Hotguy, and no upstart new PR agent is going to change that.

2. Hotguy’s identity is a secret. You must never reveal that we both work for the same person. Take it to your grave if you have to.

3. However, if you see someone talking shit online about Hotguy or Scar you should immediately defend his honor. I often do this and you can see the results in the shared folder admin\arguments_bdubs_has_won. You might not be as good as me at winning debates on the internet—don’t worry!! I can give you tips.

4. Here at the agency, we have the HIGHEST STANDARDS in responding to emails from the public. I noticed there are SEVERAL HUNDRED UNANSWERED EMAILS sent to Hotguy’s addresses that redirect to our shared mailbox. Scar is a very busy man! It is YOUR JOB to clear these out.

5. We are open and helpful with everyone. Except hostile journalists. And the TCG. And the tax authorities. And anyone who might want Scar to do anything unreasonable like ‘be on time for something’. Keep this in mind as you go through the inbox.

All The Best!!!

Bdubs

P.S. I have noticed that admin\important_documents is now full of files called ‘virus1.exe’ ‘virus2 (gov encryption).exe’ ‘virus3 (might be sentient).exe’ etc. Explain this!?

------------------------------------

To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: RE: The VALUES AND PRINCIPLES of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

Yeah man cool this all sounds great

Scar seems to have a few email addresses that feed into here. i’ve sent replies according to which one the public emailed:

[email protected] — i replied to some of these but then i kinda got bored and started sending links to cool space facts instead. People will appreciate these i’m sure.

[email protected] — sent everyone a bulk reply of “Thank you for EMAILING_HOTGUY!! Hotguy loves you!”

[email protected] — sent everyone a photo of Scar in his Hotguy costume

[email protected] — sent everyone a photo of Scar in his Hotguy costume minus the shirt

[email protected] — sent everyone who gave their address some trick arrows. Only some of them will explode.

[email protected] — redirected this one to spam

[email protected] — also redirected this one to spam. replying to the IRS just encourages them.

inbox zero, my friend. we’re ready for the next concerned citizen to write to us. Let’s go.

Cheers,

Cub

P.S. don’t worry about the viruses. Just a hobby. they’re in \important_documents because I needed a folder that scar never clicks on.

------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: Re: The VALUES AND PRINCIPLES of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

Dear Cub,

Interesting. INTERESTING.

Don’t think you’re going to work your way into Scar’s affections with CLEVER VIRUSES and SHIRTLESS PICS OF HIMSELF. I see your game.

I’ve been Scar’s agent for years and I think when things heat up you might find this job too hot to handle.

All the Best!!!!

Bdubs

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: TCG Special Officer <[email protected]>

Subject: OFFICIAL REVIEW NOTIFICATION

Dear Hotguy (civilian identity unknown),

We are currently undertaking a review of your recent vigilante activities as ‘Hotguy’.

Vigilantes (‘heroes’) are encouraged to protect citizens and cooperate with the TCG. For this we require vigilantes to regularly communicate with their TCG liaisons, attend emergencies on request, and support law enforcement operations.

None of our emails to <[email protected]> have been answered—I was going to say ‘in some time’, but I checked our file on you, and it turns out the right word is ‘ever’. You have never answered an email from the TCG. I am sure you can see why this is an issue.

We do admittedly have some difficulty getting vigilantes to ever listen to us, but this is a new low in obstructionism.

We have requested your assistance in investigating thefts from two biotech laboratories, vandalism at a local redstone supplies shop, and multiple call-outs to security incidents at Mumbocorp. You have completely ignored all of these requests. We note you have instead caused widespread chaos, disrupted several TCG operations, and at one point impersonated the Mayor in order to trick ‘Doctor M’ into purchasing a non-existent bridge.

May I remind you that vigilante activity is only legal insofar as we decline to prosecute heroes for property damage. Kindly reach out to our liaison department immediately so we can work together on collaborative action under the direction of the correct authorities.

On behalf of Head Agent V. Berger,

Special Officer #49

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: are you there?

who is answering hotguy’s emails and why have you sent me a list of top supernovas! this is NOT HELPFUL

------------------------------------

To: TCG Special Officer <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: OFFICIAL REVIEW NOTIFICATION

Dear Concerned Citizen,

Thank you for reaching out about the availability of Hotguy. Hotguy is unable to respond himself because he is rescuing kittens from tragically falling into rivers, an activity that has fully occupied him for the past eighteen months.

This is quite the list of criminal events, my friend. I thought the TCG had this kind of thing under control. It’s concerning that you don’t. Doesn’t make your TCG department look super great, huh?

Thinking about it, this really seems like something the Police Commissioner should know about. If you’ve lost the Commissioner’s email address, don’t worry. I found it on a forum.

Cheers,

Cub

Hotguy PR Agent

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: TCG Special Officer <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: OFFICIAL REVIEW NOTIFICATION

Dear Hotguy’s PR Agent,

I understand as a law-abiding Hermitopia resident, you may be alarmed at descriptions of disorder intended for Hotguy’s eyes only. Please do not be concerned. We also strongly recommend you do not forward this chain to the Police Commissioner. As you will see from the news, the city is peaceful and everything is completely under control.

Kind Regards,

Special Officer #49

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

THERE ARE THREE HUNDRED CHICKENS WITH LASERS ON FIFTH STREET

tell hotguy to call me he’s not picking up!!!

-cg

------------------------------------

To: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

Dear Concerned Citizen,

Regrettably Hotguy is not available as he is escorting orphans to the North Pole to tour Santa’s workshop.

Cheers,

Cub

Hotguy PR Agent

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

it’s JULY

------------------------------------

To: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

Hotguy believes in being prepared

is this really cuteguy? what’s going on?

-Cub

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

i was coming back from patrol and going to pick up my pizza. i always get pizza, cub, you have to understand this is an important part of patrol.

when i turn the corner to my normal pizza place there are

AT LEAST FIVE HUNDRED CHICKENS WITH BEAK-MOUNTED LASERS

ALL OVER THE STREET

BETWEEN ME AND MY PIZZA

they’re milling around and scratching like someone just dumped them here. whenever they squawk they burn a tiny hole in the nearest wall. i tried to get near one to look at the device on their beaks and i nearly got my finger burned off.

now i’m on a roof. i want my PIZZA, cub. i’m a close-range fighter and i’m not getting up close with a laser chicken. this seems like a hotguy problem!

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Helloooo,

My name is Pearl Moon, and I’m a reporter with the Hermit Herald. I heard Hotguy has a new PR agent at this address. I’m not going to lie, I’m delighted. Hotguy’s a great guy for a quote, obviously, but getting hold of him is kind of a nightmare.

I’m at the scene of the Eighth Annual Fried Donut Festival. I’m contacting you because a citizen running a stall has allegedly just seen a, I quote, “weaponized chicken”.

According to them, it shot an “adorable laser” into their supplies, punctured a hole in their fruit toppings cooler, and ran under the stalls. I’ve been on this beat for a while and this sounds like a Doctor Monster or a Zedaph special to me. Personally, my money’s on Doc.

I know your client and Doctor Monster go back a long way, so I was wondering if we might see Hotguy himself swooping in?

