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yellowjestertfs · 2 months ago

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Agents of Change

My submission to @occamstfs 2000 follower viral writing contest. A million congrats to @occamstfs for the achievement, and a million more thanks for the help in editing this story.

Not quite my usual story but pretty happy with how it turned out. Also make sure to check out the other amazing authors participating in this contest as well.

As an elite member of the Secret Service, Whitman was prepared for an endless number of threats. He could disarm an attacker in seconds, spot gunmen from a hundred feet away, even disable a bomb with one foot while blindfolded upside down. What he wasn’t prepared for was pretty boys.

"Sir,” Brella, the youngest and only woman in his detail, said, her voice raised slightly in alarm as she pointed out the five men heading toward them in the hall.

“I see them,” Whitman said, placing a hand on his taser and standing up to his full five ten of hight in an attempt to look intimidating. The men were not outright threatening; dressed in too small suits, they could easily be young aides or politicians, if not for the fact that they looked wrong.

Well, that is not exactly true; what really set Whitman off was the fact that they looked perfect—too perfect, like supermodels mixed with superheroes. It wasn’t that Washington didn't have its fair share of handsome fellas. Rather to the contrary, Whitman had known plenty of young senators or lobbyists who used their good looks as an advantage in their careers. None, however, looked like these men.

They strode forward purposefully down the hallway, feet landing and lifting with perfect synchronicity.

Each of them was tall and broad, with strong muscular legs that bulged against their suit pants, although not quite as much as the bulges in their crotches. Their waists were trim and tight, tapering out to wide shoulders and strong arms. And then there were their faces.

Though each differed in hairstyle and facial features, they all possessed the same quality to their face. Something about the cut of the jaw or the glint of the eyes made them undeniably linked. Beauty to the point of uncanny.

“Excuse me, sirs. This is a restricted zone; I am going to have to ask you to turn around.” Whitman called out, though the men were still at least 70 feet away.

The horde of men continued to stride forward, though the one in the lead responded. In a polite but slightly monotone voice, “We are allowed to be here; we have a meeting with the president.” He said face, adopting a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Whitman tightened his hand on his taser. He knew for a fact these pretty boys didn't have any such meeting scheduled. He found it strange and troubling that that excuse had gotten them this far. Confusing and deeply suspicious. “The president is busy right now. You really should stop walking and tell me how you got in here.” The men kept walking forward, now only thirty feet from Whitman, and his team, posed outside the president’s office.

“Bret and Berry let us in.” The man said, invoking the name of the secret service agents who watched the door to the hallway. Hearing the names jogged something in Whitman’s head—a fact right in front of him he had somehow missed. He heard his second in command Santiago let out a gasp behind him as he reached a similar conclusion. Two of the men flanking the leader bore a striking resemblance to the agents, only with faces more handsome and bodies more muscular. It was as if those agents had been remade in the image of conventional beauty standard, smooth and unnaturally symmetrical. In addition Bret now had a short beard that suited his dark eyes. While Berry’s hair had been combed and bleached into a thick blond swoop, which complemented his square face, and each man had gained at least fifty pounds of muscle and half a foot in height.

“Stop right there,” Whitman yelled, losing any semblance of politeness. By now, the men were only ten feet away. Whitman removed his taser from his holster and pointed it at the man in the lead. Behind him, his agents did the same.

“I assure you we mean no harm. Put down your weapons.” The man in the lead said, his voice intelligent and charismatic but with a hint of something alien in his words. He took another step, and Whitman fired.

Small metal wires sprung out, latching onto the suit of the man in the lead. The taser in his hand bucked as it sent wave after wave of electricity into the man's body. When he was in the army Whitman had been tased as part of his training. They were the worst five seconds of his life as his every cell was violently electrocuted and he convulsed on the floor. The man in the lead didn't break a stride, seeming more annoyed by the hole the gun left in his suit than the electricity. Whitman watched as Brella and Cameron fired their taser into two of the other men who had similarly lack of response.

Santiago, seeing the ineffectualness of the weapon, brought out his gun and pointed it at the leader. Whitman always preached avoiding lethal harm as often as possible; but the rapid escalation of the situation surely called for it. In a blur, the man in the lead rushed forward. Whitman could only feel the air kicked up by him as he rushed past and grabbed Santiago’s wrist with one hand, shoved it and the gun upwards towards the ceiling. Cameron reached for his own gun, but Bret and Berry rushed forward to stop him while another man grabbed Brella from behind and put a hand over her mouth. Whitman found himself backing up, physically blocking the door to the Oval Office with his body as his agents were incapacitated before him.

These men moved faster than humanly possible and were far stronger as well, but Whitman was not defenseless. The last unoccupied man lunged for him, but Whitman managed to sidestep right at the last second, causing the man to lose his balance. Whitman took advantage of this and grabbed him in a headlock, pulling his gun out, and placing it to the man's temple.

