#Basic File Navigation

[gracemarkss]

not a fully formed thought but i’ve been thinking a lot about the dichotomy of mulder and scully’s various roles, both professionally and characteristically, in the sense that mulder is a psychologist who interrogates minds and scully is a pathologist who interrogates bodies. but scully is presented as the more cerebral, the “brainy” one, the logical one; while mulder feels more visceral and physical and embodied. AND YET he is also more ephemeral, existing in a space of infinite possibility, while scully is much more grounded and of the world, reaching for the material and tangible, which the mind (not the brain but the mind, thought, consciousness, sense of self) is not. and that’s not even getting into their disparate views on religion.

i just love the tension that exists both in each of them and between them, the contradiction and juxtaposition of body and mind, belief and skepticism, the many ways one can express and exercise faith. they are completely different and yet exactly the same, unquenchably curious and always looking for answers. their approaches are distinct (corporeal vs ethereal, in a way) but the goal is the same. perfect opposites indeed

[bogleech]

Going to put all this in its own post too by popular request: here's how you make your own website with no understanding of HTML code at all, no software, no backend, absolutely nothing but a text file and image files! First get website server space of your own, like at NEOCITIES. The free version has enough room to host a whole fan page, your art, a simple comic series, whatever! The link I've provided goes to a silly comic that will tell you how to save the page as an html file and make it into a page for your own site. The bare minimum of all you need to do with it is JUST THIS:

Change the titles, text, and image url's to whatever you want them to be, upload your image files and the html file together to your free website (or the same subfolder in that website), and now you have a webpage with those pictures on it. That's it!!!!! .....But if you want to change some more super basic things about it, here's additional tips from the same terrible little guy:

That last code by itself is: <meta HTTP-EQUIV="REFRESH" content="0; url=001.html"> Change "001.html" to wherever you want that link to take people. THIS IS THE REASON WHY when you go to bogleech.com/pokemon/ you are taken instantly to the newest Pokemon review, because the /pokemon/ directory of my website has an "index.html" page with this single line of code. Every pokemon review has its own permanent link, but I change that single line in the index file so it points to the newest page whenever I need it to! While I catered these instructions to updating a webcomic, you can use the same template to make blog type posts, articles or just image galleries. Anything you want! You can delete the navigational links entirely, you can make your site's index.html into a simple list of text links OR fun little image links to your different content, whatever! Your website can be nothing but a big ugly deep fried JPEG of goku with a recipe for potato salad on it, no other content ever, who cares! We did that kind of nonsense all the time in the 1990's and thought it was the pinnacle of comedy!! Maybe it still can be?!?! Or maybe you just want a place to put some artwork and thoughts of yours that doesn't come with the same baggage as big social media? Make a webpage this way and it will look the same in any browser, any operating system for years and years to come, because it's the same kind of basic raw code most of the internet depends upon!

[seospicybin]

COCKY.

CHAPTER I

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself. (23,6k words)

Author's note: One order of extra large Chris is here. Hope you enjoy it and pls share what your thoughts on it after ♡

Working at a company that specializes in sexual health products isn’t exactly dinner table conversation, but it’s your job—and you take it seriously. As one of the lead researchers in product development, you’ve spent months working on a specialized condom for individuals with extra-large sizes. And now, it’s time to pitch it to the board.

You take a deep breath, tugging at the hem of your blazer before stepping into the conference room. A long, intimidating table stretches before you, lined with executives who look way too serious for a meeting about condoms. Behind you, the screen glows with the first slide of your presentation, the product name in bold letters.

"Good morning, everyone," you begin, keeping your voice as steady as possible. "Today, I'll be walking you through my research on a new condom designed specifically for those who find standard sizing... insufficient."

A few executives glance at each other. Some raise their brows, others nod with mild interest. You press on, clicking to the next slide. Graphs, charts, and anatomical studies fill the screen as you explain the glaring gap in the market and why this product is necessary.

"Our research shows a real demand for this," you continue. "Current options on the market are often too restrictive, uncomfortable, or prone to breakage. This design addresses those concerns by enhancing durability while maintaining a natural feel."

You move through the slides with confidence, breaking down the materials, elasticity testing, and the competition. But as you reach the last slide, you sense the shift in the room. Mr. Kim, the head of the board, leans forward, fingers steepled together.

"Your research is solid," he says. "The product has potential. But before we approve production, we need real-world testing."

You pause. "Of course. We're already in the process of recruiting participants—"

"Expedite it," another executive interrupts. "We need actual user data before we move forward. Bring us results, then we’ll talk."

You nod, maintaining a professional expression, but frustration bubbles beneath the surface. Finding participants for something this specific isn’t exactly a quick task. But without those test results, your project is stuck in limbo.

As the meeting wraps up and the executives file out, you exhale, already running through possible recruitment strategies in your head.

What you don’t realize is that one of your participants might already be in the room—watching you with quiet interest.

-

Back in your lab, you slump into your chair with a sigh, letting your head fall back against the headrest. The sterile, fluorescent lights hum softly above you, a stark contrast to the high-stakes tension of the conference room. You kick off your heels, rolling your chair toward your desk just as the door swings open.

"So? How'd it go?" your friend and co-worker, Jane, saunters in, her lab coat barely hanging onto her shoulders.

"Ugh." You rub your temples. "It went as expected. They love the concept, but they won’t approve production unless I bring them real-world test results. And fast."

Jane lets out a low whistle as she strolls over to the shelves lined with various prototype models and sample products. Without hesitation, she picks up one of the dildos—one of the many you use for testing elasticity and fit—and spins it in her hand like a baton. "So basically, you need to find guys with huge dicks willing to help out?"

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous. But yes. And I haven’t found a single participant yet. Screening takes time, and I don’t have much of it."

Jane smirks, tapping the tip of the dildo against her palm. "Maybe you should try a more direct approach. Put up a ‘Now Hiring: Well-Endowed Men’ sign in the break room."

You shoot her a deadpan look. "Oh sure, that’ll go over great with HR."

She laughs, setting the dildo back with the others. "I’m just saying, desperate times call for desperate measures. You’re working against the clock, and if you don’t find someone soon, all that research goes to waste."

You exhale, staring at the mess of paperwork and sample prototypes on your desk. You know she’s right. You need a participant—fast.

Jane heads for the door but pauses before leaving, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, maybe you should start looking for participants here in the office. You never know who might be hiding a big secret."

She winks before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you groaning into your hands.

What you don’t know is that the solution to your problem is much closer than you think.

-

Lunch break couldn’t have come at a better time. You needed to step away from your desk, from the research, from the stress of finding participants. But Jane’s words from earlier linger in your head, much to your dismay.

Because now, as you sit in the company cafeteria, sipping on your drink, you catch yourself doing something utterly mortifying—unintentionally observing every single man who walks by. Or, more specifically, their crotches.

You aren’t trying to. Really. But Jane had planted the thought, and now, your brain has decided to betray you. Your eyes flicker over a group of IT specialists at the salad bar. Then to the finance associate adjusting his belt. Then to one of the marketing interns stretching in line for coffee. You don’t even realize you’re doing it until Jane elbows you with a wicked grin.

"Oh my God, you’re actually doing it," she laughs, nearly choking on her sandwich.

Your face heats instantly. "I’m not! I mean—not intentionally. I was just—oh, shut up. Let’s go."

Jane, still giggling, follows you out of the cafeteria, coffee cups in hand. She chatters about some office gossip as you make your way back to your lab, but you barely register her words. You just need to get back to work and shake this subconscious habit before you embarrass yourself further. But the moment you step into the lab, all coherent thought screeches to a halt.

Because standing in the middle of your workspace, examining a row of sample products with a curious yet unreadable expression, is Chris.

His fingers hover over one of the prototype models, but when he notices you, he straightens and offers a polite smile. "Good afternoon," he greets. "I came to speak with you."

Jane arches a brow, glances between the two of you, then smirks. "I’ll leave you to it," she says before slipping out, leaving you alone with Chris.

You turn back to him, slightly puzzled. "How can I assist you?"

He hesitates for a moment before nodding toward your desk. "I would like a more detailed explanation regarding your product—its functionality and how far in development are you."

You blink, pleasantly surprised by his interest. "Of course." You proceed to outline the design, materials, and the challenges in securing participants.

Chris listens attentively, though his expression remains unreadable. He appears to be weighing something in his mind but ultimately checks the time and exhales. "I have a meeting to attend, but could you come by my office later? Around four?"

You nod, though curiosity lingers. "Certainly. May I ask what this pertains to?"

He offers a small smile. "We’ll discuss it then."

And with that, he heads out, leaving you wondering what exactly he has in mind.

-

Chris Bang is a name everyone in the company knows. As a product manager, he’s known for his reliability, innovative ideas, and ability to bring projects to life. He’s respected, well-liked, and a natural leader. A social butterfly who effortlessly navigates through the office, friendly to everyone he meets.

You, on the other hand, have only ever interacted with him in passing—polite nods, brief greetings when you cross paths in the hallway. So when you receive an invitation to meet him in his office, you can’t help but wonder why he suddenly wants to talk to you.

A few minutes before four, you find yourself lingering outside Chris’s office, nervously shifting on your feet. You check your watch, heart thumping. A little after four, Chris finally appears, offering an apologetic smile.

"My apologies for the delay," he says. "Please, come in."

You follow him inside, settling into the chair across from his desk as he takes his seat. He folds his hands on the desk, studying you for a moment before speaking. "Thank you for coming. I wanted to discuss something regarding your research."

You nod, trying to keep your curiosity at bay. "Of course. How can I assist you?"

Chris watches you carefully, his expression unreadable as he leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. The slight shift in his posture draws your attention—just enough to make you hyper-aware of the space between you.

“What specific criteria are you looking for in a participant for your product test?” His voice is even, measured, but there’s something in the way he asks that makes your breath hitch for just a second.

You clear your throat, straightening in your seat. “The main requirement is that participants need to have a genital size above average.”

His lips quirk up slightly, though his expression remains composed. “And what qualifies as above average?”

You’re certain he already knows the answer, but you respond anyway, keeping your tone professional. “Anything more than 5.5 inches when fully erect is considered above average.”

A beat of silence stretches between you. Chris doesn’t say anything immediately, just sits there, tapping a finger lightly against the desk, his gaze flickering over you in a way that makes the air feel heavier.

Then, finally, he exhales, tilting his head slightly. “I may have a solution to your participant problem,” he says, his voice lower now. “I would like to volunteer.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “You… what?”

“I want to be a participant.”

You blink, your mouth opening slightly before snapping shut. Your grip on your pen tightens as you try to process what he just said.

He nods. "I see potential in your product, and I believe in its success. More importantly, I want to contribute to the company’s innovation."

You stare at him, still trying to wrap your head around it. "How exactly are you going to be a participant?"

Chris leans back slightly. "I ask that my involvement remains anonymous."

Your throat feels dry as you nod. "Alright. But how are we going to conduct the test if you want to remain anonymous?"

He watches you carefully before answering. "We can arrange to do it outside of the office, in secret."

Without another word, Chris pushes himself up from his chair and moves around the desk. He stops right in front of you, leaning against the edge of his desk, arms crossing over his chest as he watches you, waiting. And that’s when it happens.

For the first time, you really look at him—not just as a well-respected product manager but as a man. The sharp cut of his jaw, the slight crease between his brows, the way his fitted white dress shirt does absolutely nothing to hide the definition underneath. How had you never noticed before?

Your eyes trail lower before you can stop yourself, a fleeting glance—until you realize exactly where you’re looking. The bulge against his dark slacks.

Heat floods your face as you snap your gaze back up, praying he didn’t catch that momentary lapse in professionalism.

Chris doesn’t comment on it, but there’s something almost amused in the way he tilts his head. He extends a hand toward you, expectant.

“So? Do you agree to this arrangement?” he prompts.

“Yes,” you regret for answering too quickly, making you sound way too eager. When in fact, you're just glad to finally solve the problem but also, yeah, okay, you can’t lie, you're a bit curious about something, about Chris.

Your fingers wrap around his, and as you shake hands, you feel it. The shift. The undercurrent of something you can’t quite name just yet.

-

The next day, work starts as usual. You and Jane are in your lab, reviewing reports and planning your next steps. This time, she’s not interrogating you about Chris—at least, not yet. Instead, she’s too busy grumbling about her own research troubles.

“I swear, if I have to go through one more round of reformulations, I’m going to lose my mind,” she complains, tapping her pen against the table. “And to make matters worse, the participant who had the reaction was the best one in the trial. Great responses, perfect for data analysis, and now she’s out.” She rubs her forehead. “I need to find a replacement ASAP, or the timeline’s screwed.”