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

------------------------------------

To: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Dear Concerned Journalist,

Thank you for your email. As you know, Hotguy is currently in Canada fighting smallpox by shooting individual bacteria with a special crossbow, for which he has received a commendation from their Prime Minister.

I’ve just contacted him to get a quote about the chicken and he definitely said, “Seems bad.”

Enjoy the festival! Feel free to send Hotguy a souvenir donut box to my address.

Cheers,

Cub

Hotguy PR Agent

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

there’s some kind of festival with crowds of civilians going on in the next street. the chickens are wandering towards it. to make everything worse, i think i saw a newsreader van.

this is funny but also very bad.

i’m going to see if i can lead the chickens away from the festival with some bait, since hotguy’s obviously too busy admiring his own biceps in the mirror to help. i’ve got half a granola bar and an apple core. this is going to work really well for eight hundred chickens. here goes nothing.

if hotguy wakes up from his afternoon nap, you can tell him we didn’t even need him.

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Dear Cub,

I’m pretty sure Canada doesn’t have smallpox anymore. I don’t think anywhere has smallpox.

New update: Several hundred chickens have just erupted into the festival from a side street. They all appear to have lasers. The sheer weight of poultry has overturned two artisan donut stalls, which has caused what I’m going to describe as “mass panic” as people try and avoid the laser beams. People screaming, people running, everything coated in a fine layer of powdered sugar. No injuries yet, but it looks like the Prize-Winning Triple Marshmallow Churro Donut display will never be the same again.

Also, I swear I just saw Cuteguy.

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

i got ONE chicken with the granola bar and NOW IT’S DECIDED IT’S MY BEST FRIEND. it keeps trying to fly into my arms! this is not helping!!

its friends are now all over the stalls. the laser chicken breed has discovered a new staple food and it’s fried donuts. this is NOT my fault. clearly none of this is my fault.

oh god now there’s two TCG agents coming over to see what all the shouting is about. the chicken radius is growing. there’s a folk band on a bicycle and a chicken just launched itself into their tuba.

i’m going to try and round the rest of them up. keep the TCG off my back and tell hotguy to do ANYTHING HELPFUL AT ALL.

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Situation update: Cuteguy is in the middle of a huge crowd of shouting people and appears to be clutching a chicken. Also, Doctor Monster has turned up. He’s trying to give a dramatic speech about his “evolved chickens” from a nearby rooftop through a loudhailer, but I’ll be honest, everyone seems more interested in Cuteguy.

#laserchickendisaster and #whereishotguy are trending on Chatter, but no sign of Hotguy yet! Sure he doesn’t want to give us a longer quote?

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

------------------------------------

To: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

I have a cool contraption that you could probably use for catching chickens. downside is you do need some plutonium. Not much but, like, not a legal amount.

Alternately i also have a great recipe for roast chicken

-Cub

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

we are not roasting these chickens, cub, the chickens have done nothing wrong!! And WHY DO YOU HAVE PLUTONIUM, WE TOLD YOU TO STOP THE DARK SCIENCE. DO SOMETHING USEFUL ABOUT THIS FESTIVAL SITUATION INSTEAD.

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Situation update: Doctor Monster has now turned his loudhailer on Cuteguy and accused him of stealing his evolved chickens. He seems very upset. The Doctor has declined an interview, but I’ve got some incredible photos and the powdered sugar really suits him.

I’m trying to get a quote from Cuteguy but it’s quite difficult to even see him through the crowd, and the chickens, and the German street band, and the displaced donut vendors, and the TCG agents who are trying quite earnestly to get to him, and—did I mention—the chickens.

My camera team is getting some great footage, but do you know what his plan was here?

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

everyone in the crowd thinks i own these chickens!! one of the chickens has set fire to a hot oil vat and a journalist is after me and an old lady keeps trying to hit me with her handbag!!!

DOC IS NOW TAKING POT SHOTS AT ME FOR NO REASON AT ALL. I HATE THIS JOB.

i’m behind cover

it won’t last

if you don’t get hotguy here now i’m never speaking to him again

------------------------------------

To: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

nooo you’re doing great man, knocking it out the park. Doesn’t sound like you need Hotguy.

you’re a hero too, right?

-Cub

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

okay cub listen.

i don’t WANT hotguy. if i could fix this chicken situation without the city’s most annoying vigilante turning up to take the credit, believe me, i would have done it already.

but you know what hotguy can do? he can win the crowd. hotguy’s always on the right side. nobody would ever accuse hotguy of owning fifteen hundred laser chickens. he tells people about hope and teamwork stuff and they believe him.

oh god

the TCG are here and i’m apparently target number one.

they’ve just spotted me on this gazebo and i’ve got no good roof to jump to. i’ll have to make a run for it. if you don’t hear from me again, i might have got arrested.

hotguy spouts all that rubbish about teamwork, but hey, it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t believe in it himself!

------------------------------------

To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: what I’m about to suggest is legal

we should help him huh

do you know where scar is? like which cell phone towers might be close. I’ve got a map of the towers if you can give me a location.

-Cub

------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: this sounds NOT legal

BDUBS TO THE RESCUE, AS ALWAYS. You’re welcome.

Scar is actually recording a snack commercial over on Twelfth Street. Details in projects\casting_directors_bdubs_is_not_feuding_with\dumb_projects_we_have_to_book_for_money\Sparkle!Cereal!

------------------------------------

To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: this is 100% legal white hat hacking definitely

okay I’ve remotely accessed Scar’s phone and put a klaxon on it. Should be audible two hundred yards away.

I’m gonna call him now.

-Cub

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Situation update from your reporter on the ground (still no quote from the guy himself?)

Cuteguy has been showing great stamina in the chase that’s been going on. The camera crew is impressed!

He is currently being pursued by:

1. Doc

2. Doc’s cyborg guard robot

3. Two TCG agents

4. Three hundred and sixty chickens (approx.), one of which believes Cuteguy is its best friend

5. Several animal activists attempting to recapture the chickens

6. A bar crawl that seems to think they’re doing a parade and wanted to join in

7. A German band on a long bicycle with two clarinets and a man trying to shake a chicken out of his tuba

Cuteguy is…looking back over his shoulder?

Oh, wait! Situation update paused!

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Cuteguy <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

HE’S HERE

HE’S ACTUALLY HERE

FINALLY

------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <[email protected]>

From: Pearl Moon <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Hotguy has arrived!

He’s swooped in with three trick arrow shots that set off fireworks above the crowd, rappelled straight up to Doc on the roof, and started a fist fight with him. It’s very dramatic. I’m not sure he’s actually landing any of those blows.

Helpfully for Cuteguy, no one is looking at him anymore. He’s surreptitiously putting distance between himself and the TCG agents.

Doc is now making another speech while fighting Hotguy. If I’m honest, he seems pretty happy he’s finally getting the credit for his own evil plot. We’ve got a close-up on him. Doc would like us all to know that this is the future of poultry, the future of lasers, and possibly the future of donuts? Last part a bit unclear as at that point Hotguy threw his loudhailer off the roof.

Meanwhile, Cuteguy is trying to lure the chickens away from the civilians with pieces of donut. This would be working better if the crowd weren’t all shoving forwards to try to get a better look at Doc.

Doc has taken off on a jetpack declaring he’ll “be back!”. Hotguy has given him a thumbs up.