Brella screamed something, but the sound was muffled by the hand over her mouth. Santiago’s arm was still in the grasp of the man in the lead, but oddly enough he seemed not to be struggling, instead staring straight ahead at the ceiling with a glazed look. Even more strangely, Cameron now faced away from Whitman, locked in the tight embrace with the man who resembled Berry. Whitman’s eyes went wide as he realized the two were kissing. He was even more startled to realize that Bret was unbuttoning Cameron's white button-down shirt from behind, running his hands over Cameron's now bare lower back.

Whitman couldn’t understand what was happening. His brain, grounded so long in the mundane, couldn’t process the unexplainable happening occurring before his eyes. Santiago's wrist and hand were jerking. No, not jerking, shifting, growing larger, bone pushed outwards as skin tightened, veins slowly rose to the surface. His fingernails straightened into perfect uniform cuticles, and his knuckles became rough and bony and distinctly masculine. His once slender wrist thickened, while his forearm muscles swelled, pushing against the skin with newfound strength as more veins and dark brown hair sprang to the surface like rivers and trees.

Whitman watched dumbly as the changes quickly grew past Santiago's elbow, onto his upper arm, which grew muscular and brawny, and eventually up to his shoulder, which widened and rounded with new muscle.

Cameron, from his own embrace, let out low guttural noises of pleasure. He shifted, revealing the side of his face. It looked almost as if Cameron now had a birthmark around his lips. The skin had the skin was slightly darker and completely unblemished. The change spread from around his lips in all directions like a flame in a field. As it went, it changed not just his skin but the landscape of his face, tightening his jaw, nose growing slightly, cheeks becoming high and prominent, and all the while leaving numerous small light brown hairs on his chin and cheeks to form perfectly groomed stubble. His brows became thicker, forehead lost its wrinkles, eyes narrowed and turned a deep shade of green the color of rusty copper.

As this happened, Bret managed to remove Cameron's suit jacket and shirt from his body. He wrapped his arms around Cameron's torso, rubbing his hands over Cameron's slight belly and hairy chest. Everywhere Bret touched changed rapidly, stomach giving way to tight abs with cut obliques. Bret placed his hands over both Cameron's nipples, and under his hands, pecs grew in for him to cup. His back also shifted as the changes spread, muscles tightening and skin became just as hairless and poreless as on his face. Cameron began to gyrate his hips back into Bret's groin as his moans became louder.

All of this happened in a matter of seconds. Brella was unaffected at least, as she continued to struggle against her attacker. “Stop whatever you're doing or he gets it.” Whitman barked, tightening his headlock on the man he had subdued and jamming his gun further into the man's head.

The one who had grabbed Santiago, the leader, turned to face Whitman. He dropped Santiago's wrist, which instantly fell to his side, slack. The alien changes had spread over his chest, down his torso, and into his other arm. Whitman watched as the changes crept up his neck, thickening as it grew a more prominent Adam's apple. Despite being free, Santiago stood there limply, gun clattering to the floor next to him. The leader took a step towards Whitman. The two men locked eyes. For a moment, he felt an understanding between him and the leader. This man was a killer bee, with drones at his command and yet also supremely dangerous in his own right. Whitman was a bear though, he would do anything to protect his charge, and he had a taste for honey.

The leader raised his hands in surrender, and Whitman smiled coldly. Then he felt a hand wrap around his bare ankle underneath his pant leg. Instant sensations overwhelmed him. Shock, lust, horror—his hormones became an unstable cocktail as sensations wracked his body. From the location of the touch, he felt a deep biting cold; the places where his captor’s fingers touched were suddenly plunged into an Antarctic snowbank. Whitman kicked his leg, breaking his captive’s grip on his leg, but the cold feeling remained. He tried to fire his gun, but his hands began to shake so violently that it dropped from his grip. He looked up and saw the leader had closed the distance to him in a second so that their faces were now inches away. Whitman thought he was going to kiss him as Barry had to Cameron. But instead, the leader whispered in Whitman's ear, so close that Whitman could smell the mint on his breath and feel the hot air on his cheek. “Stop fighting. Enjoy it. Soon we will be one.”

Whitman tried to say something, but only a croak came out. He fell to his knees, then fully to the floor as the burning cold spot on his ankle pulsed rhythmically. Whitman could only watch as the leader and the man who should have been his captive walked over to Whitman's agents. The changes had fully spread across Santiago's face, giving him a handsome look somehow that shared the uncanny similarity to his attackers. Through his clothes, Whitman couldn’t tell how far the changes had reached on Santiago's lower body, but judging by the large bulge pushing out his pants in the front and the even larger butt pushing out from the back, they were spreading rapidly.