Hearing that, you can’t help but think about your own situation. At least Jane had a participant—even if it went south. Meanwhile, you were stuck—until yesterday.

Your thoughts drift back to Chris. To the conversation in his office. To the way he leaned against his desk, arms crossed, waiting for you to respond to his offer. To the handshake that sealed the agreement, his grip firm and unwavering.

To the fact that you somehow, in the middle of all that, had managed to glance down—

Nope. Not going there.

“Hey!” Jane’s voice snaps you out of it. You blink at her.

“What’s with that face?” she asks, squinting at you suspiciously.

“What face?”

“The one that says you were just thinking about something you don’t want to admit.”

Damn it. You shake your head quickly. “Nothing. Just work.”

Jane narrows her eyes. Then, suddenly, her gaze flicks past you—to the glass window overlooking the lab.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t even have to look to know what—or rather, who—she’s seeing. Still, against your better judgment, you glance up.

There he is. Chris is standing outside, observing another team of researchers working on their project. His hands are in his pockets, head tilted slightly as he listens to someone explaining something.

Jane lets out a low whistle. “Well, hello, product manager Bang.”

You close your eyes briefly. “Jane. No.”

Jane ignores you. “You know, I never really paid attention before, but now that I’m looking at him properly… Damn. You’ve been sitting on gold this whole time, and you didn’t even realize it.”

“I am not sitting on anything,” you hiss, horrified.

Jane grins, enjoying this far too much. “Not yet.”

You gape at her. “Stop.”

But your attention betrays you because the longer Chris stands there, the harder it is to ignore the way he looks. The rolled-up sleeves. The way his dress shirt fits just right. The way he listens so intently, brows furrowed in concentration.

Jane leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “You have to wonder, though… With a body like that, what else do you think he’s got going on under there?”

You suck in a breath, scandalized. “Jane.”

She smirks. “I mean, you would know better than me now, wouldn’t you?”

You nearly choke on air. “I—excuse me?”

Jane just winks. “Just saying. You’re in charge of a very… specific study. And he’s very… qualified.”

You don’t even get the chance to respond because, at that exact moment, Chris shifts—and his gaze lands directly on you. Your heart stops. For a second, neither of you moves.

Then, as if sensing the sheer panic flooding your system, Jane casually takes a step back and hums. “Welp, have fun processing that. I’ll let you get back to work.”

And with that, she strolls away, leaving you to deal with the mess she just made in your brain. The worst part? You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to look at Chris the same way again.

Especially when, minutes later, Chris finishes his observation and starts walking past your lab.

Your body tenses as he nears the doorway, but when he glances in and sees you, his expression remains calm—pleasant, even.

“Good morning,” he says, voice as smooth as ever.

“Good morning,” you manage to reply, keeping your tone neutral.

He offers a brief nod before continuing down the hall, leaving you exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

But just as you think the encounter is over, your phone buzzes. You glance down, unlocking it. A new message. From Chris.

Meet me tonight. Hotel Mira. 8 PM.

There’s no explanation. No context. Just the time. The place. And the undeniable fact that your life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

-

The sun is beginning to set, casting a dim orange glow through the windows. Most of the other researchers have already packed up and left, giving you just the moment of solitude you need.

With one last glance around, you reach for the shelf where your prototype samples are stored. Your fingers hover for a second before you carefully pick up a small box of the condoms—the very ones you’re supposed to be testing.

You hesitate only for a moment before swiftly slipping the box into your bag, ensuring it's hidden beneath your notebook and other miscellaneous items. Your pulse quickens. It’s not like you’re doing something wrong, but if Jane sees…

Yeah. You’d have a lot of explaining to do. You zip up your bag, moving as casually as possible, just in case—

“Hey.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. Snapping your head up, you see Jane standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised.

Your heart pounds as you quickly compose yourself, forcing your shoulders to relax. “Jesus, Jane. Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

She shrugs, stepping into the lab. “Didn’t know I had to make an announcement before entering.” She leans lazily against the doorframe, completely unaware of the miniature panic attack she just induced. “Anyway, my car’s still in the shop. Can you give me a ride to the station?”

You blink, still recovering. “The station?”

“Yeah. You know, where trains exist.” She gives you a look. “It’s in the same direction as your place, isn’t it?”

Your fingers tighten around your bag strap. The station. Which just so happens to be on the way to Hotel Mira.

You nod, keeping your voice neutral. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Let me grab my stuff, and we can head out.”

Jane disappears for a moment, giving you time to let out a slow breath. That was way too close.

-

The drive to the hotel feels longer than it should, your mind running in circles despite the fact that this is nothing more than a professional meeting. A business matter. An agreement you both shook hands on.

And yet, as you pull into the parking lot and step out of your car, there’s an uneasy flutter in your stomach that you can’t quite suppress.

Inside, the hotel lobby is polished and pristine, dimly lit with a warm, intimate glow. You walk past the front desk without sparing a glance, heading straight toward the restrooms.

Once inside, you take a moment to steady yourself. You set your bag down, gripping the edge of the sink as you look at your reflection. Your face betrays you. You don’t look like someone heading into a purely professional meeting. You look… nervous. Almost like—

No. You shake your head, breaking the thought before it can go any further. With a quick breath, you smooth out the creases in your shirt, adjust your hair, and dab a cool drop of water against the back of your neck. You look fine. Presentable. Professional.

And then, without giving yourself any more time to overthink, you grab your bag and leave the restroom.

The elevator ride is quiet, save for the low hum of the machinery as you ascend. The numbers above the doors blink steadily—six, seven, eight—each one making your pulse tick higher. By the time you reach the tenth floor, your grip on your bag is tight.

Room 1003.

You walk down the hallway, the carpet swallowing the sound of your footsteps. The walls are lined with identical doors, each one leading to a private, undisclosed space. Your destination is at the end of the hall.

You stop in front of it. For a moment, you just stand there. The number on the door gleams under the soft glow of the overhead light. 1003. The right room. The right place.

Then, shifting your bag in front of you, you lift a hand—

And knock. A pause. Silence. Then, the sound of movement from the other side. A slow, deliberate click of the lock and then the door begins to open.

-

The door clicks open, and you swear your heart stumbles over itself. Chris stands before you, his usual professional image softened by the undone top buttons of his shirt and the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. He looks relaxed—too relaxed. And that only makes your nerves spike even more.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

You force yourself to move, slipping past him and into the room. It’s a standard hotel suite, sleek and modern, but your attention flickers to the small bar cart near the TV. Chris follows your gaze.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks, walking toward it without waiting for an answer.

You shake your head, gripping your bag a little tighter. “I’m good. I’d rather get started with the test.”

Chris chuckles, glancing at you over his shoulder. “You’re all business, huh?” He picks up a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a small amount before holding up another glass. “Come on, just one drink. We’re going to be working closely together. Shouldn’t we at least loosen up a little?”

You hesitate, knowing this isn’t what you came here for. But the way he’s looking at you—warm, patient, but with an undeniable sense of control—makes you cave just a little. You sigh, finally moving toward the sofa. “Fine. Just one drink.”

Chris smiles, a pleased glint in his eyes as he pours your drink. You watch him quietly, noticing how different he seems outside the office. The polished product manager is still there, but here, in this dimly lit hotel room, he seems more at ease, more himself. He hands you the glass, his fingers grazing yours for the briefest second. You swallow before raising it slightly.

“To… professional courtesy?” you say, trying to keep this neutral.

Chris chuckles again, lifting his own glass. “To a successful product test.”

You clink glasses and take a sip, the burn of the alcohol trailing down your throat. You’re not sure if it’s the drink or something else entirely, but suddenly, you feel a little hot.

You set your glass down on the table after a single sip, straightening in your seat as you slip back into work mode. Clearing your throat, you open your bag and take out your notebook. “Alright. Before we begin, I need to outline the process.”

Chris raises an amused brow, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Go on.”

You nod, focusing on your notes. “The test requires me to take measurements—both in a flaccid and an erect state. This includes length, girth, and width to ensure the condom’s fit and elasticity.”

You glance up, expecting him to react professionally. Instead, Chris chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. You frown. “What?”

He smirks, taking a slow sip of his drink before meeting your eyes. “You’re so serious about this.”

Your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the comment. “Well… it is a serious matter. This is research.”

Chris hums as if considering your words. Then, with a teasing lilt, he tilts his head. “Or are you just impatient to see me naked?”

Your body locks up. “What—? No! That’s not—”

But Chris only chuckles, leaning back against the sofa, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Relax. I’m just messing with you.”

You exhale sharply, feeling warmth creep up your neck. Without thinking, you grab your glass and take another sip, hoping the drink will calm the sudden fluster in your system.

Chris watches you with a knowing glint in his eyes, then lifts his own glass. “Alright. Once we finish these, we’ll start.”

You nod, trying not to overthink how nonchalant he is about all of this while you’re barely holding it together. This is just research. Just a product test. You tell yourself.

A few more sips and the glasses are emptied, the clink of crystal against the table sounding much louder in the quiet room.

Chris exhales, setting his drink down with ease before rising to his feet. Without thinking, you follow suit, standing just as he does—an instinctive reaction, though you’re not sure why.

The two of you find yourselves facing each other, the space between you charged with something unspoken. His gaze holds yours, steady and unreadable, and you realize you’re gripping the edge of your notebook a little too tightly.

The silence stretches just long enough to make your pulse tick faster. Then, Chris breaks it with a low, amused murmur. “So… should we get started?”

His voice is smooth, casual, but the weight of the moment makes it feel heavier than it should.

You swallow, forcing a nod. “Y-Yes. We should.”

But your feet stay rooted in place and Chris notices. The corner of his mouth twitches—something between a smirk and a knowing smile. He tilts his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s waiting for you to make the next move. Or if he’s simply enjoying watching you hesitate. Either way, you need to snap out of it.

Clearing your throat, you tighten your grip on your notes and take a steadying breath. “Let’s begin.”

Chris hums in agreement, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze as he finally moves. And suddenly, it feels as if the real test is not just the one you came here for—but something else entirely.

He moves first, unbuttoning the remaining buttons of his shirt with practiced ease. The fabric slips from his shoulders, revealing toned muscles beneath—broad chest, defined abs, and a confidence that makes the entire act seem effortless.

You keep your expression neutral, or at least you try to. “This is strictly professional,” you remind yourself silently.

Chris glances at you, catching the way your gaze flickers before you quickly refocus on your notes. “Do you need me to undress completely?” he asks, his tone smooth, almost teasing.

You press your lips together before answering. “For accurate measurement, I need access to the necessary area. So… yes.”

He chuckles, a deep, warm sound. “Straight to the point.”

You don’t respond, instead focusing on preparing the measuring tape and recording sheet. Anything to keep yourself occupied while he finishes undressing.

A moment later, you hear the rustle of fabric, the sound of a belt unfastening, the subtle shift of movement. You don’t look up until Chris speaks again.

“I’m ready when you are.”

When you finally lift your gaze, your breath catches for a fraction of a second. You do your best to maintain your professionalism—but the moment you see it, all thoughts momentarily leave your head.

Chris stands before you, bare from the waist down, his body relaxed yet radiating a quiet confidence. He doesn’t shy away, doesn’t fidget—he simply waits, watching for your reaction.

You knew he had to be on the larger side to even qualify for the study, but seeing it in person is something else entirely. Bigger than you expected. Definitely bigger than you imagined.

You barely catch yourself before audibly reacting, but your throat betrays you as you swallow air, a reflex you hope he doesn’t notice.

Chris, of course, notices everything. A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “Something wrong?”

You snap out of it, quickly shaking your head as you reach for your measuring tape, trying to ignore the sudden warmth creeping up your neck. “No, nothing at all. Let’s just get this done.”

Chris chuckles, but thankfully doesn’t press further. For now. You quickly move to retrieve a pair of latex gloves from your bag, slipping them on with practiced precision.

Chris raises an amused eyebrow. “You really came prepared, huh?”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Of course. This is an official product test.”

His lips twitch in amusement as he peeks into your open bag, catching a glimpse of all the testing materials. “What else do you have in there? A microscope? A lie detector?”

You ignore his teasing and pull out the measuring tape, standing straighter to compose yourself. “Alright. Let’s begin with the flaccid measurement.”

Chris doesn’t move, doesn’t make it easier for you. Instead, he watches—patient, unreadable—as you kneel slightly, positioning the measuring tape against him.