Oh, now Hotguy has finally caught on to what Cuteguy is trying to do and is chivvying the crowd to help herd the chickens away with donuts for bait. Donuts are flying. The crowd is now enthusiastically participating in this donut-tossing activity. The chickens are delighted. Hotguy has spotted our camera team chasing him and we’re getting a lot of that action-shot this-is-my-good-side pose.

Hotguy and Cuteguy work together pretty well when they get going, huh?

Now Hotguy has swung down to land in the middle of the crowd and put an arm around each of the TCG agents, who are heavily dusted in sugar and look somewhat sheepish. What a nicely framed shot! Almost as if Hotguy pushed them into position for the cameras.

Well, I suppose I’m writing an article about how much Hotguy helps the TCG.

Your client owes me one.

Doc’s guard robot has rounded up the chickens that Hotguy and Cuteguy have funneled back into a nearby alley. It seems to be putting them in large nets. The local pizza place has a sign that says RIGATONI JONES PIZZA: CLOSED DUE TO CHICKEN EMERGENCY, and for some reason Cuteguy seems upset about this. Excitement over, I suppose?

I do hope you tell Hotguy how helpful the Herald was! Next time he’s got a tip-off to share, just tell him to remember your friendly local journalist Pearl Moon.

He knows where to find me ;)

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: hmm

You know, Cub, I’ve been thinking. That wasn’t bad, how you got hold of Scar. NOT BAD AT ALL. I am starting to think you might be a useful type of person to have around.

All The Best

Bdubs

------------------------------------

To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: Re: hmm

cheers man

i’ve rigged the klaxon so it plays when either of us or cuteguy calls scar. if he waits too long to answer it starts to play the whole Lilo and Stitch movie audio. if anyone asks this is not technically a virus.

-Cub

------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: Re: hmm

I LOVE it. I love it.

You know, I have a whole list of casting directors I think you could test some virus development on. It would do them good. Keep them on their toes!! (I believe this is called…“white hat”).

I am HEREBY going to let you into my most SECRET FOLDER.

<[email protected]> has shared admin\nemesis_list

Maybe start with ‘casting_directors_who_do_not_recognise_bdubs_talent-spotting_genius’ and ‘producers_who_were_rude_to_scar’

------------------------------------

To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: Re: hmm

leave it to me, man

we’re gonna go far

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ START | PREVIOUS | NEXT ] [ MERCH ] [ MISC ]

My piece for the Hotguy comic zinethology! Thank you so much to editor @antimony-medusa and designer @cocoabats (I have used tumblr’s format for most of it because my eyes are too bad for pdf scaling on my phone, but for the FULL INCREDIBLE HOTGUY EXPERIENCE you will want to download the actual zine at @hotguycomiczine!!)

#hgcz #hotguy comics zine #if you like it I really recommend downloading the zine where the design is so much better!!#cubfan135 #goodtimeswithscar #bdoubleo100 #pearlescentmoon #grian #long post #cw: arguments #glossywrites

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mistydeyes · 10 months

Note

just a cute little moment with ghost i was hoping u could write pls 🤭

imagine simon being gone on a mission and your house was feeling so empty and lonely.

So..... you decide to adopt a dog from the shelter to mend your loneliness and waited to surprise him with the new addition to the riley family!

On the other hand, Simon felt terrible for leaving you for months on end. To keep you company and protected, he brings home *drum roll pls*

another dog!!

The look on both of your faces when he comes through the door with dog in his arms and you with a little pup on your lap already 😭😭

(hope this isn't confusing lmao)

AHHH this is so cute and precious! love simon being a dog person fr fr

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: With Simon gone on some unknown mission, you decide to welcome a new member to the family. However, despite how much you love the friendly little guy, Simon has other ideas on pets.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

warnings: none :)

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

"Hi, Simon," you smiled through the phone. "Hello, love, how are you?" he asked and you relaxed into the plush blanket on the couch. "Mhmm, same old, same old," you said, trailing off towards the end as if you had something to hide, "but how have you been, haven't heard any updates." You bit your lip as the line went quiet for a moment, you kicked your feet slightly in anticipation. "Something you want to talk about? Sorry, it's been a while since we've gotten stable service," he said, a soft kindness in his whisper. Before you could reply, a soft bark resounded through your shared flat as a car drove down your lane. "What was that?" Simon asked suddenly, "Someone's dog get loose?" As your newest and surprise addition to the Riley family came running to your side, you struggled to hold the phone and settle him down with soft pats and belly rubs. You hadn't intentionally wanted to adopt a dog without Simon but something about the young pup at the local adoption center made your heart melt. Plus you were no stranger to managing a new pet. However, your failure to answer gave Simon a full assumption as to the current state of your home.

"Did-did you adopt a dog?" he asked almost holding his breath, "please, just tell me." With that, the secret was out and you silently cursed your all too observational fiancé. "I'm sorry," you blurted out, "it's just too lonely without you here and you know how the colder seasons make me feel." You tried to calm your excuses by cuddling up to your big-eyed, gentle Golden Shepherd but were immediately off put by the sudden laugh filling your ears from the other line. "Please tell me it's at least a guard dog breed," he said between laughs and you felt your held breath relax. "Um you could say that," you replied as you smiled down to the bundle of fur curled up to your side, "he can be menacing at times." "To the mail carrier or actual intruders?" he joked a slight hint of sarcasm on his tongue. "I'll send you a photo so you can judge for yourself," you huffed but before the conversation could continue any further, you heard the call suddenly drop.

You pouted a bit as you looked down at Bones, your newest companion for the coming months. "Smile for your dad," you said happily before sending the picture off to Simon to see eventually. At the end of the week, your phone dinged with an incoming message. "golden shepherds are not guard dogs." it said simply and you were sure to spam him with more photos of you and Bones' latest adventures.

You lazily lounged around the flat as you looked at your phone's calendar. Simon's mission had been extended 6 more months from his initial departure date and since that update, you had heard little since. You put down your phone dejectedly before filling up Bones' bowl of food and water. As you turned with the bowl in hand, you practically jumped when the door knob turned. Bones ran towards it rapidly as you chased after him, nearly colliding with your kitchen island. "Easy now," you commanded sharply, pulling him by his collar. "Guess he is a guard dog after all," a familiar voice spoke and your eyes met with Simon's. You immediately jumped to him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he levied a cardboard box into his other arm. As you reunited after many long months, you were monetarily blinded to the small bundle of fur peeking out from the top. "What's this, Simon?" you asked as you paused your barrage of kisses. "Look for yourself," he smirked, putting the box in your hand. Inside, a small Belgian Malinois began to lick your face. As you laughed giddily at the affections, Simon led you to the couch with Bones following cautiously. "Since you don't have much of a scary one here," he said pausing to pat Bones on the head, "thought he and you could use a companion." You nodded as you put the small puppy in your lap. "Well now that we have two children," you said turning to him, "you better be staying for a while now, Riley."

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #izzie is drawing #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #mw2 #izzie is writing

873 notes · View notes

saulocept · 3 months

Text

a streetcar named desire

pairing: kenji sato/reader

rating: g

summary: “Do you love him?”