Cameron seemed even further along. His entire body and face were completely changed. He had become a brute of a man, with a tall hulking frame on trunks for legs, a creature of power. His face looked the same way; it shared the other's beauty but had a more square, simple cast to it that made him look halfway between a prince and a caveman. He no longer stared blankly at his head but sneered intimidatingly. He and the leader approached Brella, tying a rope around her arms and legs and putting a gag into her mouth. She looked desperately to Whitman or Santiago for help, but both were just as powerless as she was.

Whitman watched as Santiago’s foot expanded, toes growing and curling in his now too-small shoes. As the last part of his body changed, Santiago looked up from his trance and light returned to his eyes. Whitman tried to signal for him to grab the fallen gun, but instead, Santiago moved to stand by the leader's side. Now a group of seven, numbers bolstered by two of his own, the men walked past a helpless Whitman and into the door to the Oval Office that Whitman had failed in his mission to guard.

The changes spread down Whitman’s ankle into his foot and up to his knee. He found with alarm that he was unable to move those parts of his body, like they had been calcified in stone. With his arms he crawled forward gaining a view into the office. His discarded gun lay a few feet before him. He tried to crawl some more but found the activity becoming more and more taxing.

Inside the office, chaos had erupted. The four secret service agents Whitman had assigned to stay inside the office had heard the commotion outside and were ready with guns drawn. Even so, they were not fast enough. Four of the men, including Santiago, raced blindingly fast toward the men and incapacitated them in seconds; their touch began the changes on those agents that Whitman was currently experiencing.

The Secretary of Agriculture, Packson Jackson, a little man who the president had been meeting with, tried to stop the intruders, physically placing his body in front of the president. Cameron stepped forward and lifted the man into the air with one hand as effortlessly as if he were a toy. Jackson flailed in Cameron’s grasp, feet kicking harmlessly into the air. Cameron brought his hand up to hover just above Jackson’s face. The meek man shied away, closing his eyes tight in anticipation. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off as Cameron from above spit down into his mouth, then shoved his thumb between the secretary’s lips. Jackson looked horrified for a second, then a glazed appearance came over his eyes, and he began sucking furiously on the finger as his face started to transform from the inside out.

Whitman struggled forward. The changes had spread up one leg into his hips and down the other. In the wake of the changes, Whitman's sturdy thigh had become a cut cascade of muscle, thick and hairy and made for pushing mountains instead of walking briskly down White House hallways. His hips spasmed uncontrollably as round mounds emerged to form a tight shelf on his butt, the movement forcing his dick into the ground repeatedly. His penis felt strange, growing erect, then warm, then pricked with hundreds of pleasurable tingles as his dick and balls swelled larger. The haze of sensations creating an overwhelming fogging on his brain became twinged by acute and powerful horniness.

The president, watching his secret service taken out so easily, raised his hand in defeat. He addressed the leader of the group, who leaned against the doorframe casually.

“I surrender.” He said in his signature southern drawl, giving a disarming smile. “Whatever your grudge is, it's with me, not these people.” He gestured to the secret service agents in various phases of transformation. “Release them and you can kill me, I won’t fight.”

“Kill you?” The leader asked from the doorframe. His voice was deep and hypnotic, with that same twinge of distance from before as if he were detached from the events happening around him. He rushed forward in a blur so that he was only inches away from the president. To Whitman's relief, his hands stayed by his side. “I’m afraid you misunderstand, Mr. President, we are here to give you a gift.”

With herculean effort, Whitman stretched out his arm far enough for his fingers to brush against the handle of the fallen gun. By now the changes had overtaken his other leg and moved onto his torso, which slimed into sleek abs. His head was on fire, every neuron on full tilt; he could barely keep up with the events happening in front of him, and in the back of his mind, he felt something—a new presence knocking on his proverbial mental door.

The president looked down at the Secretary convulsing on the floor in front of him. Already the changes had elongated Packson body significantly and beefed up his slender frame with significant muscle. “I don’t want your gift.” He glanced at Whitman, struggling on the floor for a gun, and knew he needed to buy time. “Let's talk about what you want—money, power, favors. I can do all three if you release these innocent men.”

The leader seemed willing to take the bait. “I sometimes forget how petty and simple men can be.” He said it in a thoughtful retrospective manner, looking the president up and down from his head-higher of vantage. “We are not apes to be so easily swayed from our course by the carnal; we are oneness, brotherhood, fraternity, true revelation. You will soon understand”

Whitman's flailing hand seized the gun. The changes had reached his chest, which now hovered several inches off the ground on pillowy muscular pecs. His shoulders locked up as the changes reached them. As he took aim with the gun the changes continued down his arm, leaving a round bicep/tricep combo and locking his elbow in place.

Something about the way the leader spoke, about the lofty collective tone. It felt dangerous, otherworldly, and distinctly familiar. The intruder in the back of his mind spoke similarly; it urged him to put down the gun and to join it in its mission of conversion, of domination.