Your fingers brush against his skin through the latex, and you swear you feel the slightest twitch beneath your touch. You pretend not to notice. But Chris does.

And as the test continues, you realize that maintaining professionalism might be the hardest part of all.

You keep your focus steady, guiding the measuring tape along the length of Chris’s flaccid state. Your gloved fingers work efficiently, noting the exact numbers as you move on to measure his girth, wrapping the tape around the thickest part before finally noting the width calculation.

Chris watches you work, amusement flickering in his eyes. “How do you measure width, exactly?”

You don’t hesitate as you jot down the numbers. “You divide the girth by 3.14.”

Chris lets out a short laugh. “Huh. I used to think I wouldn’t need math in real life.”

You smirk, a little too focused on your notes when you reply, “Well, here’s a practical use of Pi for you.”

His chuckle is warm, and you don’t notice how his eyes linger on you as you make quick calculations in your notebook.

Once you’re done, you lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Alright, now I need to measure—” You stop mid-sentence as realization sets in. His fully erect size.

The complications of that request hit you all at once. Chris raises an eyebrow, clearly catching your hesitation. And for the first time, you’re at a complete loss for words.

You clear your throat, willing yourself to sound casual. “I need to take your measurements when you’re fully erect.”

Chris tilts his head slightly, studying you with quiet amusement. “And do you have any idea how to get me there?”

You keep your expression neutral. “You can look at pornographic images or watch an adult film. That should help.”

At that, Chris grins, a small chuckle escaping him. He shakes his head, clearly entertained by your clinical suggestion. “That’s one way,” he muses. “But I have a better idea.”

You don’t like the way his eyes darken ever so slightly, the playful glint in them laced with something else. You try to stay calm, but your fingers tighten around your measuring tape. “And… what’s that?”

He stalls, watching you carefully before answering. “You can help me with it.”

Chris must notice your reaction because he quickly adds, “I won’t touch you unless you give me permission.” His voice is smooth, patient, almost reassuring—but his gaze stays locked onto yours, watching your every move.

You know he’s waiting for a response but all you can think about is the weight of his words. And the heat in the way he’s looking at you. You take a steadying breath before nodding. “Okay.”

Chris’s eyes flicker with something unreadable before he speaks again, his voice firm yet gentle. “If anything makes you uncomfortable, tell me to stop.”

You nod again, not trusting your voice. He takes that as his cue, stepping closer. You hold your ground, determined to remain professional, but the moment he stops in front of you—so close that your bodies are only inches apart—you feel the heat radiating from him. And then, when you think this is where he’ll stop, he takes another step forward.

Your pulse quickens as the space between you disappears. He doesn’t touch you—not yet—but his presence alone is overwhelming. He tilts his head slightly, his mouth hovering near your neck, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Chris stays there, simply breathing you in, dragging out the tension until your mind starts to blur. Then, in a low, hushed voice, he asks, “Can I hold you?”

You look at him, startled by the rawness of his request. His gaze meets yours, unwavering, intense. “I just need to hold you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something about the way he says it—like he’s asking for permission but also making a promise—makes you nod before you can second-guess yourself.

Chris doesn’t waste time. He closes the remaining distance, his arms slipping around your waist, drawing you fully against him. The contact is intoxicating. His body is warm and solid, firm in all the right places, and you feel every inch of it pressing against you.

His breath is hot against your skin as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. The tip of his nose brushes against you, and then, slowly, his mouth follows, dragging lightly across your skin.

“You smell good,” he whispers, his voice deep, laced with something that sends shivers down your spine.

You could say the same about him. His cologne, a mix of something woodsy and subtly sweet, blends with his natural scent in a way that makes your head spin.

He’s not even doing anything—his hands remain on the small of your back, respectful, unmoving—yet the moment feels unbearably intimate. Dangerously intimate. And the worst part? It feels good. Too good.

Chris lets out a soft, teasing hum. “You know, I don’t bite.” His voice is low, velvety. “You can put your hands on me if you want.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes even as you keep your hands hovering near his shoulders. “I don’t want to.”

He chuckles, a knowing sound. “Mmm. Sure.”

And yet, as if magnetized, your hands eventually land on him. First, just your fingertips brushing against the fabric of his shirt, then your palms pressing gently against his broad shoulders. He’s solid beneath your touch, his warmth seeping through his shirt and into your skin.

Chris stays buried in your neck, breathing you in, his chest rising and falling against yours. Then, just as your heartbeat starts to slow, he leans in further, pressing his mouth to your ear.

His next words are a whisper. “Even if I did bite…” He pauses, his voice dipping lower, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I think you’d like it.”

You keep your head turned away, refusing to acknowledge the way his voice alone sends heat curling through your stomach.

Chris chuckles, the sound deep and rich, vibrating against your skin. You’re not sure if it’s the heat of his body or your own rising temperature, but you feel warm all over. Your first instinct is to get a space so you can cool down.

Sensing you about to pull away, he tightens his arms around your waist, keeping you close. He lifts his head just slightly, his face now barely an inch from yours. His eyes are dark, lidded, fixed on you. “Just five more minutes,” he murmurs, almost pleading.

Your breath catches. “Five minutes,” you warn.

Chris smirks before dropping his head back against your neck, exhaling deeply as if settling in. This time, he draws you even closer, molding your body against his. His fingers press lightly into your lower back, holding you there as he murmurs, “I like the way you feel against me.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Then, his head tilts slightly, his lips grazing the column of your throat as he speaks again. “So soft,” he whispers. “So warm.”

You feel his head shift, his mouth now pressing against the curve of your jaw. His voice is barely a breath. “I was right,” he murmurs almost to himself. “Your body fits me just right.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a long second, neither of you moves. His gaze flickers down—to your lips. Your breath hitches, and he looks back into your eyes again. Slowly, deliberately, he leans in.

And without thinking, you close your eyes. Your instincts pulling you deeper into the moment but your body refuses to cooperate. You shift slightly on your feet and that’s when you feel it. Something firm presses against your thigh. Your eyes snap open.

Reflexively, you break away from his hold, your hands flying up as you step back. Your gaze darts downward before you can stop yourself. And there it is. His erection. Hard, prominent, taunting you with its size.

Your eyes widen, and the moment you realize you’ve been staring, you jerk your head away, heat burning up your face.

Chris exhales, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as he watches you, amusement flickering in his gaze.

You clear your throat, voice pitched slightly higher than usual. “It’s time for the measurements.”

For a split second, Chris looks almost… disappointed. But then he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he glances down at himself.

“Well,” he muses, smirking. “Guess I’m ready.”

You take a steadying breath, willing yourself to focus as you retrieve your measuring tape. Slipping back into professionalism, you kneel slightly to get a better angle, careful not to react to the sheer size of what you're working with.

Chris watches you with a smirk, his arms resting loosely at his sides. As you wrap the tape around him, he hums. “Are you always this serious?”

You glance up at him, momentarily thrown by the question. His eyes are amused, but there’s something else there—something unreadable.

“I’m working,” you say simply, jotting down the measurement in your notebook.

Chris tilts his head, watching you intently. “Still. You didn’t even flinch.” His smirk widens. “I’m kind of impressed.”

You roll your eyes, shifting to take the next measurement. “You’re not the first participant I’ve worked with.”

He chuckles at that, his voice dropping slightly. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Chris lets out a deep chuckle, shifting slightly under your touch. “So, you’re saying you do this often?” His voice is laced with playful curiosity.

You don’t look up, keeping your focus on writing down the numbers. “It’s my job.”

He hums. “Right. Your job.” There’s a pause, then a teasing edge creeps into his tone. “Do all your test subjects get this kind of personal attention?”

You snap your head up, eyes narrowing at the smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just being thorough.”

Chris bites back a grin, looking entirely too entertained by your reaction. “Thorough, huh? Should I be flattered?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you reach for your measuring tape again. “You should be cooperative.”

“Oh, I am,” he says smoothly. “But I have to admit, it’s kind of nice seeing you flustered.”

You pause for half a second—just enough for him to catch it—before quickly resuming your work. “I’m not flustered,” you mutter.

Chris chuckles again, low and knowing. “Right.” He shifts his weight slightly, and your fingers brush against his skin, making you tense. “You sure you don’t need to double-check any of those numbers? You know… just to be extra thorough?”

You shoot him a glare, but he just grins down at you, completely unbothered. You reach into your bag, pulling out one of the prototype condom packs. You hold it out to him, keeping your expression neutral. “Here. Try it on so I can check the fit.”

Chris takes the pack from your hand but doesn’t move to open it. Instead, he watches you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You know…” He tears the wrapper slowly, his fingers deliberately smooth over the material. “Since you’re the expert, shouldn’t you be the one putting it on?”

Your breath catches, and you quickly shake your head, keeping your voice steady. “I think you can manage.”

Chris lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, I can. But wouldn’t it be more accurate if you did it? I mean, this is all in the name of research, right?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a challenge in his gaze, waiting to see how you’ll react.

You cross your arms. “Are you serious right now?”

He grins. “Completely.”

You exhale sharply, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “You’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.”

Chris sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “Fine, fine.” He slides the condom out of the wrapper, still smirking. “But I have a feeling you’d do a much better job.”

You roll your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Just put it on, please?”

He chuckles again, finally following your instruction. But the way he keeps looking at you—as if he’s enjoying every second of your flustered state—tells you this won’t be the last time he teases you like this.

You take a step closer, eyes focused as you observe how the condom fits around him. Your fingers hover near, but you refrain from touching, keeping your professionalism intact.

“How does it feel?” you ask, glancing up at him.

Chris exhales slowly, rolling his hips slightly as if adjusting to the fit. “Honestly?” He looks down at himself. “It’s a little too tight.”

You immediately jot that down in your notebook. “Too tight…” you murmur, pen scratching against the paper.

“And I think it’s too short for my length,” he adds, pulling at the base slightly as if to emphasize his point.

Your eyes widen slightly before you catch yourself. You write it down quickly, nodding. “Alright, noted.”

Chris tilts his head, watching you with interest. “Are you sure you brought the right size?”

You don’t even look up as you answer, still focused on your notes. “Yes, these prototypes are all specifically made for extra-large sizes.”

Without thinking, you blurt out, “It’s your penis that’s too big.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze.

Chris blinks. Then, slowly, a smirk curls on his lips. “Oh?” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping into something more amused—almost smug. “So you’re saying I’m too big?”

You clutch your notebook a little tighter, willing yourself to keep your composure. “Scientifically speaking,” you emphasize, clearing your throat, “it exceeds the parameters we accounted for in development.”

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Sure, let’s call it that.”

You take a step back, regaining your composure as you focus on the real reason you're here. Flipping to a fresh page in your notebook, you clear your throat. "How does the material feel?" you ask, keeping your tone professional.

He glances down at himself, rolling his hips slightly as if assessing the sensation. He hums, thoughtful. "It’s… okay. Smooth, but a little tighter than I’d like. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable, just a bit restrictive."

You jot that down quickly. "Restrictive how? Like it’s compressing too much or just not flexible enough?"

Chris watches you with a smirk. "Look at you, so serious about this."

You shoot him a pointed look. "Just answer the question. Please."

He chuckles, but obliges. "I’d say both. The stretch is good, but it’s still a little snug, especially at the base. If I were to wear this for a long time, it might get uncomfortable."

You nod, scribbling notes. "Noted. What about sensitivity? Can you still feel everything, or does it dull the sensation?"

Chris leans in slightly, and you catch the glint in his eye before he speaks. "I can definitely still feel things. Though, if you really want an accurate answer, I’d have to—"

"Don't even finish that sentence," you interrupt, already knowing where he’s going with it.

Chris bursts out laughing, hands raised in surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying, full functionality testing might be necessary."

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. "Noted," you say dryly, though you don’t actually write that one down.

Chris watches you with amusement before tilting his head. "So, what now?"

You glance at him—more specifically, at his still-erect situation—and then back at your notes. "We’ll discuss material modifications later." You pause, shifting on your feet. "But first… you should take that off."

Chris’s grin returns, playful and teasing. "You might want to turn around for this."

Rolling your eyes, you turn away just as you hear him peel the condom off while you put everything back into your bag.

A moment later, Chris has already discarded the condom and pulled his slacks back on, though his shirt remains unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves still rolled up. He leans against the desk, arms crossed, watching you with that ever-present smirk.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "What’s the verdict, Doc?"

You ignore his teasing tone and glance down at your notes. "The material needs improvement—more elasticity without sacrificing durability. The length also needs to be adjusted for better coverage. And the base should have a slightly looser fit to prevent discomfort over time."