You don’t know, not really. Love feels like a foreign word to you now, a distant emotion you’ve long since forgot about. You’re not entirely sure if you love him. He’s caring and considerate, and he’s more than you could ever deserve in the entirety your life. You know that, of course, know it still, even now.

But now you’re not so sure.

notes: timeline's a little wonky here. set after the film, with a sprinkle of spoilers if you haven't yet watched :)

tags: pining. mostly.

Even now, you’re still not entirely sure how things had ended up this way. You’re not even supposed to be here, staying over at Kenji’s apartment – colder and emptier than his previous one – nursing your glass of wine, listening to him tell you stories about his career, littered, as always, with his theories of kaiju existence in America.

It’s supposed to be a quick visit, just to help him get a feel for his new home, and yet you’re still here, watching as the seconds tick by on the clock, taking a slow sip of your wine as you listen to him ramble on and about something. You’re not entirely paying attention now at this point, especially when he doesn’t sound too sober anymore. Even his topics have become a jumble now, jumping from one to another, without you having to say much.

At this point, it’s almost like he’s talking to himself, but he’s far too adorable to stop. And besides, when’s the last time the two of you have got together like this? As children, you’re both inseparable, talking about anything and everything – no secrets in between. But as adults, you’ve both been terribly busy. Him with his career, and you with yours. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d heard his voice outside of your television, blaring cool and confidently through your speakers, masking the fact that he’s anything but in real life.

With the news of your engagement reaching his ears, he’d promptly told you off through a phone call, refusing to answer any of your calls and ignoring all of your text messages, no matter how times you’d told him you’re sorry.

You know you’re supposed to tell him first; he’s your best friend, after all. Of course, you’re supposed to tell him everything first, every news, no matter how good or bad, long before anyone else. You’d both made that vow since you were children, and yet with everything piling up on your plate: wedding preparations, work demands, you’ve just never had enough time and gradually forgot about it.

At first, you’d been terribly afraid he wouldn’t talk to you again, so you’d flooded his inbox with a bunch of messages, each one an apology, varying the spelling just a tiny bit, so none of them would get flagged as a spam mail. You can’t tell if you’d succeeded; after all, he’d never replied to a single one of them.

At one point, you’d even entertained the idea of flying over to visit him, just to personally apologize, but your upcoming wedding had made that practically impossible.

And then before you knew it, there was a knock on your door, unbidden and unexpected. You’d expected it to be a robbery; in this part of the city, nothing’s impossible, after all, and it was two in the morning – anything could happen, but what you didn’t expect was to see a familiar face, slightly changed but still the same as you remember. Kenji Sato.

Kenji Sato, crashing over at your apartment at two in the morning, exhausted from the flight and slightly tipsy, because yours was the first address he could recall. Or at least, that’s what he’d told you. You’d never got quite the chance to ask him about that, especially when he’d promptly passed out on your couch after roughly a minute of conversation.

He’d left the morning after, quickly finding himself an apartment despite your protests that he could stay with you for as long as he needed.

And now here you are. Enjoying a drink, conversing with him like there’s nothing’s changed between you. Like old times, when you’re still just college kids sneaking out late at night for impromptu study sessions, and for a midnight snack at the nearest McDonald’s.

But now you’re both older. And something’s changed between you, even if you’re not quite sure what it is yet.

“How long will you stay here for?” you ask, resting your chin against your palm, trying to make conversation. Absently, you watch the lights flicker against the glass table. A new one, not the one from his old apartment. You’ve half the heart to ask him about it: where’d it go, whether he’d sold it or left it be, but stop yourself at the last second. It’s not wise to pick at old wounds, no matter how curious you get. He’d tell you when he’s ready, you tell yourself,

He sits across from you, distant, farther than you’ve ever had him. Was he always this far from you before? Did you just never notice? “Just for the month,” he says, his eyes almost glimmering in the dim light. There’s something else in there – some meaning, some implication, hidden behind the shortness of his response. Just for the duration of your wedding. Nothing else.

“And then you’ll be off again soon.” It’s not a question, but rather a remark. When he’d left a year ago, you’d assumed it had been for good. A permanent decision, one that you would have no say in. He’d told you as much before, on the phone, just a night before his flight. He’d never told you what ultimately pushed him to do it, and you’d never had the heart to ask. Back then, the loss of his mother was a fresh wound, raw and bleeding. But now, it feels like a distant memory, an old scar that lingers about him, a miasma you can’t quite fix, and a ghost he can never get rid of.

“Mm-hm.” He shrugs, leans back against the couch, raising his glass his lips. He takes another sip of his wine. Not an agreement, but not quite the opposite. He looks away after a moment, stares blankly at the wall, lets the silence stretch between you. You follow his gaze, note the lack of pictures, portraits. His old apartment had been more vibrant, colorful, littered with a thousand photos, his childhood trophies arranged in a neat row, dusted and polished every single day. Well taken care of, no doubt by his mother.

And yet this one’s emptier. Duller, more lifeless. Granted, it’s a new apartment, and you’re still helping him arrange his stuff, but it still doesn’t change the overall vibe of the place.

“Are you still mad at me?” you ask all of a sudden, breaking the silence between you. You lean forward, placing your empty wine glass back on the table, staring at him in earnest, watching his face for some kind of reaction. You can’t help but be curious; he seems different somehow, more sullen, melancholic, and you’re not sure why. Is there something he’s not telling you?

He snorts, looks up to meet your eyes, a small smile playing about the corners of his. Familiar, and yet not quite the same. “You’re my best friend. Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because you’re the last to hear about my engagement?”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” he says, waves his hand dismissively like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just ignore your texts for a whole week. “I’m busy, you’re busy. We both have stuff to deal with. I get it. It’s all part of life.”

“And yet you’re still childish enough to believe in all those kaiju stuff.” You don’t mean to say it, not really. You know how much he believes in those; even when you were both children, he’d told you all kinds of stories, sketching an incomprehensible doodle at the back of your math notebook when it’s clear you couldn’t understand a word he’s saying.

He narrows his eyes at you, looking almost annoyed. “You want me to ignore you for a week straight again?” There’s no real edge to his voice, there never is, just a playful sharpness that has you biting the inside of your cheek in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

“I’m sorry,” you say, playing along, reaching for your glass and then the bottle of wine, filling your glass just halfway before placing the bottle back on the table. “Please don’t back out of the wedding. You know you’re the only one I can trust there.”

“Maybe I will,” he says, almost tauntingly. His voice drops, grows into a whisper, more serious. “You know I’ve never liked that fiancé of yours.”

You know that, of course. He’s never kept that a secret from you; even back when you and your fiancé had started dating, Kenji’s never failed to voice his disapproval out loud, as though he could somehow get you to change your mind before things are too late. You’ve almost lost count how many times he’d talked shit about him to your face, making fun of everything: from his name (“Sylvester. Really?”); to the way he stands (like he’s one minute away from constipating); to the way he dresses (like his grandmother’s wallpaper).

You shake your head, sigh, take another sip of your drink. “We’re about to get married soon, you know. You can’t just talk shit about him like before.”

“You can still back out now.” He sounds serious, more serious than you’ve ever heard him. You pause, look up at him, searching his face for something. His eyes are dark, his expression opaque. You can’t quite tell what he’s thinking, or what he’s feeling, but all you know is that he’s serious about this.