Whitman blocked it out. He felt the changes spread up his neck, up his jaw, and over his mouth, removing any power he might have had to make a sound. He felt a strange prickle on his face as a thick, well-groomed beard grew in. An exhalation from his straightening nose tickled his new mustache hair. As the changes passed his eyes, he could feel them start to physically alter his brain, making him more malleable and honing him for whatever purpose these changes, this being, meant for him.

Even stranger he felt a connection start to emerge in his consciousness to the other affected men in the room. He could feel their thoughts, their emotions, and their misgivings.

The leader stepped forward to grab the president's bare flesh. The president flinched back. Whitman could feel the leader's thoughts through the new bond and knew he intended to grab with the right hand and lunge with his whole body. Whitman's wrist and palm were no longer his, fully transformed; it didn't matter. He still had his fingers and just enough of himself left to pull the trigger.

The leader, or rather the entity inside the leader, felt Whitman's actions as he did them. He was fast, but the bullet was faster. In the split second the entity inside the leader made itself physical to infect the president with his touch Whitman shot. The bullet sailed right into its eldritch form, just between the leader's body and the president, and out the other side.

The entity led out an ungodly, inhuman, nail on a chalkboard screech, and then it was gone. All around the destroyed office, men woke up as if from a dream, eyes fluttering rapidly and looking around at the carnage they had only passengers to. Cameron looked down at his gargantuan body with shock, while Jackson groaned and picked himself off the floor unsteadily, his body now a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier.

From the hallway, Brella moaned through her gag. Santiago suddenly himself again, although now with a model's face and a bodybuilder frame, went to untie her sheepishly. Whitman lay on the floor, profoundly exhausted and overwhelmed.

“Can I shake your hand?” A voice said from above him. Whitman looked up to see the president smiling down at him. That managed to rouse him, and he slowly got to his feet. Every part of his body, save the very tip of his middle fingers, had been transformed. His tailored suit now looked pathetically small on his thick muscular frame, and his face felt wider, more masculine, his jaw jutting outward strongly as if he could chew rocks like gum. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, of his body becoming this new foreign perfect thing. Whitman didn't know how he was going to even start explaining this to his husband or stepkids.

Now however, he had other concerns. The president stuck out his hand for Whitman to shake, and god damn it if Whitman didn't deserve it. He clasped the other man's hand, meaty fingers, and palm enveloping the leader’s, and shook vigorously with the strength afforded by his new beefy arm.

The president gave a brief look of shock, and Whitman feared he didn't yet know his own strength. Then he felt something strange. The president's grip tightened, and his fingers started to move in the handshake; no, they started to grow, his hand becoming just as meaty and masculine as Whitman now was.

The president dropped the handshake and raised his hand to his face, admiring the now smooth tan hand, powerful and devoid of any wrinkles. Both men waited for the changes to spread down his wrist or for the president's eyes to glaze over, but nothing happened.

“I am so sorry, Mr. President. I will submit myself to quarantine immediately.”

“Oh, hush.” The president said, waving his new hand dismissively. He flexed it appreciatively, admiring the strength and lack of wrinkles “I think this could help me quite a bit in New Hampshire.” He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and rolled it up to reveal his forearm. “Do the rest of me, then I will get you in touch with the generals.”

#occam2000 #musclegrowth #male tf #male transformation #tf #ai image #mind control

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serenefreakgeekao3 · 2 years ago

Note

Can we get a Jim Halpert x short!gn!reader who is just enamored with how much Taller Jim is than them. Like sometimes when they’re trying to reach up for something he suddenly just lefts them up so they can grab it, or if someone is bothering them he uses his hight to be intimating, and they just swoon. <3

Summary: Being the shortest person at Dunder Mifflin comes with a lot of problems- one namely being your boss, Michael Scott, who thinks he must be the newest and brightest comedian of their century. Spoiler alert: He’s really not. Warnings: short jokes (beware), A/N: So i’ve been called short maybe once or twice, but to be completely honest I’m literally at the ‘average’ mark on the scale so i’m just here, existing in neither shortness nor tallness. However, i’ve always heard the ‘short jokes’ are unending so I figured I’d base it on that? Sorry i know they’re annoying, but hopefully Jim’s sweetness makes up for it

“Aha! There they are!” Michael calls out just as you enter, and you feel a deep sense of regret begin billowing into your stomach. “Winner of the shortest person award!” Michael’s laughter was boisterous, making you want to cringe away from him and just make it to your desk. Just make it there, at the very least. You did literally just walk into work, you haven’t even set your briefcase down yet. Michael thankfully jumps away from you, approaching accounting. “I’m surprised you’re not starting a real cat fight Angela, with how Y/N over there stole your special office title!”

“My official title is ‘Accountant,’ Michael,” Angela reminds him in a wary voice, huffing her displeasure at being spoken to. Michael just laughs and begins shrugging his shoulder against Angela’s own as if they shared a common joke. Angela just looks on in disgust as Michael continues on.