Chris nods along, but you can tell he’s only half-listening. "So, in short, you need to make a custom size just for me."

You look up at him, unimpressed. "You're not the only man with this issue."

He grins. "No, but I bet I’m the first one to have you personally taking notes on it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. He’s not wrong, but you refuse to let him have the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "I appreciate your participation in this test. It was helpful."

Chris’s grin softens into something more genuine. "I’m glad. I mean it. I know this is important to you."

The sincerity catches you off guard. You hesitate, then nod. "It is."

A beat of silence stretches between you, the air oddly charged. Then Chris claps his hands together. "Well, I’d say that wraps up our very professional, totally scientific evening."

You huff a small laugh despite yourself. "Sure."

Chris pushes off the desk and steps closer, his voice lowering. "And I’m assuming this stays between us?"

You meet his gaze. "Obviously."

"Good," he murmurs, his eyes flicking down to your lips for half a second before he steps back.

As you gather your things, Chris watches you with a lazy smirk, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. Just as you reach for the doorknob, he speaks up.

"You sure you don’t want another drink before you go?" His voice is smooth, almost coaxing. "I still have some left."

You glance back at him, shaking your head. "No, thanks. I have work tomorrow."

Chris tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "So do I."

"Exactly my point," you say, giving him a pointed look.

He chuckles, then raises his hands in surrender. "Alright. No more drinks. Just thought I’d offer."

You nod, gripping the strap of your bag. "I appreciate it."

Chris takes a slow step closer, his smirk softening into something unreadable. "Well then," he murmurs, "I guess I’ll see you at work."

You clear your throat, clutching your bag. "Yeah. See you."

And with that, you turn and walk out of the hotel room, acutely aware of his eyes on you the entire way.

-

The next morning, you arrive at the lab early, hoping to get a head start on your request for adjustments to the condom's materials and dimensions. You’re deep in thought, typing notes on your computer when Jane suddenly appears beside you, peering at your screen.

Her eyes narrow. "What’s this?"

You nearly jump out of your seat. "Jesus, Jane! Stop sneaking up on me like that!"

Jane ignores your reaction, leaning in closer to read. Her eyebrows lift as she scans the document. "Wait a minute... requests for material flexibility? Increased length and width?" She crosses her arms and looks at you, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Oh-ho. This is interesting."

You immediately close the document. "It’s nothing."

"Nothing?" Jane repeats, her smirk growing. "Sounds like the test subject was huge if you need to adjust everything."

You keep your face neutral. "It’s just data. The prototype wasn’t a perfect fit, so I have to make changes."

"Uh-huh," Jane says, tilting her head. "So? Who was it?"

"What?"

"Who was the guy?" She wiggles her eyebrows. "And don’t even try lying because I know you had a test subject last night."

You grab a random file from your desk, flipping through it as a distraction. "Confidential."

Jane groans dramatically. "Oh, come on! Throw me a bone here. Was he at least good-looking?"

You sigh, exasperated. "It’s not about that."

"But it is, isn't it?" Jane leans closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You had to see everything, didn’t you?"

You press your lips into a thin line, refusing to indulge her.

Jane gasps, then grins. "Oh my God. You totally did."

"I work in research, Jane. It’s part of my job."

She hums, clearly not buying it. "And yet, you're being all weird about it."

You shake your head, pretending to focus on your paperwork. "Just drop it."

Jane taps her chin, pretending to think. "Fine. I won’t ask any more questions." She pauses, then adds, "For now."

After lunch, the two of you step out onto the balcony before heading back to the lab. Jane lights a cigarette, taking a slow drag, while you sip on your iced coffee, letting the coolness settle in your throat. The sun is high, casting a warm glow over the city skyline, but there’s a nice breeze that makes it bearable.

“Man, I needed this,” Jane sighs, exhaling a stream of smoke. “I swear, if I have to deal with one more report about allergic reactions, I’m going to start developing a whole new drug—one for my patience.”

You chuckle, taking another sip of your coffee. “Maybe that’s the next project you should pitch.”

Jane hums in amusement, but her attention shifts suddenly. Her eyes lock on something—or someone—on the other end of the balcony. You follow her gaze and immediately spot Chris. He’s leaning against the railing, looking effortlessly put-together as always, engaged in conversation with a woman.

You recognize her instantly—Suze, the executive manager of another department. She’s beautiful, stylish, and carries an air of confidence that makes her stand out in any room. She’s also notoriously popular among the higher-ups and has a reputation for being both sharp and charming.

Jane clicks her tongue, watching the two of them. “Well, well. Looks like Miss Perfect is making her move.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Jane gestures subtly toward them with her cigarette. “You don’t know? Suze has been eyeing Chris for a while now. Apparently, she’s been dropping hints left and right, but he’s been playing it cool.”

You turn your gaze back to the pair. Suze is smiling, leaning in slightly as she speaks. Chris listens, nodding occasionally, but his expression remains unreadable.

Jane lets out a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, they’d make a ridiculously good-looking couple. It’s almost unfair.”

You don’t respond, just watching the way Suze tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her manicured fingers brushing the lapel of Chris’s blazer ever so slightly.

Jane exhales another puff of smoke. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. You think he’s into her?”

You shrug, keeping your voice neutral. “I wouldn’t know.”

Jane side-eyes you, smirking. “You sound like you don’t care, but I know you care.”

You scoff, finishing the last of your coffee. “I don’t.”

“Sure,” she drawls, taking one last drag before stubbing out her cigarette. “And I don’t need nicotine to survive the workday.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on, we need to get back.”

But as you turn to leave, you can’t help but glance one last time at Chris and Suze. And for some reason, the sight of them together lingers in your mind longer than you’d like.

-

In the lab, you and Jane stand over a workstation where another team has been developing edible lubricants. Small sample bottles line the table, each labeled with different flavors—strawberry, vanilla, honey, and even some unconventional ones like mojito and buttered popcorn.

Jane picks up a small vial labeled “Salted Caramel” and gives it an experimental sniff. “Huh. Smells legit,” she muses before wiggling her eyebrows at you. “Wanna try some?”

You scoff. “That’s not what we’re here for.”

Jane ignores your protest and dabs a tiny drop onto her finger before popping it into her mouth. She hums in thought, smacking her lips. “Damn. That’s actually good.”

You shake your head, amused. “You do realize this is meant for other uses, right?”

“Obviously.” Jane grins before picking up another sample labeled “Piña Colada.” She dabs some onto her finger and holds it out to you. “C’mon, just one taste. For science.”

You hesitate, narrowing your eyes at her suspiciously. “You’re just trying to make me look ridiculous.”

She gasps, feigning offense. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I am a woman of integrity.”

You snort, but before you can respond, a voice cuts through the room.

“Can I talk to you?”

You turn, your breath catching slightly when you see Chris standing there. His expression is serious, his posture relaxed but purposeful.

Jane, still sucking on her finger from the piña colada lube, slowly lowers her hand and looks between the two of you. “Uh-oh. That sounds important.”

Chris doesn’t react to her comment, his gaze fixed on you.

You clear your throat. “Right now?”

He nods. “If you’re free.”

You glance at Jane, who raises both hands in surrender. “Don’t let me stop you. I’ll just be here taste-testing the entire catalog.”

Chris doesn’t wait for further response—he simply turns and heads toward the door, expecting you to follow.

You exhale sharply, setting down the sample bottle you were holding. Whatever this is about, it’s clearly not a casual chat. You throw Jane a look before heading after Chris, your heart thumping just a little harder than it should.

-

You inhale a long air before you reach Chris’s office door. After that night, you weren’t sure how it would go. Would he act like nothing happened? Would he bring it up? Would things be… weird?

Pushing those thoughts aside, you knock.

"Come in."

You step inside, closing the door behind you. Chris is at his desk, reviewing something on his laptop, but when he looks up and sees you, that familiar smirk tugs at his lips.

Chris gestures to the seat across from him. "Have a seat."

You hesitate but eventually do as he says. Your fingers unconsciously tighten around the side of your lab coat.

He leans back in his chair, studying you. "How are you feeling?"

It’s a loaded question, but you pretend not to notice. "Fine. Why?"

His lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re doing. "Just checking." He nods toward your bag. "Did you review our test’s results?"

"Yes," you say, clearing your throat. "The prototype was too tight and short for your size. I’ll have to make some adjustments to the material and dimensions before moving forward with mass production."

Chris hums. "So, you’re saying I’m too big for the product."

Your fingers twitch, remembering last night’s slip-up. You keep your tone professional. "Technically, yes. The size I brought was meant for extra-large measurements, but you exceeded expectations."

Chris grins. "Exceeding expectations… I like the sound of that."

You shoot him a look. "Excuse me?"

He chuckles. "Back to business." He sits up, his expression turning a little more serious. "What’s your next step?"

"I already sent in a request for adjustments to the prototype," you explain. "It’ll take some time, but I can get an updated batch for testing soon."

Chris nods. "And when that happens, will I be your test subject again?"

You hesitate. "That depends. Are you still willing to participate?"

He tilts his head slightly. "What do you think?"

Your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you—calm, confident, but with something simmering beneath the surface. You look away, keeping your voice even. "I’ll keep you updated."

Chris watches you for a moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You know… I have to admit, that was more fun than I expected."

You raise a brow. "Testing a condom was fun?"

He chuckles. "No, but watching you try to stay professional while clearly flustered? That was fun."

Your face heats up. "I wasn’t flustered."

Chris’s smirk deepens. "Sure you weren’t."

Then, as if the weight of the conversation suddenly lightens, he tilts his head slightly. “You’ll let me know when it’s ready, right?”

His words sound casual, but there’s an underlying meaning in them that you can’t quite decipher. You nod, keeping your voice steady. “Of course.”

Chris holds your gaze for a second longer, then leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Good,” he repeats, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes your stomach flip.

-

Exactly three days later, the revised prototypes arrives in your lab. You carefully open the box, inspecting the changes you requested. The material feels smoother, the elasticity slightly improved. Satisfied, you make a note in your log—only to jump slightly when Jane suddenly leans over your shoulder.

“Length 8.07 inches and width 2.02 inches... Holy shit!” Her voice is filled with pure astonishment as she snatches one of the foil packets and flips it over in her hands. “Are you seeing this? This is huge.”

You try to stay composed, pretending to be preoccupied with the paperwork in front of you. “It’s within the expected range,” you say coolly.

Jane squints at you, then back at the condom in her hand. “Expected range, my ass. You’ve been working on this for weeks, and I’ve never seen a prototype this size before.” She pauses, then gasps dramatically. “Wait a second… did you finally find a participant?”

Your heart nearly stops. “What? No.” You shake your head, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “I just figured… why stop at extra-large when we can push the boundaries even further? There’s always a demand for more variety in the market.”

Jane eyes you suspiciously, her lips pursed. “Hmm.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice. “Are you sure you’re not hiding some secret test subject from me?”

You force a casual laugh. “Jane, I would tell you if I had someone lined up. It’s just research.”

She doesn’t seem fully convinced, but she lets out a sigh and puts the condom back. “Alright, fine. But if you do have a participant, I wanna meet him.”

You quickly turn back to your paperwork, hoping she doesn’t notice the way your ears are burning. As soon as Jane leaves, you let out a slow breath, your fingers still gripping the pen you had been pretending to write with. You wait a few moments to make sure she’s really gone before pulling out your phone.

Your thumb hovers over Chris’s contact for a second, your mind briefly flashing back to the last test, to the way he had looked at you, the way he had—

You shake the thought away and type out a quick message.

The revised prototype is ready for testing. Let me know when you’re available.

You hit send, placing your phone face-down on the desk as you try to focus on your notes. But the distraction is already there, the anticipation simmering in the back of your mind.

A few minutes pass before your phone vibrates. You glance at the screen to read a reply from Chris.

Tonight. Same place.

Your breath catches slightly. No hesitation. No pleasantries. Just straight to the point. Your fingers tighten around your phone before you type back.

Understood. See you then.

You lock your screen and exhale, pressing your hands to your warm cheeks. This is fine. It’s just a professional test. Just like last time.

…Right?

-

As the workday winds down, you keep your head low, avoiding unnecessary conversations. You wait until Jane is nowhere in sight before discreetly slipping a box of the new prototype into your bag, carefully tucking it beneath your other belongings. Just as you zip it up, your phone buzzes. You pull it out, and your stomach does an unexpected flip when you see Chris's name.

Can’t do the test tonight. Something came up.