“But I—” you begin, stopping as soon as you realize you’re not entirely sure what you’re going to say. But I love him. It feels like an instinctive response, a kneejerk reaction rather than the truth, something you’re supposed to say instead of something you actually mean. You stare at him for a long time, mouth agape, suddenly at a loss for words.

He doesn’t wait for you to finish, find the right words. “Do you love him?”

You don’t know, not really. Love feels like a foreign word to you now, a distant emotion you’ve long since forgot about. You’re not entirely sure if you love him; Sylvester’s a good man, a good boyfriend – he never forgets the important dates, the important details. He’s caring and considerate, and he’s more than you could ever deserve. You know that, of course, know it still, even now. At the time, it had been enough.

But now, you’re not so sure. You’ve never really sat down and thought if you truly loved him. You’ve never really had enough time, and confronting the truth of the matter seems more than you bargain for. You’re comfortable with him, yes, but is that enough to call it love?

When he’d knelt down and proposed to you in front of an audience you never quite felt comfortable with, you just said yes. Automatically, instinctively, mostly because that’s what anyone in your position would say. But love’s never been part of the equation. Not when it comes to him, to this.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice jolting you out of your thoughts. With a sigh, he raises his glass to his lips, downs it all in one go. Quickly, he grabs the bottle from the table, fills his glass to the brim, the liquid nearly overflowing. “You know I’m not trying to ruin your wedding.”

“I know.”

He brings his glass closer to yours, gives you a tentative smile. “Peace?”

“Peace.”

You clink your glass to his, then, following his example, you down the liquid in one go.

This is a bad idea, objectively so. At the back of your mind, you’re well aware of how terrible it is to stay longer in his apartment, getting drunk out of your mind. You have a meeting in a few hours with your boss and it wouldn’t do well for you to arrive at work with a hungover, or slightly drunk and nursing a headache.

But you can’t help it. And you can never say no to him.

You should’ve stopped after a few glasses. You’ve told yourself you’ll stop after the third one, but for some reason, you’re still here, taking a languid sip of your drink, cringing slightly at the bitter aftertaste. You’re not even sure what you’re drinking now at this point. Vaguely, you’re aware that you’ve emptied all the wine you had a few hours ago, and now you’re drinking something else. Something darker, bitter.

Stronger too, from the looks of it, as evidenced from the buzzing in your head.

Not that Kenji’s faring any better. If anything, he seems even drunker than before, more than you even. He’s lying down on the floor, staring at the ceiling, his glass sitting innocently beside him, nearly empty. He’s always been worse at holding his alcohol than you are – having no coach who tells you what you should and shouldn’t do definitely helps with the tolerance, though it’s not a feat you can brag at parties.

“So,” he begins, hiccupping a little, pointing at something you can’t quite see. Slowly, he turns to look at you, raising his head so he can look at you. “You believe in kaiju?”

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. There’s a buzzing in your head, an incoming headache. Maybe you’re getting older and reaching your limit. Or maybe you’re just losing your touch. You sit up straighter, gently rubbing your temples, trying to ease the feeling. “Not real. Didn’t you watch the documentary with me before? The one where they debunked it?”

“What if…” he begins, pauses, hiccupping once more. “What if I told you they’re real?”

You raise an eyebrow, resting your chin against your palm as you stare down at him, watching him in amusement. “And you got proof of that, mister?”

“Yep.” Quickly, he stands up on the floor, swaying a little from side to side. He wobbles to his feet, and he only manages to take a few steps before he’s stumbling about, losing his balance in the process and falling face-first on the floor. With a laugh, you stand up from your seat, helping him up and gently guiding him back into the couch, placing him on the empty space beside you.

“Come on,” you say, laughing. “You’re clearly drunk.”

“Not drunk,” he says, shaking his head. He shifts a little, lays his head on your lap, his feet dangling at the edge of the couch. He stares up at you, his eyes hazy and unfocused, absently taking you in.

You hum under your breath, smiling at him. “Hi.”

He’s quiet, doesn’t say anything. Slowly, he reaches out, touches your cheek. He’s a little clumsy this time; more than a few times, he’s nearly poked your eye out, but there’s a practiced gentleness behind his touch, a muscle memory he can’t quite forget even when his mind is slowed by the alcohol. His palm is rough, callused, no doubt from years of practice, training, littered with scars you’re not quite sure where he got. You take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together, marveling at how perfectly your hands fit even after all these years.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Stop that.”

“What?” you ask, feigning innocence, just to poke fun at him, though you still don’t let go of his hand, enjoying the warmth of his hand against yours. “You’re the one who touched me first.”

He shakes his head, ignores your remark, frees his hand from your grip, lets it rest against his stomach. “I’ve seen kaiju before,” he says, his voice growing softer, quieter.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, eyebrows furrowing a little in thought. “Uh. Huge?”

“Like in the movies?”

He rolls his eyes, looking almost offended. “Those movies suck.”

“You’re the one who told me to watch them!”

“Well, I’m telling you now: they suck.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “What do you mean they suck? You loved them when we were kids!”

“I’m not a kid now, am I?”

“That hasn’t stopped you from acting like one.”

“Very funny.” He turns to glare at you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying your hardest not to laugh. A moment of silence settles between you: warmer this time, more comfortable. Familiar. As if all that gap between you has suddenly disappeared, leaving nothing but this old familiarity behind. This is how it’s always been between you, isn’t it?

You’ve missed this, more than you could even think of. You’ve almost forgot how it feels like: the casualty of his affection, the warmth of his touch. How you fit perfectly together, like complementary puzzle pieces. Like two halves of the same soul.

Instinctively, you lean in, reaching out to brush a stray strand away from his face. This close, you could see every little detail on his face: the dark circles beneath his eyes, the crease between his eyebrows. The fullness of his lips. How soft they are from this distance.

You’re not sure what possessed you to do it, but you’re doing it long before you could think twice. Curiously, you run a finger along his lower lip, gently tracing the outline; it’s a little chapped, though nothing too bad. Maybe you should buy him a chapstick as a present?

Just as quickly as that thought crosses your mind, you pull back, jolting your hand away from him as though you’ve been burned. He stares at you, his eyes dark, his expression suddenly unreadable. You bite your lip, looking almost ashamed. “Sorry—”

He doesn’t let you finish. Without warning, he reaches out, grips your wrist with one hand, pulling you just the slightest bit closer. This time, he meets your gaze head-on. “Don’t marry him.”

“I—what?” you ask, blinking at him a few times, looking a little uncertain. Gently, you try to shake your hand free from his grip. He lets you go easily enough, and you’re not entirely sure why it leaves you feeling cold, empty. “Ken, are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer your question, doesn’t say anything for a long time, his expression still as opaque as ever, unreadable. You stare back at him, eyebrows furrowing a little in concern. “You’re not sick, are you?” you ask, frowning; slowly, you lean in, placing your hand against his forehead, trying to get a feel for his temperature.

He’s a little warm beneath your touch, though you can’t quite tell if it’s from a fever or it’s simply from the alcohol. You sigh, shaking your head, staring at him worriedly. “I told you drinking’s a bad idea.”

He snorts, as though in amusement, then leans away from your touch. “You know what I wish for every night?” he asks, his voice growing softer, quieter that you have to lean close to hear.