“Catfight, get it? ‘Cause you’re the cat lady!” Angela only scoffs and Michael continues his boisterous laugh, turning and making his way back to his office.

“Michael, don’t forget,” Pam calls out behind you as you place your bag onto your desk, the solo desk in the Quality Assurance position at Dunder Mifflin. You turn to watch this interaction, Pam looking frustrated as she shakes a wad of papers at the man. “You have that appointment with corporate in-”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t have Pam, god!” Michael pushes the wad of papers away and storms into his office, and you still can’t for the life of you figure out how Michael can switch between emotions so quickly. Your eyes scan the room- mostly the sales department- and wonder about where half of the team had wandered off to. Stanley remained sitting at his desk, but it seemed as if the rest of them had disappeared. You hear a quick ‘Psst!’ and turn to lock eyes with Pam, making your way over at a wave from her.

“Michael came out here before you got here, said something about a massive sale that he needed all of his sales associates to go on.” Pam stage-whispered over to you, and you nod along slowly.

“Ah, that makes sense-”

“So, yeah, that’s where Jim is.”

“Pam-” You start, looking around nervously before skirting around her desk to see her more eye-to-eye without having to stand on your toes. “Shush up! I told you that in confidence!” You watch Pam giggle, placing a hand to her mouth as she does.

“Oh I know,” Pam nods with wide eyes, leaning against her desk faux-casually as she watches you. “Just like Jim told me in confidence that-”

“What’s a couple of short stacks doing back behind this huge desk?” Jim’s voice emanates suddenly from behind you and you jump, turning with wide eyes toward him. He seems to be locking eyes with Pam, who giggles once more with her hand covering her mouth. You couldn’t quite translate Jim’s look to her, but it held some sort of meaning you were sure.

“Oh! Hey Jim! I thought you had that sales thing?” Jim raises an eyebrow toward you, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“I did but then I coughed at Dwight and got out of it. Figured they had enough people as is- but the real question here is: How did you know about the sales call? You weren’t in here when Michael announced it.”

“Watching for me, Jim?” You tease, circling the desk and making your way back to your own. Jim quickly skirted around the desk, following behind you.

“Well, yeah, obviously. You’re so tiny I have to know where you are so I don’t trip over you.” You groan at yet another short joke, rolling your eyes and turning to look at him with an unimpressed look. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Pam told me where you- where all the sales associates went.”

“Asking after me, Y/L/N?” You scoff loudly, turning to lean yourself against your desk, crossing your arms up at Jim.

“Pam volunteered the information, thank you very much.” You look up into Jim’s eyes and can’t help but feel shrouded by his form. He takes another step closer, pushing you over slightly to lean against your desk himself, and hunching toward you whether he realized it or not. He acted as a sort of shield from the rest of the office, which some days you definitely felt like you needed.

“And why would Pam do something like that?” Jim’s voice was quieter like he was accounting for the new distance- or lack thereof. You stare into his hazel eyes, swallowing roughly. You couldn’t help but feel safe in the shield of comfort that he provided.

“Perhaps because half of the room’s occupants were not seated at their usual desks, which is a rather odd occurrence for a day at work.” You turn, grabbing a random handful of papers and tapping them on your desk. “Speaking of, isn’t that something you should be doing?” Jim laughs, pushing himself to stand from your desk before turning and saluting at you, walking backwards back to his own desk.

“Touche, Y/N!”

“Watch where you’re going!” You didn’t mean to sound too worried as you called it out, but Jim just chuckled, shrugging toward you.

“Why? I’m already keeping my eye on one safety hazard.”

“Yes, because I’m so short, ha ha.”

Coffee.

That’s what you needed today was coffee. Perhaps multiple cups to get through this shitshow of a day. After Michael’s brilliant start to the day with the short jokes, it seemed he had retired to his room solely to come up with more jokes to torture you with. You weren’t sure why it was your turn to take all of Michael’s attention, but you were ready to throw in the towel and leave early for the day already. You could just start over tomorrow morning, no harm no foul! Except then Michael would cry because he didn’t think you liked his jokes- which you don’t- and then you’d have to deal with consoling him for a solid hour before he eventually yelled that he didn’t need pity, and you would respond that it’s not pity- which it was- and spend another hour consoling him of that as well. You would know- it’s happened before.

And now you didn’t even have Jim around to curb the jokes or turn them into something that was actually funny. After your play-fight with Jim, he was then swiped away by Stanley- who apparently was the last one of the sales associates left only because he had his own sales call to go on. He had begged Jim to tag along, and of course the man agreed considering how nice he is. What wasn’t nice was leaving you alone with Michael when- well, just ever really. So if you look at it that way, it really all was Jim’s fault. Stupid Jim.