You stare at the message, an unfamiliar twinge settling in your chest. Disappointment? No, that’s ridiculous. This is strictly professional. You quickly type out a response before you overthink it.

That’s okay. Let me know when you’re available, and we’ll reschedule.

You lock your phone and sigh, shaking off the strange feeling as you hear familiar footsteps approaching.

"Hey," Jane leans against the doorway. "Can you give me a lift again?"

You figured as much. You nod, grabbing your things, and the two of you make your way down to the parking lot.

Just as you unlock your car, Jane grabs your arm, stopping you mid-motion.

"Oh my God," she whispers excitedly, nodding toward a sleek black car a few rows away.

You follow her gaze and instantly regret it. Chris is there. But he’s not alone. Suze is with him, sliding into the passenger seat like she’s done it a hundred times before. Chris gets in right after her, and within seconds, they’re driving off together.

Jane whistles low, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk. "Damn. Guess the rumors weren’t just rumors."

You don't respond, just gripping your car keys a little tighter.

Jane, of course, doesn’t stop there. "I mean, it makes sense. She’s his type, isn’t she? Gorgeous, high-profile, and let’s be real, she’s been eyeing him for a while now. Wonder if they’re dating or just—"

"Can we go?" you interrupt, climbing into the driver's seat before Jane can read your face.

Jane laughs, sliding into the passenger seat. "Alright, alright. No need to get grumpy."

You roll your eyes, but as you start the car, you can't shake the odd heaviness in your chest. It’s none of your business. It shouldn’t bother you. But somehow… it does.

-

The entire company is in high spirits, and it doesn’t take long to remember why—tonight is the launch event for the newest collection of vibrators.

The venue is decked out with neon lights and sleek product displays, and there’s an open bar keeping everyone’s spirits high.

You mingle with your co-workers, drink in hand, while Jane, as expected, thrives in the lively atmosphere. She’s laughing, flirting, and making jokes that get progressively bolder with each sip of her cocktail.

At one point, she throws an arm around your shoulders. “This is fun, huh?” she grins.

You force a smile. “Yeah. Totally.”

It’s not that you aren’t enjoying yourself—you just need a breather.

“I’ll get you another drink,” you tell her, using it as an excuse to slip away from the group.

Jane waves you off without a second thought, already too invested in another conversation. You weave through the crowd and make your way to the bar, ordering another drink. As you wait, you take a deep breath, letting yourself relax. But before you can even take a sip—

“Hey, can we talk?”

The familiar deep voice makes you turn, and there stands Chris, looking effortlessly sharp in his suit. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are locked onto you with intent.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Chris doesn’t wait for an answer—he just reaches for your wrist and leads you away from the crowd.

Your pulse jumps as he guides you through the party, his grip firm yet careful. The noise fades behind you as he takes you into a quiet hallway, away from the music, the laughter, and most importantly—prying eyes.

Finally, he stops, turning to face you. His gaze is steady, searching.

Your heart beats a little too fast. “What is this about?” you ask, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions swirling inside you.

Chris exhales, running a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. “Sorry about bailing on you last night,” he says, his voice softer now. “Something came up.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. We can do it another time.”

There’s a brief silence between you. The muffled sounds of the party filter in from the other end of the hallway, but here, in this secluded space, it feels like the two of you are in your own little world.

Then Chris asks, “Do you have any plans this weekend?”

You blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.

“I—uh—” You hesitate, quickly running through your mental calendar, but there’s nothing. “No, not really.”

Chris grins at that. “Good. Let’s do the product test tomorrow. Saturday night.”

You weren’t expecting that. The way he says it so casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, throws you off. But before you even fully process it, you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you agree, your voice quieter than you intended.

His smile lingers as he pushes off the wall, standing tall in front of you. “I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”

You nod again, almost dazed, and Chris watches you for a second longer before he turns to leave. Just as he’s a few steps away, he glances back, his voice dropping slightly. “Can’t wait for tomorrow.”

And with that, he walks away, disappearing into the crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You definitely need another drink. Or at least a moment to breathe.

-

Your phone buzzes early Saturday morning, and when you check the screen, it’s a text from Chris.

Dinner first. 7 PM. La Riviera.

That’s it. No unnecessary words, no emojis—just the time and place. You stare at the message longer than you probably should.

Dinner? This wasn’t how the last test went. You were expecting another hotel, another quick, professional meeting. But a restaurant?

You shake your head, telling yourself not to overthink it. It’s probably just to discuss the test before getting into it. But despite that rationalization, you catch yourself preparing more than you intended to.

Your outfit selection takes longer than it should, your makeup is a little more put together, and even when you tell yourself it’s just because you’re stepping out for the evening—not because of who you’re meeting—you know it’s a lie.

You arrive at La Riviera a little before 7 PM, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. The restaurant is elegant but not overwhelmingly fancy—warm lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and the faint aroma of wine and freshly baked bread filling the air and then you spot him.

Chris is already seated, dressed in a casual formal ensemble. A dark button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to tease his forearms, paired with tailored slacks. The contrast between the deep color of his shirt and his pale skin is striking, and for a second, you almost forget why you’re here.

His eyes find yours almost instantly, and he smiles, standing up slightly as you approach. “Glad you made it.”

You sit across from him, suddenly feeling a little nervous because this—this doesn’t feel like a business meeting at all. The dim lighting, the quiet atmosphere, the way he leans slightly forward as he watches you—it feels like a date.

Dinner starts off casually enough, but then Chris begins asking you questions.

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

His question catches you off guard, but you answer by shaking your head, then throw it back at him. When you ask if he’s seeing someone, he hums, picking up his wine glass. “I am.”

Your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Is it Suze?”

Chris freezes mid-sip, then lowers his glass, blinking at you. “Suze?”

You instantly regret your brashness, but it’s too late now. You clear your throat, trying to sound indifferent. “Yeah. You two seem close, and the rumor said—”

“The rumor.” Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course.”

You watch as he leans back in his seat, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And what exactly did the rumor say?”

You shift in your seat, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. “Just… that Suze and you are close.”

Chris tilts his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And do you believe everything the rumor says?”

You purse your lips, looking away. “Not everything.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and amused. “Well, for the record, Suze and I are not a thing. She’s a great colleague, but that’s it.”

You should feel relieved—it’s not like you care who he’s seeing—but something about his tone makes you wary. You meet his eyes again. “Then who’s the someone you’re seeing?”

Chris doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his wine, watching you over the rim of his glass. The silence stretches just long enough to make your stomach twist. Then, finally, he sets his glass down and leans in slightly, his voice lower now. “You.”

Your heart skips a beat and a second later, you blink. “Me?”

Chris grins, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Well, we are having dinner together, aren’t we?”

Your lips part, but no words come out. He’s messing with you—he has to be. You try to regain your composure, clearing your throat. “This is a business meeting.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, his fingers casually tapping against the stem of his glass. “Is it?”

You open your mouth to say yes, obviously, but the way he’s looking at you—the way tonight feels—makes you hesitate. The air between you shifts, heavy with something unspoken.

Chris tilts his head. “Tell me… if I didn’t bring up the product test, would you still be here?”

Your stomach twists again. You don’t know how to answer that. You feel your pulse quicken, the weight of his question pressing down on you. Instead of answering, you grab your napkin and mutter, “I—I need to use the restroom.”

Chris doesn’t stop you. He just leans back in his seat, watching with quiet amusement as you push your chair back and walk away, your heart pounding with every step.

The moment you step into the restroom, you grip the edge of the sink and take a deep breath. What the hell was that?

You turn on the faucet, letting the cool water run over your hands as if it’ll help clear your thoughts. This was supposed to be a simple dinner before the product test—so why does it feel like he’s pulling you into something else entirely? And worse, why aren’t you stopping him?

You glance at yourself in the mirror, your reflection betraying the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. No matter how much you try to convince yourself that this is just work, that Chris is just teasing, something about the way he looks at you makes it hard to believe that. You take another breath, steadying yourself. Just go back out there and keep it professional.

Easier said than done.

-

The car ride is quiet, but the tension between you is thick. You grip the hem of your dress, feeling the fabric twist between your fingers as you steal glances at Chris. He’s focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift. His sleeves are rolled up again, exposing the strong lines of his forearms, and it takes everything in you not to stare. Then, you notice something. The hotel he took you to last time—the one you were expecting—flashes past the window.

“Wait,” you blurt out, turning to him. “You just passed the hotel.”

Chris doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he grins slightly, eyes still on the road. “Yeah, I know.”

Your brows furrow. “Then where are we going?”

“I know a nicer hotel,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Then, as if reading your thoughts, he adds, “It’s not like you have anything to do tomorrow, right?”

No, you don’t. But the way he phrases it—like it’s already decided—sends a shiver down your spine.

Chris glances at you then, his gaze flickering down to your hands still gripping your dress. His smirk softens, but his voice is just as teasing when he says, “Relax. It’s just for the test, remember?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to loosen your grip. But you’re not sure if it’s his words or the way he says them that make your pulse race even more.

Chris pulls into the hotel’s driveway, the warm glow of the entrance lights reflecting off the sleek surface of his car. You step out, adjusting your dress as you follow him inside, your heart pounding a little too fast.

The lobby is luxurious, far more upscale than the previous hotel. The marble floors gleam under the chandelier lights, and the air is filled with a faint scent of expensive cologne and polished wood. You try not to fidget as Chris approaches the front desk.

“One suite, please,” he says smoothly.

Your head snaps toward him. “A suite?”

Chris doesn’t even glance at you, just slides his card across the counter to the receptionist. “Yeah.” Then, finally, he looks at you, an amused glint in his eyes. “Problem?”

You hesitate, glancing between him and the receptionist, who remains professional as she processes the request. You don’t know why you expected anything less from Chris—of course, he wouldn’t settle for a standard room. But a suite?

“I just thought…” You trail off, pressing your lips together.

Chris leans in slightly, voice low enough that only you can hear. “If we’re testing a product, shouldn’t we have more space to move around?”

Your breath catches at the implication, and he chuckles at your reaction before straightening up, accepting the key card from the receptionist. “Let’s go.”

You follow him into the elevator in silence, gripping the strap of your bag tighter than necessary. The numbers on the display climb higher, the anticipation pressing down on you.

When the doors finally slide open, Chris gestures for you to step out first. You do, walking down the plush carpeted hallway until he stops in front of a door and swipes the key card. The lock clicks open.

He pushes the door wide and turns to you with a smirk. “After you.”

You hesitate for just a second before stepping inside, and as the door closes behind you, you realize just how different tonight already feels.

Instead of taking a tour around the room, you hurriedly take a seat on the sofa, your hands clasped together as you watch Chris move around the suite with ease, like he belongs here. The room is larger than you expected—modern, sleek, and far too intimate.

Your nerves start creeping in, tightening your shoulders. It’s not that you haven’t done this before, but something about tonight feels… different. More deliberate. More dangerous.

Chris, on the other hand, looks completely at ease as he wanders over to the minibar, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the complimentary bottle of champagne. He plucks it from its ice bucket and grins. “Perfect timing.”

You watch as he peels off the foil and works the cork loose. “You don’t have to open that—”

Pop!

The cork flies off, the sudden noise making you jump. Chris bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Relax,” he drawls, pouring the golden liquid into two glasses. “You’re acting like this is your first time in a hotel room with me.”

You press your lips together, refusing to respond to that, and instead accept the glass he offers you. He raises his in a toast, his voice smooth. “To… scientific research.”

You huff a small laugh despite yourself and clink your glass against his before taking a sip. The champagne fizzes pleasantly on your tongue, cool and crisp.

But then—

“You know,” Chris muses, swirling his drink, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were nervous. Maybe even a little flustered. But that can’t be right, can it?”

You shoot him a glare. “I’m not—”

And then it happens. Your fingers slip, and in your haste to retort, your glass tips forward, sending a splash of champagne straight down the front of your dress. The cold liquid soaks through the fabric instantly, making you gasp.

Chris freezes for a second, then— He bursts out laughing. You groan, setting your glass down as you grab a napkin from the table, dabbing at the wet stain. But it’s useless. The fabric clings to your skin, highlighting every curve.

He leans back against the minibar, arms crossed, watching you with open amusement. “Well,” he says, biting back another chuckle, “if you wanted to take your dress off, you could’ve just asked.”

His laughter still lingers in the air as he moves across the room, casually plucking a plush bathrobe from the hotel’s wardrobe. He turns to you, holding it up like a peace offering, his grin unrepentant.

“Here,” he says. “You can’t just sit around in a wet dress all night.”