“What?”

“For that fiancé of yours to get eaten by a kaiju.”

A nervous laugh escapes you, forced and awkward. “Come on, Ken,” you say, poking him a little at the cheek, trying to catch his attention. “You know that’s a childish thing to say. I know you never liked him, but you can’t really wish for that.”

“Can’t I?” He meets your eyes then, his expression serious. He doesn’t seem drunk this time, only honest.

“Of course not,” you say, shaking your head. “You’re supposed to wish us well, you know. And be happy about it.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.” He sounds almost sulky now, childishly so, like a kid who hasn’t been given a candy. You’d laugh at the sight if it isn’t so ridiculous.

“Are you serious?” you ask, voice growing louder, taking on a higher-pitch. You rub your temples soothingly with the pads of your fingers, trying to soothe the incoming headache. “Just because you don’t like him doesn’t mean—”

He frowns, cuts you off before you can say the rest of your words. “You don’t understand.”

You give him a level look. “Then make me understand.”

“I—” he begins, stops. He looks like he’s about to say something, but then he stops, hesitating. With a sigh, he shakes his head, looks away. “Never mind,” he says, and his voice is colder now, unfamiliar. He glances at the clock, at the flashing red numbers on the screen. “It’s late. Get some sleep.”

And just like that, the veil is back once more, the distance between you growing farther and farther. Slowly, you stand up from the couch, untangling yourself from him in the process. A hollow feeling follows you afterward, lingers around you as you stumble about in his apartment, trying to find your belongings: your coat hanging on the makeshift rack at the door; your shoes at the doorway.

Quietly, you slip out of his apartment, locking the door behind you, teeth chattering from the cold wind that breezes past you. By the time morning comes around, he’ll forget about this – hopefully – and everything will be alright between you. But for now, you’ll go back to your apartment, grab a bottle of wine from the shelf, and drink yourself to oblivion.

At least until you manage to stop thinking about everything.

#renwrites #kenji sato x reader

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katabay · 8 months

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full body commissions, at long last!

the base price is $100 for a single figure, and then you add on the price for colors if you want that! flat color prices vary on complexity. if you have someone in a suit, then it's just +$30, but it's more like a complex period costume, then it's closer to +$40-50 (same for simple renders)

(simple renders are not an additional fee on top of the flat colors! I realize that it might be a little confusing, flat colors + simple renders is it's own thing, which starts at +$40)

anything over $100 can be paid either in it's entirety up front, or $100 up front, and the rest once completed (for this, I'll send a lower resolution jpeg of the finished illustration when it's finished, and the high res png when the payment goes through)

visual references are a big help! either art of the character, or things like a face claim or actor. if you have a character from a specific time period, please also send references of the clothes you'd like them in! if you have a pose in mind, feel free to tell me! It can be anything from standing around, to sitting down, jumping, etc.

these prices are for private commissions only! which means you can go ahead and get 'em printed or whatever for your own personal use but you can't use them commercially

currently, I don't have prices for a commission with a second full body figure! if you really want something like that, we can work out a price.

I'm also using a dead line weight in these examples, but if you want something that looks more like the inking style that I use in Trikaranos, just let me know!

🍊 commissions will be on a 10x15 in canvas at 300dpi :)

🍊 email me at [email protected], and we can talk details! I use paypal for payment, do not send me money ahead of time because this is not my paypal email and I use invoices.

if I don't reply in like, a day, feel free to message me here and I'll give you my other email where we can hash out details because sometimes, the perils of having an email on public display is that people will sign your email up for junk mail and it takes a minute to mark it all as spam

things I'll draw: established characters, ocs, your favorite dead roman or greek hero, I'm cool with it all!

things I won't draw: generally, I'm not too keen on drawing anyone under 18, as you may realize from the fact that many characters on my blog are vaguely in their 30s. like, it's not a hard rule, but I will fully admit right here that I'm better at drawing people over 20.

(also! again. money this month sucks, and the economy is honestly just a huge bummer for literally everyone everywhere. if my prices for full body comms are out of your range, I'm cool to do payments in $50 a month installments!)

#also my finances are a little yikes this month: if you get a full body commission i'll also throw in a little thank you head sketch of your #character. but that's a secret. shhhh.#commissions tag

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mugs-n-cans · 5 months

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The Basics

Yo! I’m Scout, kind of a big deal. I created this blog to show everyone how freakin’ sweet I am. Also, Snipes is here! He’s not sayin’ anythin’ ‘cause he thinks this is a bad idea. Ask away! I know I’ll get a lotta autograph requests but keep it to a minimum, guys.

Now for the real basics

I’m the mod. My name is Max. I go by he/they/it. I’m just creating this for a bit of fun, as I’m bored and have nothing better to do. This is going to be a speeding bullet focused blog (if you couldn’t guess so far). Also, this is my first ask blog, so please bear with me.

Anon list

mod is 18+, suggestive asks are allowed but full nsfw will be ignored (please block the suggestive tag to avoid seeing that content!)

most of this will be my own headcanons and perspectives, but you are allowed to project your own

you can send as many asks as you like, but please do not spam a single ask

roleplay as much as you like

i will also write for other mercs if the question pertains to it, but i would like it to be relative to sniper or scout (miss pauling is included of course)

RED x BLU asks are allowed as well, just please specify by coloring the name (i.e. scout, sniper) or just saying BLU Scout or RED Sniper. RED x BLU will be on a separate timeline than RED x RED or BLU x BLU

you are welcome to ask questions about the mod as well!

DMs are open if you want to chat or if you have questions about rules or whatever else!

you are allowed to sign off with an emoji to be recognized in the future!

freak fortress asks will be separate from team fortress. abbreviations for their names can be CBS or AP, just for clarity sake.

I may add more rules later as I think of them

Tags

#mugs n cans - general asks

#asks n cans - scout-centric asks

#mugs n asks - sniper-centric asks

#freaks n asks - all asks pertaining to christian brutal sniper or ass pancakes

#post mugs n cans - post-comic asks

#mod mugs - asks about the mod

#ooc - mostly for things unrelated to asks like announcements

#bullet mail - for replying or posting outside of asks ic

#bullet fanart - for me being incapable of not sharing speeding bullet fanart every few posts

#bullet reblogs - for non-fanart reblogs (think memes and stuff like that)

#song recs - self explanatory!

#suggestive - for those spicy asks

#speedingbullet #tf2 ask blog #tf2 sniper #tf2 scout #sniperscout #tf2 #team fortress 2 #mugs n cans #ooc

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thebibliosphere · 2 years

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The way my professional inbox is structured, I'm always worried people don't get my reply emails. I have to resist the urge to go into my secret Gmail account and be like, "pst, just in case the other email broke, this is also me; please don't tell anyone about this account."

Like... I shouldn't have to filter my mail the way I do, but unfortunately, mean people ruined it for everyone, and now if you want to send me an email, you must answer these riddles three and even then, because of my heavy filtering, you'll likely end up spending a few days in the spam pile before I manually fish you out like a wet cat being hoisted unceremoniously out of an ornamental koi pond that doubles as a nuclear dumping ground.