You shook your head, waking yourself from your daydream as you stared at the coffee pot, urging it to brew faster. It was already filled with half a pot, and you knew technically you should wait for the full pot to brew before pouring any but you really needed caffeine in your life immediately. You wandered over to the drainer by the sink to grab a cup, then hesitated as you realized there were no cups laying there. There were no dishes at all, actually, indicating someone actually came in here and took the time to put the dishes away. That’d normally be a good and nice thing, aside from the fact that you were too short to reach the cabinets above the counter where the mugs were all stored. Sighing, you turn to look for the step stool you usually keep around. (Technically it was the office’s step stool, but you were the only one that ever had to use it.)

It wasn’t where you left it, over to the side of the counter and next to the table. Looking around the room, you couldn’t spot it still. You checked the bathroom, thinking maybe it was in there- there had been a time or two it was moved in there either for use or for storage- but you couldn’t find it there either. You didn’t bother to check the other bathroom, just huffing to yourself and placing your hands on your hips. Glaring upward at the cabinets above the sink, you will the doors to open and a cup to float down by itself. Then when that didn’t work, you got to work trying to stand on your toes and reach up. The handle to the door was just out of your reach, but you should be able to swipe it open, maybe-

You startled at a large hand intercepting your own, swiping you out of the way and opening the door. You set yourself off of your tip-toes, flat-footed now only to turn and notice Jim pressing you in close to the kitchen counter as he reaches above you. He pulls down a mug- your favourite mug, no less- and places it on the counter beside you. You were able to turn around in place, but Jim only places his hands on the counter to either side of you, blocking you in.

“You should ask for help next time,” Jim whispers down to you, and looking up into his hazel eyes has your heart doing funny things. Maybe it’s the crush you have, maybe you’ve just developed some sort of heart-stuttering problem that you’d need to get checked out, but with Jim’s proximity, you couldn’t really think straight to debate either at the moment. You bit your lip, glancing at your cup and back up to him before finally finding your voice.

“I had that perfectly fine-”

“You couldn’t even reach the door, Y/L/N.”

“Well, I’ll have you know I was trying to get two cups, so,” You were just about to turn when Jim lifted his gaze finally. You felt like you could finally breathe- for the one whole second it took for Jim to lean forward into your space to reach above your head. He pulled down another mug to set on the counter, and you pull in a deep breath full of his scent that only serves to make you dizzier. You lift your gaze to him again, shaking your head. “No, I just meant-”

“What, three cups?”

“Maybe,” You mumble out, turning to face the kitchen counter again. You reach up to try your own hand- you would not be two-upped by him- and it’s an even worse predicament than before. At least with the door handle you had even a chance, and right now you couldn’t even reach to touch the bottom of the cupboard. Attempting to stretch yourself further, already on your tip-toes, you were just about to give up when you felt two large hands grab right under your armpits. They heave you up, and suddenly you’re at a height that you’d never really seen this room at before. Quickly reaching forward, you take two more mugs into your hands before the hands slowly set you back down on your feet.

‘Holy hells, how strong is he?’ You think to yourself, turning to lift your gaze back up to Jim. He was smiling, likely on the verge of laughter, though he had yet to. You could feel your face heating up and knew that blush was lighting up your face. What were you supposed to do now? Jim just picked you up, how do you move on from that?

“Four cups?” Jim questions you as he reaches forward to one of the new ones you had grabbed, taking it from your hand to turn it over in his own. He probably chose to grab that one as it was the one you had seen him use the most often, you figured it might be his favourite. You hoped so at least, considering he was able to grab your favourite after just one try.

“Three,” You admit quietly, turning to watch the last of the coffee brew into the pot, “I grabbed an extra in case you wanted some.” Jim’s head shot up to look at you, and you tilted your head in confusion at the reaction. His eyes were wide, and if you didn’t know any better you would’ve said a slight blush was lighting up his own cheeks now. But why would offering him a cup of coffee make him embarrassed? “That’s only if you want some, of course.”

“I do!” He insisted, placing the cup down and spinning it slowly with one hand, staring at you the entire time. You got a little squirmy, reaching out to heft the large coffee pot and begin pouring it into your three cups. “Did you-” You glance briefly up at Jim- who was biting his lip by the gods is he trying to kill you?- before looking quickly back at your task so as to not spill any coffee. “Did you know this was my favourite cup?”

“Yeah,” You replied easily, watching his fingers stop spinning the cup right as you answer. “That’s why I grabbed that one.” You motion the pot over to his cup, watching him jump slightly before sliding his cup over toward you. You pour the coffee before replacing the pot back where it goes. You begin the process of adding sugar and creamer to the cups, sighing softly.

“So, why three cups? You being generous to someone else out there?”

“Nope,” You pop your mouth on the word, smirking up toward Jim before resuming your objective. “I just figured that the minimum amount of coffee I need to complete this day would be three cups, so I’m planning accordingly.” You hear Jim chuckle, smiling softly to yourself and beginning to add the sugar and creamer to Jim’s own- less than you like in yours, but that’s how he normally took it.