You hesitate, gripping the damp fabric clinging to your skin. It’s uncomfortable, borderline unbearable—but the idea of slipping into a hotel bathrobe, of making yourself even remotely comfortable here, feels dangerous.

Still, you don’t have much choice. With a sigh, you accept the robe and head toward the spacious en-suite bathroom. Just as you’re about to close the door behind you, a shadow appears in the doorway.

Chris. You look up in confusion, but he leans against the doorframe, completely unfazed by your reaction. “Want some help?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, completely at ease. “I mean, it only makes sense, doesn’t it? You need me ready for the test, and I need a little… encouragement. Two birds, one stone.”

You gape at him, caught between indignation and sheer disbelief. “You—”

Chris lifts both hands in mock surrender, though there’s a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Just a suggestion.”

Your fingers tighten around the door handle, and for a second, you actually consider slamming the door in his face. But then reality kicks in—the sooner you finish this test, the sooner you can leave.

With a deep breath, you step back and pull the door open just a little wider. “Fine.”

Chris blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting you to agree so quickly. Then, a slow smirk curves his lips as he steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

-

The bathroom feels smaller with Chris standing behind you, the soft glow of the vanity lights casting both of your reflections in the mirror. You keep your gaze locked on yourself, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from his body as he reaches for the zipper at the back of your dress.

His fingers brush against your skin as he tugs it down, agonizingly slow, and the air shifts—suddenly heavier, thicker. The fabric loosens around your shoulders, slipping slightly, exposing more of your back. “You’re tense,” he murmurs, his voice low.

You grip the edge of the counter, willing yourself to focus on anything but the way his fingers ghost over your spine as he eases the zipper all the way down. “I wonder why,” you say dryly.

Chris chuckles, the sound vibrating so close that you can feel it. He places his hands lightly on your shoulders, his thumbs pressing gently into the bare skin there. “Relax,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “It’s just a dress.”

Just a dress. Just a simple, professional test. You exhale and let the straps slide off your shoulders, the silky fabric pooling at your feet. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, making you shiver slightly. You’re left in nothing but your underwear, standing there in front of him, vulnerable yet unwilling to let it show.

Chris doesn’t move right away. His gaze flickers up to meet yours in the mirror, something unreadable swimming in his dark eyes.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air between you crackles with unspoken tension. Then, after what feels like an eternity, Chris finally steps back, his lips quirking into that knowing smirk.

“There,” he says, voice softer now. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He grabs a clean washcloth, dampens it with warm water, and steps closer. You watch him through the mirror as he wrings out the excess water, his sleeves already rolled up, revealing his forearms.

“This might be a little cold,” he says, but before you can react, he presses the cloth against your bare shoulder, wiping away the sticky remnants of wine.

You inhale sharply—not because of the temperature, but because of the slow, deliberate way he drags the cloth down your arm, over your collarbone, and lower. His touch is gentle, almost too careful, as if he’s savoring every second of this moment.

“You have nice skin,” he muses, his voice taking on that teasing lilt. “Soft… delicate...”

You grip the edge of the counter a little tighter. “Chris.”

“What?” He tilts his head, eyes dark with amusement as he crouches slightly, now running the damp cloth along your side. “I’m just making an observation. It’s not every day I get to admire my researcher up close.”

You shoot him a glare through the mirror. “I don’t recall this being part of the test.”

He grins, completely unbothered. “No, but it’s a nice bonus.”

The cloth moves lower, skimming along the curve of your waist, across your stomach. His knuckles brush against your ribs, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s intentionally slowing down.

“You’re staring,” you point out, trying to sound unaffected.

Chris doesn’t even try to deny it. “Can you blame me?” He leans in just slightly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. “You look incredible.”

Your pulse jumps. You keep your eyes on the mirror, on the way his hands move with too much ease, too much familiarity. The way his gaze lingers, dark and intense. It feels too intimate. Too much.

You clear your throat, shifting your weight. “Are you done?”

Chris smirks, but he finally straightens up, tossing the cloth into the sink. “Yeah,” he says, stepping back. “For now.”

Before you can even react, Chris's hands grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you onto the sink. A surprised gasp escapes you as your palms press against the counter for balance. "Chris—"

"I'm not done yet," he interrupts smoothly, already crouching in front of you, the wet cloth in hand.

Your heart skips a beat as he starts wiping down your legs, his touch slow, precise, like he's savoring every second. He starts at your ankle, dragging the warm cloth up the length of your calf, then to your knee, and higher still. His fingers brush against your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine.

Your entire body feels like it's on high alert. "You don’t have to—"

"Shh," he hums, amusement flickering in his eyes as he continues. "Let me do this properly."

You press your lips together, watching him through the reflection on the shower glass door. He looks entirely too focused, like this is some kind of ritual for him. And then, just as he finishes, he does something you don’t expect. He parts your legs.

Your breath catches as he steps between them, standing so close that his body heat seeps into your skin. His hands rest on the counter beside you, effectively caging you in. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t move any closer, just lingers there—his chest barely an inch from yours, his face so close that you can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes.

The air between you shifts, thickening with something unspoken. You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible when Chris is looking at you like that—like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s daring you to react.

"Chris," you murmur, unsure of what you’re even asking for.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze flicking down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. His voice is low, teasing. "Nervous?"

You straighten your shoulders, meeting Chris’s intense gaze with as much composure as you can muster. "No," you say firmly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "No?"

All of a sudden, his hands grip your waist again, and with one sharp tug, he pulls you flush against him. The sudden contact knocks the air from your lungs—his body is solid, warm, pressing into you in a way that makes it impossible to ignore just how close you are.

"Don't be shy," he murmurs, his voice edged with challenge. "Go ahead and put your hands on me."

You hesitate, feeling the weight of his expectation hanging in the air. Then, awkwardly, you lift your arms, wrapping them around his broad shoulders.

Chris watches you the entire time, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Good girl."

Before you can process those words, he moves again—this time gripping the backs of your thighs and lifting them, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. The position forces you even closer, your core pressed right against the hardness growing beneath his pants. His arms snake around you, locking you in place as he leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear.

"You feel so damn good," he murmurs, his voice like silk against your skin. "Better than I even imagined."

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders, a shudder running down your spine at his words. And then—he moves.

Slowly, deliberately, he rolls his hips against you. The pressure is subtle at first, almost teasing, but the friction sends a wave of heat straight through your core. He does it again, this time with more intent, dragging his clothed length against you in a way that makes your breath hitch.

"You like that?" he whispers, his lips brushing your ear.

Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, your body tensing against his. You don’t answer, but Chris doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, your silence only encourages him. He grinds against you again, this time slower, more drawn out, savoring the way your body reacts to him. A quiet groan rumbles in his chest as he buries his face into your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"You feel perfect," he breathes.

You swallow hard, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but it's slipping fast. The way he’s moving, the way he’s talking—it's intoxicating.

Chris pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours. "Tell me to stop," he challenges, voice low and husky. "If you want me to."

He watches you, waiting, his lips hovering just a breath away from your skin. His body stays pressed against yours, his hands firm on your waist, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself sink into the sensation.

The warmth of his breath against your neck, the intoxicating way his body molds against yours—it’s dangerously easy to forget why you're here. You close your eyes, allowing yourself just one more second of indulgence. One more second of feeling him. But then—an alarm rings in your head.

Reality crashes down on you like a wave of cold water. Your eyes snap open, and with a quiet breath, you press your hands against his chest, gently pushing him away. Chris hesitates for a fraction of a second before letting you go, his gaze flickering with something unreadable as you quickly slip down from the sink.

The heat of his body is gone instantly, but the lingering effect still pulses through your veins. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to move, to ground yourself back in the real reason you’re here.

You grab the bathrobe and hurriedly wrap it around yourself, securing the belt tighter than necessary. You can feel Chris’s eyes on you the entire time, silently watching, waiting for you to say something.

You clear your throat. "It’s time for the test," you say, your voice firmer than you expected.

Chris exhales a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he takes a step back. "Right," he murmurs, amusement laced in his voice. "The test."

There’s something in the way he says it—like he knows exactly what just happened between the two of you. Like he knows how close you were to completely surrendering but he doesn’t push.

Instead, he watches as you gather yourself, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Alright," he says, taking a step toward the door. "Let’s get started."

-

Despite dressed in a bathrobe, you clear your throat and slip back into professionalism as you grab the pack of condoms from your bag. Without looking at him, you extend your hand, offering one of the revised prototypes.

Chris takes it from you with a small, amused hum. "Let’s see how this one goes, then."

As you make a move to turn around and step out of the room to give him privacy, his voice stops you.

"You can stay," he says, his tone casual but carrying that underlying teasing edge. "It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before."

You pause mid-step, fingers tightening slightly on your notebook. That’s true, but it doesn’t make it any less… distracting.

Still, you force yourself to act unfazed. You shift back to your previous spot, keeping your eyes locked on your notes as Chris continues undressing. The sound of fabric rustling fills the room, and when you finally glance up, your breath nearly catches.

The first time you saw him naked, he’d still had his shirt on. But this time, he’s taken everything off. Completely bare. Your grip tightens around your pen as you force yourself to maintain a neutral expression. But your eyes… they betray you. They keep flickering downward, drawn helplessly to the sheer size of him. It’s eye-catching, unfairly so, and despite your best efforts, you keep stealing glances.

Chris notices. Of course, he does. He smirks as he tears open the condom wrapper and then— "Want to put it on for me this time?"

You snap your head up, shooting him an unimpressed look. Without dignifying his question with a response, you roll your eyes and immediately focus on writing down the preliminary details of the product test.

He chuckles but doesn’t push. He sits down at the edge of the bed, takes the condom, and rolls it down his length with practiced ease. Your eyes flicker toward him again—just for a second—but it's enough for him to catch you looking.

You quickly redirect your gaze back to your notes. "How does it feel?" you ask, voice all business.

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back slightly, spreading his legs just a little as he looks down at himself, inspecting the way the condom fits around his length.

You keep your eyes on your notebook, pen poised over the page, but your fingers are tense around it. Your pulse is unsteady.

"It feels better than the last one," Chris finally says, his tone casual, though there’s a smirk playing on his lips. "Not as tight. And the length is better, too."

You nod, quickly jotting down his feedback, willing yourself to focus on the task and not on the fact that he’s sitting there, completely naked, completely unbothered.

"The material feels smoother," he continues, running a hand along his length, testing the stretch. You don’t dare look up. "Not too thick, but sturdy enough."

You scribble his words down, keeping your head low.

Chris hums. "You’re really not gonna look, huh?"

Your grip on your pen tightens. "I don’t need to look. I just need your feedback."

"Right," he drawls, clearly amused. "And what if I had trouble putting it on? You wouldn’t have helped me?"

You finally glance up, rolling your eyes. "You’re a grown man, Chris."

He grins. "I know, but isn’t this a part of product testing? Hands-on research?"

You shoot him a glare, but he just chuckles, leaning forward slightly. "Relax," he says, voice low and teasing. "I’m just messing with you."

You sigh, shaking your head as you jot down the final notes. "If the fit feels good, then we can move on to the next phase of testing."

Chris tilts his head. "The durability test?"

You meet his gaze, keeping your expression neutral. "Yes."

A slow smirk spreads across his face. "I’m looking forward to it."

You walk back to your bag resting in a chair, you pull out the box of condoms from your bag and hand it to Chris, keeping your expression professional. “For the durability test, you can conduct it yourself and come back to me with your feedback.”

Chris blinks at you, clearly confused. He glances down at the box in his hands, then back at you. “Wait… what?”

You arch a brow. “You don’t need me for that part. Just use it and let me know how it holds up.”

Chris leans back slightly, exhaling through his nose. “I thought we agreed to keep this a secret.”

“We are,” you reply evenly. “Your sexual partner doesn’t have to know the condom you’re using.”

His eyes narrow slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought you and I were doing this together.”

“We are,” you say, nodding. “Just… not that way.”

Chris lets out a low sigh, tilting his head as he studies you. Then, after a pause, he says, “Isn’t it better if we do it together?”

Your stomach tightens, but you keep your expression neutral. “Chris—”

He leans in slightly, voice lowering. “That way, I can give you feedback right away. No outside variables. Just you and me.” His gaze lingers on yours, unreadable yet intense. “And this stays between us.”

You exhale sharply, trying to keep your composure. “Chris, that’s not how this works.”

Chris smirks, tilting his head. “Why not?” He taps the box of condoms against his palm, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re the researcher. I’m the participant. Wouldn’t it be more efficient if we tested it… together?”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms. “That’s not how clinical testing works.”