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filmofhybe · 10 months

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Chapter 12 - “drown”

> pairing : Nishimura Riki x Female Reader

> genre : college student AU! , Pool Lifeguard AU! , smau , fluff

> warnings : SLOW BURN!! , swearing , bad humor jokes , kys jokes (die etc) , kissing , semi verbal bullying (no violence) , reader! injuring herself by accident , missing parent figure

> chapter synopsis : 2 months later, y/n & niki continue to hang out with each other’s group. Causing Isabelle to be jealous of y/n, pushing her into the pool, trying to drown her at the end of her shift.

previous - next | masterlist

comment or reblog to ask be on the series taglist.

( I also just want to mention that this series is kinda slow burn, so if your not into slow burn or plot lines that can take a bit to develop than this story is probably not your cup of tea. But I do recommend checking out my other works if you want, enjoy!! )

; AUTHORS NOTE : is coming to an end :( I know I stopped updating this bc I have absolutely lost motivation to continuing. But for now this is chapter 12, 3 more chapters to go :(

WARNING : attempt murder, “drowning” , y/n struggling, parent death, swearing (Not PROOF READ!!)

I sighed as I finished mopping the pool deck, the dim light casting a serene glow over the water. The day had been long, and the campus pool was finally empty. My lifeguard duties were nearly done, ready to close the pool and go hang out with my friends. or so I thought.

Out of the shadows and sound of slippers walking emerged someone, it was Isabelle, a simmering resentment in her eyes. I tensed, knowing there was no love or civil lost between us. Isabelle walked towards me, arm crossed and wasted no time launching into a bitter tirade about my dad.

“Look at who it is? Y/n Y/l/n.. surprised your working at a place where your dad drown. How disrespectful of you? Have you never considered that fact your dad drowned? I could never be like you.” She chuckled as I felt tears swelling up my eyes. But she doesn’t stop there. “And how dare you to hang out with MY Niki? Your the reason why he never hangs out with me. Ha.. you really think I don’t know why? Acting like your struggling with metal health just to get him to listen to you pathetic little problems… I could never be like you..”

Despite my attempts to keep her distance, Isabelle's words stung. The tension between them escalated until, in a moment of blind anger, I didn’t even realize Isabelle was stepping closer and closer to me. Before I could fully comprehend the situation, Isabelle shoved me into the deep end of the pool.

The shock of the cold water engulfed y/n. Panic set in as she struggled to stay afloat. Isabelle's twisted satisfaction echoed through the empty pool area. The lights remained dim, casting an eerie glow on the chaotic scene unfolding.

Niki’s POV:

“What’s taking so long for y/n to come out?” Jake asked, cold wind blowing towards all of us. “She’s not replying either so I don’t know..” Hanni replied as she continues to rub her hand with Isa’s, trying to gain warmth. I sighed as I continue to spam call her. Clicking on the contact name “baby🤍” again, few seconds later, it still goes to voice mail.

“Right this is actually getting ridiculous imma go in.” I said as I pushed pass Ricky and Jake. “Yo bro she’s probably coming out!” Hearing both of them yell. I could care less, what if something happened to her? I could care less if they were following me too. I passed through the glass doors towards the pool, seeing a silhouette of someone, just standing there looking towards the pool. My eyes dashed towards the pool, realizing the person standing was Isabelle, chuckling. I see bubbles coming up from pool below. Y/n.. she pushed y/n into the deepest end of the pool.

“Bro what’s going on-”

Nothing but worry and desperation to save y/n came in the form of me. Without hesitation, l dove into the water, my arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her to the surface. The relief was short-lived as she coughed and gasped for air, realizing the danger she had narrowly escaped.

As Isabelle's malicious actions became apparent, Jake and Isa, witnessing the incident, restrained her in a fit of rage. “stop! Let me go! I didn’t do anything” The confrontation attracted the attention of others – Jungwon, Ricky, and Hanni swiftly dialed for an ambulance. The urgency in their voices reflected the severity of the situation. “Please come quickly!”

I watched her face turning paler and paler, realizing she’s losing more oxygen. “Niki..cpr..” that’s the last thing she said before she faints in my arms. Fuck.. what do I do.. “NIKI! QUICK CPR! MOUTH TO MOUTH! GIVE HER OXYGEN!” Isa yelled, who was once a lifeguard in her own right, I immediately started administering CPR. Each compression and breath carried the weight of a lifeline as y/n’s oxygen supply dwindled. The fear in my eyes mirrored the desperate struggle to revive y/n. I promise I’ll save you love.. you would not die in my arms today.. my tears and sweat drops along with the pool water. I know we haven’t kissed and I know we aren’t a thing yet but I would do anything to save you right now.. slightly opening her mouth as I breath into her mouth, her pale but yet soft lips touches mines, snapping out of my thoughts, I quickly start giving her cpr again. After a few more seconds, y/n starts coughing up more water. Her eyes filled with tears as she grabs onto my arm. I pulled her into my embrace as I pat her back smoothly. Whisper nothing but soft caring words.

“Is okay love.. your fine.. I’m here..”

The distant wail of an approaching ambulance added to the chaotic symphony. In the background, the school's teacher and principal arrived, flanked by a police officer who took swift action against Isabelle's reckless act. Isabelle was led away, restrained, and destined for the police station.

Amid the chaos, y/n was carefully placed on a stretcher as paramedics took over. The urgency in their movements reflected the critical nature of the situation. Niki, visibly shaken but determined, accompanied y/n to the ambulance.

The flashing lights of the ambulance cut through the darkness as it sped towards the hospital. Y/n lay on the stretcher, consciousness fading in and out. Niki held onto her hand, still soft even with the tubs in it, his concern etched across his face. The paramedics worked diligently, monitoring y/n’s vital signs, battling against time.

At the hospital, the ER team swiftly took over. Niki, desperate for answers, waited anxiously outside. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him. The others soon arrives as minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity. Finally, a doctor emerged. Everyone heart pounded as he awaited the verdict. The doctor's words were a mix of relief and concern

“Your the reason she’s alive right now. She’s fully conscious and safe. But the accident has fully affected her.” Isa and Hanni’s heart hurts just by listening to his words. “You may visit her but please be gentle with her.” The group thanked him as they walked into the room.

Isa and Hanni quickly walk in, seeing y/n still smiling even after the terrible accident made the girls burst into tears. Walking towards her as they hugged her carefully.

“You don’t even know how worry we were of you…” Hanni sobbed into y/n’s embrace. “My girls is okay I’m okay..thank you for being here..” y/n whispered as she continue to hug them. Intak and Ricky ripped both of the girls from you as they hugged you. “We were worried sick, we thought we were going to lose you..”, “You should thank Niki. He really saved you…” intak exclaimed as he moved aside, trying to collect his tears. You looked over and see the boy you fell in love months ago, soaked wet. He walks up to you, pulling you into his embrace. Still warm even thought he’s fully drained. Tears starts to flow into your eyes as you realized your currently alive with the people you love because of him.

“Thank you for saving me…”

“I will save you everyday my love..” He kisses your forehead as you melt into his warm arms.

“For your information, the others are coming soon.” Isa informed, groans filled the room as it’s going to turn chaotic once the others arrive.. at least you’re surrounded with love today..

series taglist : @surefornext @spilled-coffee-cup @haechansgf @txtistheloml @skepvids @syuuji @oshakyao @haechansbbg @en-happiness

network : @k-neighborhood @k-films @k-labels @kflixnet

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bcbdrums · 6 months

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Help. Me.