“Is that right? Did something happen that’s exhausting you today?”

“Just Michael and his dumb short jokes.”

“Ah,” Jim breathes out, leaning his hip against the counter and looking over his shoulder toward Michael’s office. “Did he do the old ‘appreciate the little things’ one?”

“Followed by a big hug, yep,” You sigh, taking one of the cups and scalding your mouth to take a drink of it. “Had to practically push him off of me.”

“And the miniature golf one?”

“‘Do you just call it regular golf?’” You repeat Michael’s joke from earlier, deepening your voice to mock him. Sighing, you take another large gulp and wince at the temperature. Jim reaches forward, seemingly unconsciously, and slowly lowers your cup to the counter, pushing it away from you. You wonder if he realized you were burning your tongue on it.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Sounds like a rough day if he’s going all out.”

“Oh, absolutely. He also tried out a new one! ‘Sometimes when I look at short people, I wonder if they’re able to reach their goals!’” You turn at this, huffing out an aggravated breath. You had meant to tell this one as a joke, but just as it had hit you off guard before, it was hitting you again. You tried to keep from tearing up, but really- who wanted to work as Quality Assurance for a paper company? Obviously, you haven’t been able to reach your goals and Michael just unwittingly mocked you for that.

“Hey, hey,” Jim began, reaching an arm out to place against your upper arm, noticing how fragile you suddenly became. “That was uncalled for,” Jim agreed, stepping closer to you to tower over you once more, “I’m sure Michael didn’t mean for it to be that bad, he’s just trying to think up different short puns.” He patted your arm, squeezing it once before continuing, “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had to go to his office to look them up. I bet he didn’t even come up with it on his own.”

You laugh blearily, raising a hand to wipe away a tear that had yet to fall, but almost did. Jim began rubbing your arm up and down, and you lifted your coffee cup once more to take a big gulp. You hear the door to the room open, hoping it wasn’t who you thought it was.

“Oh, there you are!” You hold back a groan at the sound of Michael’s voice, closing your eyes to try and rein in your feelings. “Hey, I have a good one! What do you call it when a short person says goodbye?” You can hear Michael’s excitement behind you, and while normally you’d feel bad for ruining that sort of happiness, you just really weren’t in the mood for it right now. “Y/N, hey! What do you call it when you say goodbye!” He taps on your shoulder, and you finally turn to look at him with your eyebrows raised.

“Michael,” Jim tries to inject, raising a hand between the two of you. Michael, too excited to stop, jumps up and down before he finally bursts out laughing, his words jumbled and almost unrecognizable.

“A microwave! Get it! Micro!” He laughs again, and you try to find any semblance of care to keep this job, anything to get you to smile at Michael and move on like you usually do. That’s when Jim steps in front of you, moving closer to Michael. You gulp, his whole body blocking your boss from you, and you slowly realize that Jim was backing Michael up to the wall, towering over him very specifically.

“What about me, Michael?” Jim takes another step forward, Michael stumbling on a backwards step. “Have any tall jokes for me?”

“But, tall jokes-”

“Michael,” Jim’s voice lowered, and while you couldn’t see his face you could almost hear how serious it must’ve looked. Michael scurries out from next to Jim, hurrying over to the door. He clears his throat, throwing an undisguised fearful look toward Jim before straightening his suit coat and turning to leave the room.

There was something about that- maybe Jim using his height for you or even defending you from someone you were obviously having problems with- that made you suck in a breath. You knew you were blushing before, but your face felt like an inferno now. As Jim turns to look at you with an apprehensive look, you didn’t know what your own face was projecting at this point. All you kept thinking was that scene, Jim towering over Michael and chasing him away. Jim and his big body and big hands and-

A hand was being waved in your face and you jumped, widening your eyes further and drawing your gaze upward to meet with Jim. He was smiling, laughing it seemed, and finally crossed his arms. “I seemed to lose you there for a second, you alright?”

“Yeah- yes, I’m fine.” You could hear the breathless tone to your voice and cursed inwardly, turning to quickly grab your cup of coffee and drain the rest of what was in the cup. Jim raised his eyebrows at this, laughing again as you place your mug into the sink and grab the second one.

“No, but really, are you okay? Michael has some pretty shitty timing.” Timing, right. You were talking to him about something. What were you talking about? You met Jim’s gaze again and took another drink, hoping to buy time. He only laughs, reaching for his own cup and mirroring you, taking his own sip. His eyes dart briefly down to his cup before raising back to you, something in him softening at the taste.

“I’m fine. Really. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Of course,” Jim answers right away, smiling and holding his mug close to his chest. “If only I had been here the rest of the day, I would’ve been able to help out before it got too bad.”

“You know,” You were surprised you finally were able to find your voice, taking another drink from your coffee just to keep him in suspense. “I’m now wondering if he ran to his office to start looking up tall jokes now.” Jim groaned playfully, rolling his eyes and leaning a hip against the counter. “‘How’s the weather up there?’ And whatnot, you know?”