His smirk widens. “Oh? And what exactly is stopping you?” He leans in, his voice dropping just slightly. “Are you scared?”

Your jaw tightens. “I’m not scared.”

“Then why not?” His gaze flicks over you, studying your reaction. “You’ve already seen everything. Touched, even. What’s one more step?”

You scoff. “There are plenty of reasons why.”

Chris hums, pretending to think. “Is it because you’re not attracted to me?” His grin turns playful. “Because I don’t believe that.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

He leans even closer, just enough for you to catch the faintest scent of his cologne. “Or…” he murmurs, “is it because you are?”

That catches you off guard. His smirk deepens at your silence, clearly enjoying the way he has you cornered. You swallow, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact.

“It’s because we work together,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Chris lets out a low hum, tilting his head. “So it’s not because you don’t want to?”

You exhale sharply. “That’s not what I—”

He takes a slow step forward, closing the small space between you. “Because if that’s the only reason stopping you,” he murmurs, “then it’s not really a reason, is it?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Chris, workplace relationships are complicated.”

His smirk softens just slightly. “Who said anything about a relationship?”

You blink your eyes at him, nonplussed.

He chuckles at your reaction, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m just talking about product testing.” He lifts the box of condoms slightly, as if to emphasize his point. “Two consenting adults conducting a private experiment.”

You shake your head, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. “You’re relentless.”

Chris grins. “I just don’t like wasting good opportunities.” He taps the box against his palm again. “And you can’t tell me you’re not at least curious.”

Your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you—like he already knows the answer.

“Look,” he says, his voice softer now, more coaxing. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than product testing. No strings. No expectations. Just a controlled experiment.” He lifts the box of condoms slightly, as if to emphasize the professionalism of it all.

You let out a slow breath, glancing away. Every rational part of you is screaming that this is a bad idea, that this is crossing a line. But then there’s the way Chris is looking at you, the way your body still remembers the way he felt pressed against you in the bathroom, the way your curiosity is getting the better of you.

You press your lips together, weighing your options. “Just product testing,” you repeat, as if saying it out loud will make it less dangerous.

Chris nods, his expression unreadable. “Just product testing.”

Another beat of silence. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you slowly nod. “Okay.”

The corner of Chris’s mouth tugs upward, a slow, knowing smile. “Good.” He takes a step closer, his voice dropping just slightly. “Shall we begin?”

-

It's unclear how long you've been standing there, unsure on how to do this, or even to process that you, a researcher, are about to conduct a durability test on your product with your participant.

Chris watches you for a moment, then leans back on the bed, his legs slightly spread as he gestures toward you. “Take off the bathrobe,” he says, his voice smooth, assured. “Then sit next to me.”

Your fingers tighten around the edges of the fabric, hesitation gripping you, but you remind yourself—this is just a test. Just product testing.

Slowly and awkwardly, you untie the robe, letting it slip from your shoulders, revealing your body with your matching underwear covering your private bits. The cool air of the room prickles against your skin as you step toward the bed and lower yourself beside him. Your heart is pounding so loudly that you barely register the way Chris shifts, turning toward you.

A moment later, his hand reaches for your face, his fingertips grazing your cheek. Instinctively, you squeeze your eyes shut.

Chris chuckles, low and warm. “Why so nervous?” he teases, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “You’ve been so composed this whole time… but now?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is barely functioning. His touch is gentle as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his breath warm as he leans in. Your lips part slightly, bracing for a kiss—

But instead, he presses his lips to your closed eyelid. Your breath stutters, the unexpected tenderness sending a shiver down your spine. Then he moves, kissing the other eyelid, his lips soft and lingering.

A small sound escapes you before you can stop it, a quiet moan slipping from your parted lips and that’s when Chris takes the opening, tilting his head and capturing your mouth in a deep, heated kiss.

Chris deepens the kiss, his lips moving slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second. His hand drifts from your face, down the slope of your neck, skimming the curve of your shoulder before sliding further down. His fingers find the strap of your bra, tracing it lightly before slipping it off your shoulder.

Your breath catches as his other hand settles on your waist, warm and firm, grounding you even as your mind spins. He kisses you deeper, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing you further into the moment.

Then, with practiced ease, he reaches behind you, fingers deftly working the clasp of your bra. The fabric loosens, and he slowly pulls it away, his lips never leaving yours as he discards it to the side.

Chris shifts, guiding you backward onto the bed, his body following as he hovers over you. His hands smooth over your sides, his touch steady but unhurried, as if giving you time to stop him if you wanted to. But you don’t.

His fingers trail down to the waistband of your underwear, teasing along the edge before he hooks his fingers under the fabric. He pulls back just slightly, his dark eyes searching yours, silently asking for permission.

And when you give him the smallest nod, he slides them down, the slow drag of fabric sending a shiver up your spine. He discards them just as he did with your bra, then settles back over you, his body warm against yours.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze dark and intense, his lips slightly parted as if taking in the sight of you beneath him. Then he leans down again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your jaw, his lips trailing lower as his hands explore your body, mapping every inch of you. Your lips, your neck, your breasts and the way they fit his hands as if they were made for him. The dip of your waist and the curve of your hips, the ample flesh of your ass cheek. Then, there’s the miles and miles of soft skin, endlessly enthralling him.

Your body tenses beneath him, your hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders. “Chris, I don’t think you’ll fit,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat.

He stops, lifting his head to look at you, and for a brief moment, you catch the amusement flickering in his dark eyes. Then he lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers coming up to gently brush your cheek. “You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. “Just relax.”

His touch is warm, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. Then, with ease, he presses you back against the pillows, his weight hovering over you but not pressing down. He leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss—this time softer, slower, as if coaxing the tension out of you with every gentle movement.

His mouth leaves yours, traveling downward, leaving a heated trail along your jaw, your neck. His lips linger at your collarbone, pressing a kiss there before continuing lower. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver through you as he moves further down, his lips grazing the center of your chest, the valley between your breasts and then a quick lick on each of your hardening nipples.

You try to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible when he’s kissing down your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, feeling, exploring. He’s deliberate with every touch, every kiss, giving you time to ease into the moment.

“Mmh... You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice hushed, almost reverent. Then he continues, his mouth mapping a path further down, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.

Chris lingers at the curve of your hip, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your skin. His hands trail down your thighs, his touch both firm and teasing. You shudder as he parts them further, settling between them with an air of confidence that makes your pulse race.

He looks up at you through hooded eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Still nervous?” he asks, his voice husky.

You don’t answer—not because you don’t want to, but because the moment his lips press against your inner thigh, all coherent thoughts slip from your mind. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a ripple of anticipation through you.

Chris lands his plush lips on your cunt, his tongue skillfully part your folds so he can drown in your wetness. This time, his mouth moving in lazy, unhurried strokes. Every kiss, every brush of his full lips, sets your skin alight. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you still as he delves deeper, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate patterns that have your fingers digging into the sheets.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as he finds the right spot, his rhythm precise, purposeful. Your body arches instinctively, a rush of warmth flooding through you as the sensation builds. Chris hums against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure rolling through your body.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his tongue moving with a practiced ease that leaves you breathless. Your hand flies to his hair, gripping onto him as the pressure inside you coils tighter and tighter. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s relentless, determined to pull every last bit of pleasure from you.

Your head tilts back against the pillow, your lips parting on a shaky moan as your body gives in, waves of sensation crashing over you in a slow, intoxicating release. Chris doesn’t move away immediately—he lingers, pressing one last, lingering kiss against on your clit before finally pulling back, his hands smoothing up your trembling thighs.

He looks up at you, his lips glistening, a satisfied smirk curving them. “See?” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “Told you to relax.”

Chris hovers over you, his hand smoothing over your thigh as he positions himself at your entrance. His gaze drags over your body, dark and hooded with desire. He exhales a slow breath, his fingers tracing lazy circles into your skin.

“You’re right. You're so little,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice filled with something close to awe. His hands roam over your waist, your hips, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you beneath him.

Chris takes one look at his cock, making sure the condom is still snug around him before he gives it a few pumps as if it's not hard, stiff enough. He takes your legs and puts them over his waist as he positions himself in between.

The anticipation coils tight in your stomach as he slowly pushes forward, just the tip stretching you open, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips. A sudden twinge of discomfort has you clenching around him, your hands gripping onto his arms as you mewl softly in protest.

“Chris, I—” You can't even finish your sentence as the sudden sensation surges through you.

Chris stops immediately, his brows knitting together as he watches you, his fingers stroking soothingly along your thigh. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice gentle, “breathe.”

But even with just that little bit inside you, the feeling is overwhelming. A shiver runs down your spine as you try to adjust, your body tightening involuntarily. Your breaths come in shaky pants, heat blooming from where your bodies connect.

Chris watches you intently, eyes never leaving your face as he shifts slightly, and suddenly, a sharp pleasure shoots through you, unexpected and electric. Your back arches off the bed as a strangled moan escapes your lips, your body quivering around him. The pressure, the stretch—it’s too much, yet somehow, it sends a rush of pleasure so intense that your body trembles beneath him.

Chris stills, his expression flickering with surprise before it melts into amusement. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips as he watches the way you writhe beneath him, helpless against the sensation.

“You came just from that?” he muses, his thumb brushing over your hip in lazy circles. “That’s cute.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, embarrassment and lingering pleasure making your body feel even more sensitive. Chris chuckles softly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against your parted lips before whispering, “Guess we’ll have to take our time, won’t we?”

Chris stays still for a moment, his warmth pressed against your back as he lets you catch your breath. His arms tighten around you slightly, anchoring you to him as he presses a lingering kiss to the back of your shoulder. You’re still trembling, body sensitive and flushed from your sudden release.

He exhales softly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You okay?” His voice is low, gentle.

You nod, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. The feeling of him still inside you, filling you completely, makes you shudder.

Chris shifts behind you, adjusting the way he’s holding you. His arm is draped over your waist, fingers spread over your stomach, grounding you. His other hand smooths over your thigh, soothing, patient.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks, voice laced with restraint, as if he’s willing to stop if you say no.

To his surprise, you whisper, “Yes.”

A deep, quiet groan rumbles from his chest, and you feel his fingers flex against your skin. His lips press into the curve of your neck before he moves again, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. The stretch burns slightly, but the pleasure laced in it makes your breath hitch.

Chris moves carefully, his thrusts slow and deep, keeping you flush against him as he spoons you. His hand trails from your breasts, to your stomach, splaying over your skin as if he wants to feel every reaction, every tremor that ripples through you.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, voice breathless against your ear. His pace remains steady, each push and pull measured, sending waves of heat through your body.

Your hands grip onto his arm, holding onto him as pleasure coils low in your stomach once again. Every movement is intimate, every breath shared in the quiet space between you. Chris’s lips ghost over your shoulder, his soft grunts vibrating against your skin as he continues to move within you, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he can.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, pressed against him so completely, you find yourself lost in the way he makes you feel—like you were meant to fit together like this.

Chris’s breath is hot against your ear as he leans in, his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “Feels good,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing your skin. “Fits just right… but I think it could be thinner. Let me feel you more.”

His slow, deliberate thrusts send a shiver through you, your body tightening around him in response. He chuckles, the sound deep and breathless. “You like that, don’t you?” He presses a lingering kiss to your jaw, his hand gripping your hip to keep you steady as he rolls into you again, deeper this time.

You don’t answer, too lost in the pleasure unfurling inside you. Chris doesn’t mind. He continues to move, the tension building between you both. “Maybe I should test a few more,” he muses between ragged breaths, his voice laced with amusement. “Make sure we get it just right.”

His words make you whimper, and he groans in response. “You’re so cute moaning like that,” he breathes, his pace quickening as he nears his peak. His grip on you tightens, his movements becoming more desperate, more frantic. The coil in your stomach tightens, and before you know it, you’re coming again, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Chris groans against your neck, his hips stuttering as he follows right behind you. His grip on you never loosens, holding you close as he spills into the condom, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your breaths mingling. Chris presses a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder before shifting, turning you gently onto your back so he can look at you. His dark eyes flick over your face, taking in your dazed expression before he leans down, kissing you deeply.

When he pulls back, a smirk tugs at his lips. Then, he reaches for the duvet at the foot of the bed and carefully pulls it over both of you, tucking it around your bare body. The warmth is instant, but not nearly as comforting as the way he wraps himself around you right after.