Okay actually the Inbox is broken down as follows:

1 "troll" targeting me specifically

1 random spam

10 hate mail (1 is from the aforementioned "troll")

16 private replies from people

23 remnants of multi-part asks

43 "underwear guy" harassment

78 individual genuine Asks

I've deleted probably some 30+ in the past from the underwear guy, I just stopped doing it after awhile. Time to start the purge!

#should i keep those remnants tho?#i think i put screenshots of them in the actual replies #i also realize i completely missed one set of multi-part asks oops #i really gotta do something about these drafts tho oh my gosh 😭

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joshslater · 2 years

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First One Free

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

"Exceed your widest dreams," the spam had said. It was a cheesy sales pitch pun from some local trainer. Try one PT session for free. It had stuck in Jordan's mind all morning though. Apparently there is a real advertising strategy to sneak spelling mistakes into ad copy to make people read the text slower and remember it better. He didn't think the amateurish spam had been quite so calculating, but the effect was the same nevertheless. He had thought of starting to exercise, and a free PT session might be just what he needed, so in the post-lunch lull he replied to the e-mail and was pleasantly surprised to quickly receive a response with suggested time slots. He had kind of expected it to be a scam. All the time slots were for four hours as well, so way more than any of the other offers he'd seen. Was it even effective to train for that long? Well, Wednesday 4pm to 8pm he would know.

The guy, Gary, an athletic but not crazy built man in his late thirties met him outside of the gym and walked him in through the front desk. The super-blond, super-tanned girl waved them through. He showed Jordan the locker room and handed him a shaker with opaque contents. "You're gonna need all of it," he said with a smile. Jordan emptied the shaker, changed into his workout clothes, and joined the trainer in the exercise room.

What followed was the most intense training he'd ever had. It was low intensity, but relentless. The guy had him do the same exercise over and over again with very light weights. They were basically going from machine to machine. After two hours he was handed another shaker, this time with a translucent red liquid that tested like synthetic strawberry. "Electrolytes" Gary had told him. He felt like he was running on fumes when finally Gary told him how proud he was of the work Jordan had put in. There was still one hour left of the time, and Gary explained that one very overlooked part of proper exercise was to properly stretch and relax the muscles after a workout, so they recovered as quickly as possible and increased in strength and volume as much as possible.

They went into a small side room with a massage bed where Gary slowly and methodically worked on Jordan's body with some kind of soothing oil. It felt heavenly on his sore muscles. Gary told him he would feel more soreness the coming days, but it was just natural while the body built muscle mass. While massaging he gave Jordan some easy tips on post-workout care, basically drink a lot, and went through some rudimentary dietary recommendations, all of which Jordan thought he would never do.

As they were getting close to part ways, Jordan was bracing himself for the inevitable sales pitch. $1000 per month or whatever the going rate for a PT was. There are only so many hours per day for them to sell after all. He almost felt robbed of not having to use any of the scenarios for wiggling out of any commitment that he had run through his head the night before. "Just email me if you have any more questions," he said. Not until Jordan had already showered and left did he consider that perhaps Gary was working for the gym somehow. Get people in for a killer session and then have them return, but shouldn't there be some follow-up then too? He was going to follow the hydration advice after all, he thought as he was heading home. He was incredibly thirsty, which wasn't a surprise after such a workout. Perhaps even buy a case of isotonic bottles as Gary had suggested?

Jordan was in pain as he woke up early morning the day after. He'd expected to be sore, but this was worse than he had ever experienced before, and he spent some time contemplating sleeping in. After minutes of tossing and turning he decided it was not going to happen, and perhaps a shower would better ease his angry muscles. Immediately getting up he realized what a transformation he had gone through during the night. His belly which had been slowly expanding since graduation was gone and his chest looked a little bit more like pecs than boobs. His arms looked about the same as yesterday, but when he moved and flexed them the difference was obvious. The shoulders looked more pronounced as well, perhaps more from posture than more muscles, but the change was obvious there too. He was shocked how one session could make such a big impact, and in just one day. Maybe he would follow the diet suggestions. This was close to his dream body that a few boring dishes and some crunches would nudge him that little extra step to visible abs and arm definition. Besides, he was starving.

It was impossible to concentrate on the work because of his constant low-level discomfort. Whenever he sat still for just a few minutes he felt stiff and as soon as he moved he felt sore. Only halfway to lunch he was starving again and raided the office kitchen's snack bar for trail mix and energy bars. He was hot too. He imagined all the worker cells being busy repairing all the muscle damage from the workout. But it meant that his normal cup of coffee wasn't anywhere near enough and he ended up with a water pitcher and a glass on his office table that he kept refilling.

For lunch, still hungry, he had plenty of helpings from a China buffet. He tried to think about the advice he had gotten from Gary on chicken, broccoli, and rice, but in the end he got plenty from all the dishes. By half past two he decided he needed to leave early and rest up at home. The feeling of burning hot had just gotten worse and he felt clammy from sweating. Perhaps he had the flu? That would explain a lot, the body aches, the slight fever. On the way home he bought a big four cheeses pizza and plenty of isotonic drinks, devoured it as soon as he got inside, and promptly crashed in bed for a nap.

It was dark as Joran woke up in agony. As he reached for the lamp switch he heard the sound of fabric tearing. He froze with his hand on the switch after he had flipped it, staring a the alien arm controlling the bedside light. It was massive, even in this stretched-out form, with finger-sized veins snaking up the tanned skin. He slowly drew his arm back, shocking himself with the size of the bicep as the arm bent. His mind raced with thoughts. Is this a fever dream? Don't think so. How did this happen? Don't know. Is it even possible? Sure looks like it. What does the rest of the body look like? What will the guys at the office say? What about mum? Tanning while sleeping?

He lept to his feet to the sound of more clothes ripping apart and stumbled over to his dressing mirror. Why his shirt wasn't holding up was immediately obvious. His shoulders were inches wider, as were his chest and his arms. His trousers were visibly straining from the size of his legs as well, and probably ripped apart on the back.

Getting out of the clothes turned out to be complicated. Where the seams hadn't given up the fabric was straining aginst his muscles, hugging his body. His attempts to undress were also hampered by him suddenly not being able to reach everywhere. His muscles had gotten bigger everywhere, but he or his arms hadn't gotten longer. He gave up and used some scissors to undress, and then cut off the arms of a T-shirt to get something on his upper body that fit. Just as he was about to put it on he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and for a split second thought someone else was in the room with him. Just a day ago he was considering getting visible abs, and now he had ones big enough to show through a tight sweatshirt.

He drove to a 24/7 supermarket wearing just the cut-off T-shirt and a pair of basket shorts to get some real clothes, then, having changed in the bathroom he went to the gym just as they opened. It was the same girl at the front desk as when he and Gary were there. She obviously didn't recognize him, but to his surprise she told him Gary didn't work there. She was at first hesitant to talk about any other customers, but must have decided to treat Jordan as "one of them" given his pro-body builder physique and said a guy had paid for two people including access to a treatment room. She hadn't seen him neither before nor since.

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