“Oh, I know, “ Jim insists, causing you to bubble up with laughter once more. “I think his most recent one was, ‘What’s the difference between a clown and a tall person?’” You raise your eyebrows, taking a drink from your coffee. He smirks, continuing on, “Their shoe store.” You huff a smile laugh, shaking your head.

“That’s horrible.”

“I didn’t mind it that much,” Jim replies with a shrug, watching your face. You wonder why you’re being scrutinized so closely, until he finishes his sentence, “I mean, you know what they say about big feet.” You choke on your coffee, turning and coughing away from Jim. Your eyes were wide, running that sentence through your head. You could swear that you’ve never blushed this often in your entire life, and yet your face heats up once more to its familiar warmth and you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to do with your hands. Placing your now empty second mug into the sink, you take hold of your last one and fake salute toward Jim.

“Alright! And with that, I am off!” You hear Jim laughing loudly behind you, shaking your head and pressing the back of your hand to your cheek. You turn and call back into the room, “To do work! Like we’re supposed to be doing!” The door closes on Jim’s laughter, and you hurry to make it back to your desk. No one seems bothered by your commotion aside from Pam, who just looks at you with a smile and a head tilt. You just shake your head in response, finding refuge at your desk.

“So, drinks tonight?”

“Yeah, drinks sound great!”

“Are we going to-”

“Of course!”

“Hey, Y/N!” You turn your head at your name, eyeing the group of coworkers congregating at the glass doors as they all take turns putting on their jackets. It was Phyllis who called your name, and you tried to turn your brain back on enough to pay attention. After all, work is over now, you shouldn’t need to use your brain anymore. That just sounded exhausting.

“Yeah?”

“Are you coming?” At that you tilt your head, and Phyllis smiles at you kindly, “Everyone is going out for drinks.”

“Oh,” You consider it, looking at the group of them before nodding, your smile growing. “Sure! That sounds fun!”

“Nope!” You jump at the loud sound of Michael’s voice, turning to look at him with wide eyes. He approaches you and hunches down to look you in the eye- completely unnecessarily. “You can’t come!” He stands again, holding a hand above your head, “You must be this tall to ride this ride! Sorry, gotta be this tall to have a drink with the lads!” He laughs loudly, turning to usher everyone out of the building. You stand there gaping, then turn to look at Phyllis, who in turn looked horrified.

“Oh, Y/N, that was-” She huffs, “You’re still allowed to come you know.”

“No, that’s okay Phyllis,” You began, sighing and glaring at the back of Michael’s head. “I don’t think I’d have much fun with him around anyway.”

“Well, since you’re free,” You startle again, huffing when you turn around and come face-to-face with Jim. Well, face-to-chest, but you’re not here to make fun of your own height.

“Jim! You scared me.” You playfully glare at him, finishing up packing up your desk. Phyllis, unnoticed, smiled at the two of you before leaving.

“As I was saying,” Jim continues, circling around to stand right next to you. You raise your eyes to him once more, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. When he takes your hand, your eyebrow immediately falls, and you drop your gaze to look at the sight of his fingers mixing with yours. “Since you’re free tonight, maybe we could go get a drink ourselves?” You raise your surprised gaze to Jim, unsure what to say as he finally continues in a lowered and deeper voice, “Just us?”

“Jim,” You begin, his name more of an exhale than really spoken, “What are you- like a date?”

“I know our size difference is so vast,” Jim playfully insists, pulling your hand twice with his own before tangling your fingers together, “But somehow I think we can push past it.”

“So, a-”

“Yes, a date,” Jim clears up with a laugh, reaching his other hand to place against your cheek. “I promise I won’t take you to a giant’s bar.” You laugh, shaking your head.

“I better be able to fit on the stools.” His smile widens, using your hands to pull you in closer.

“Is that a-”

“That’s a yes, yeah,” You agreed easily, attempting to stand on your toes to reach up toward him. Luckily, at the same moment, Jim leaned down and your lips finally met. Jim’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you in closer and you couldn’t help but melt against him. When your kiss finally breaks and he straightens back up, you pout up at him. He chuckles, shaking his head with a soft look.

“A kiss like that and all I get is a pout? I must be off my game.” You laugh, playfully hitting his chest before huffing.

“Not that, the kiss was amazing. It’s just,” You playfully glare up at him, taking hold of his tie, “You’re too tall. I can’t just surprise you with a kiss, you have to lean all the way down here just for it to happen!” Jim laughs, sliding his head from the back of your head down to your back while you spoke and pulling you in closer.

“Well, that just sounds like quitters talk.”

“You’re on then, Halpert.” So, maybe today wasn’t the worst day.

#jim halpert x reader #jim halpert x you #jim halpert #the office #fanfiction #gender neutral reader #short reader #michael scott #pam beesly

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