His arms tighten around your waist, drawing you flush against his chest. His breath is warm against the back of your neck as he settles in, his lips barely grazing your skin. For a while, neither of you speak. The rise and fall of your breaths eventually sync, the exhaustion from the night settling into your limbs. Just as your eyes begin to flutter shut, his voice breaks the silence—low, drowsy, and laced with something softer than usual.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, the word barely more than a breath against your skin.

For a moment, you hesitate, but then, in the safety of the dimly lit room and the comfort of his arms, you whisper back, “Goodnight.”

Chris hums in contentment, tightening his hold just slightly before finally allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

-

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the hotel suite. Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you're disoriented—until the sound of running water brings everything back.

Chris is in the shower.

Your stomach tightens as memories from last night flood in, and instinct kicks in. You need to leave. Carefully, you slip out of bed, scanning the room for your clothes. But just as you reach for your bag, the bathroom door swings open, and there he stands—his hair damp, beads of water clinging to his toned skin, a white towel hanging dangerously low around his hips. You freeze in place.

Chris notices your reaction and grins. "Unless you want to walk out of the hotel naked, I don’t think you’re going anywhere."

Your brows furrow in confusion as he tilts his head toward the chair. "I sent your dress for dry cleaning."

Your lips part in disbelief. "You what?"

Chris walks up to you, holding out a plush bathrobe. “Relax. It'll be back soon.” He doesn’t just hand it to you—he steps closer, draping it over your shoulders and helping you slip your arms through the sleeves, his touch far too gentle for how casual he's acting.

"Go shower," he tells you, his voice softer now.

You hesitate but eventually nod, dragging yourself toward the bathroom. Just as you reach the doorway, he calls after you, "Better hurry. I ordered room service for breakfast."

Your body tenses at his words, but you say nothing. Instead, you step inside and shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment—just processing everything from last night to this very second.

The test, the sex, everything blurs into one and before you recall more memories from last night, you get into the shower in hope to wash it away.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries fills the suite as you step out of the bathroom, now wrapped in the bathrobe Chris gave you. He’s already seated at the small dining table by the window, scrolling through his phone while absentmindedly sipping from his cup. A full spread of breakfast is laid out—omelets, toast, fruit, and two cups of coffee.

Without a word, you take the seat across from him. He glances up briefly but doesn’t say anything, just pushes a plate toward you in a silent invitation to eat.

The quiet stretches between you, thick with unspoken thoughts. You focus on your food, taking small bites, though you barely taste anything. Chris, on the other hand, eats leisurely, like this is just another morning. Then, he finally breaks the silence.

“So,” he says, setting his fork down. “What’s your conclusion on the product test last night?”

You almost choke on your coffee. Your eyes dart to him, but his expression is unreadable, as if he’s genuinely asking for a professional evaluation. You hesitate, gripping your fork a little tighter.

"Well?" he presses, taking another sip of his coffee. "Did it pass?"

You clear your throat, setting your coffee cup down carefully. “I think… to be thorough, it’s better to run a few more tests.”

Chris quirks an eyebrow, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “A few more tests, huh?” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t expect you to be so dedicated to research.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s just proper procedure.”

“Proper procedure,” he repeats, his smirk widening. “You sure it’s just that? Because last night, it kinda seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

Your jaw tightens, and you stab a piece of fruit with your fork. “That’s not relevant to the study.”

Chris chuckles, clearly entertained. “Right, of course. All in the name of science.” He tilts his head slightly, his gaze locked onto you. “So, how many more ‘tests’ are we talking about? Two? Three? A full trial period?”

You sigh, exasperated. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Chris hums, taking another bite of his toast. “Well, just let me know. I’m happy to help.” His tone is casual, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flip.

You quickly focus on your breakfast, pretending not to notice the way he’s watching you.

Chris leisurely takes a sip of his coffee, playing it cool as he glances around the suite. “You know,” he muses, “I’m really liking this hotel. Feels… comfortable.” He leans back slightly, stretching his muscular arms before resting them on the table. “I think it’d be a great place to conduct another test.”

You pause mid-bite, eyes flickering up to him. He’s watching you, but his expression is unreadable—except for the slight curve of his lips. Then, he grins. “Maybe next weekend?”

You nearly choke on your food, quickly taking a sip of water to recover. “You’re already planning the next one?”

Chris shrugs, feigning innocence. “Just being proactive. You said it yourself—we need more tests for accuracy.” He lifts his coffee cup again, smirking over the rim. “And I wouldn’t want to let you down.”

You exhale sharply, placing your utensils down. “I haven’t even analyzed the results from last night.”

“Take your time,” he says easily, “but don’t overthink it too much.” He tilts his head, studying you. “Unless… you’re backing out?”

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how flustered you are. “I’ll let you know,” you say, keeping your voice even.

Chris chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “I’ll be waiting.”

-

Monday morning, you walk into work with an unusual lightness in your step. You try not to think too much about that night—about Chris, his touch, the way he whispered in your ear—but the memories flash unbidden in your mind, making your face warm. You force yourself to keep your expression neutral, not wanting to attract any suspicion. Especially from Jane.

Speaking of which… you realize she hasn’t come to bother you like usual. Curious, you make your way to her lab, where you find her hunched over her workstation, deeply focused.

“Hey,” you call out, stepping inside. “What’s got you so busy?”

Jane barely glances up before turning back to her notes. “I have to finish my reformulation today,” she says quickly. “Final presentation’s tomorrow, and if I don’t get this right, all my work’s going down the drain.”

You nod in understanding. The pressure of finalizing a product before launch is no joke, and seeing Jane—who’s usually so carefree—this stressed means she’s really cutting it close.

“You got this,” you tell her sincerely. “Good luck.”

She lets out a deep breath, finally pausing to give you a smirk. “I better. If I crash and burn, I’m dragging you down with me.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Noted.”

Back in your own lab, you try to push all thoughts of Chris aside and focus on your own work. But as you review your notes and the adjustments you’ve made to the product, an uncomfortable realization creeps in—you’re running out of time.

Jane’s stress reminds you that your own product is also in a critical stage. If she’s giving her final presentation tomorrow, that means your deadline isn’t far behind. You tap your pen against your clipboard, staring at the latest batch of data, and suddenly, the pressure starts to settle heavily on your shoulders.

You sigh and grab your phone, quickly sending an email to the team in charge of screening participants. A few minutes later, you receive a reply:

Final stage of screening participants. Will update once selection is complete.

You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly. Final stage. That means any day now, you’ll have another participant to help move this process forward—another participant who isn’t Chris. For some reason, that last thought lingers a little too long in your mind.

-

A few days later, Jane is a walking ball of stress, and unfortunately, it’s rubbing off on you.

She paces back and forth in the break room, arms crossed, her fingers tapping against her upper arm impatiently. “I don’t get it. They should’ve given me an answer by now,” she mutters before turning to you with a sharp look. “What if they hated it? What if they’re just trying to figure out a way to reject it without making me throw a fit?”

You sip your iced coffee, trying to keep your own anxiety in check. “If they hated it, they would’ve told you already,” you reason, though you understand her panic completely.

Jane groans and drops her head onto the table. “I can’t take this anymore. The waiting is worse than the presentation itself.”

You don’t say it out loud, but you completely agree. Because the uncertainty of your own project’s progress is starting to gnaw at you too. You haven’t received any updates on the new participant, and without that, you can’t finalize the product. And without a finalized product, you can’t meet your deadline.

You exhale and press your fingers against your temples, suddenly feeling the weight of everything piling up. “Your stress is contagious, you know that?” you mumble.

Jane lifts her head just enough to give you a weak smirk. “Misery loves company.”

Later that day, you get a message from Chris’s secretary, asking you to stop by his office. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should prepare yourself for whatever he has in store this time. But you shake off the thought and head over.

When you step inside, Chris is leaning back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, looking effortlessly good as usual. He grins when he sees you. “Hey, right on time,” he says, and you do as told, walking over to his desk.

“I wanted to let you know I’m available this weekend for the test,” he says, watching you closely.

You nod, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Okay. That works.”

Chris tilts his head, his grin faltering slightly. “That’s it? No excitement?”

You blink at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

His brow raises. “I don’t know… maybe something like ‘Great! Can’t wait!’” He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “What’s wrong with you today?”

You sigh and rub your temples. “I’m just stressed about my product. There’s still so much to do, and I don’t even know if I’ll have another participant before the deadline.”

Chris hums in thought, then leans back again. “Well, you’re doing your best, right?”

“I guess.”

He smirks. “That’s all that matters. Besides, I’m the one doing my best for you.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitches at his teasing. “Of course, how could I forget?”

Chris chuckles, pleased with himself. “Exactly. So stop stressing. I’ve got you.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, still feeling the weight of your stress pressing down on you. “You know… you could’ve just texted me about the test instead of calling me to your office.”

Chris scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk. “Yeah, I could’ve.”

You wait for him to continue, but he just looks at you like you should already know the answer. When you don’t say anything, he leans forward slightly, voice dropping a little.

“But I wanted to see you.”

His words catch you completely off guard, and you freeze for a second, unsure how to respond. He watches you closely, amused by your reaction.

Your mouth opens, then closes. You clear your throat, trying to brush off the sudden shift in atmosphere. “Well… you’ve seen me now,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze.

Chris chuckles. “Yeah, I have.” He tilts his head. “And?”

“And what?”

He grins. “Feel better?”

You scoff. “No.”

Chris just laughs at your flat response, shaking his head. “Liar.”

He leans back in his chair, still smirking as he watches you squirm under his gaze. “I think you do feel better,” he teases. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “If I’m stressed, I’m stressed. Seeing you doesn’t magically fix that.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Maybe not, but I bet it helps a little.”

You scoff, looking away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. The part you hate the most is because he’s not entirely wrong. Despite everything weighing on you, there’s something about his presence—his confidence, his teasing, the way he acts like he’s got everything under control—that makes you feel just a little lighter.

And that annoys you.

-

The hotel lobby is dimly lit, elegant but not overly extravagant. You step through the entrance, scanning the space until your eyes land on Chris, who’s waiting near the elevators. He’s dressed casually but polished—dark slacks, a fitted shirt with the top two buttons undone, looking unfairly good as usual.

Just as you take a step toward him, your phone buzzes in your bag. You fish it out and sigh when you see Jane’s name flashing on the screen. Pressing the phone to your ear, you barely manage a greeting before she starts rambling.

“I swear, if they don’t approve this formula, I’m quitting,” she huffs. “I mean, not really, but you get what I mean. I haven’t slept properly in three days, and I think I’m running on caffeine and pure delusion at this point.”

You let out a small laugh, even though the stress in her voice weighs on you. “It’ll be fine, Jane. You worked hard on it.”

“That’s what people say before something blows up in their face,” she groans. “Anyway, where are you? I need to rant.”

Panic flickers in your chest. You glance around, as if she could somehow see you through the phone. “Uh… just out,” you say vaguely. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

She huffs again. “Fine. But if I have a breakdown, it’s on you.”

You chuckle. “Duly noted.” Ending the call, you sigh, but the stress clings to you, the tension knotting in your shoulders refusing to ease.

You take a deep breath and walk toward Chris, who straightens when he sees you. He starts to say something, but before he can get a word out, you grab his face and kiss him.

Chris barely has time to react when you press your lips to his, the kiss sudden and hurried, almost desperate. His hands instinctively settle on your waist, grounding you for the few fleeting seconds before you pull away.

Your lips are still parted as you mutter, “Why don’t we just skip dinner and head upstairs?”

Chris blinks, momentarily surprised by your forwardness. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Someone’s eager tonight,” he muses, his voice low and teasing.

You huff, looking away. “I just—” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temple. “I'm just a little stressed.”

His expression softens slightly. “Ah.”

“It’s work. I'm stressed about work, and I just—I don’t know.” You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s like I can’t escape it.”

Chris tilts his head, studying you for a moment before his hand finds yours. “Then let’s go.”

You look at him questioningly.

He squeezes your hand. “Upstairs,” he clarifies. “Since that’s what you want.”

You nod, letting him lead you toward the elevators. As the doors close behind you, sealing you both away from the rest of the world, Chris turns to you, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“Want me to help you take your mind off work?” he asks, his voice rich with suggestion.

You swallow, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “Yes.”

-

The hotel suite door barely shuts behind you before Chris pulls you in, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. The kiss is deep, heated, and rushed—both of you hungry for each other. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer as you stumble toward the bed.

Chris’s hands slide down your back, finding the zipper of your dress and pulling it down in one swift motion. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you in your lingerie as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms. You gasp, arms looping around his neck as he carries you to the bed, laying you down gently against the plush sheets.

He kneels above you, his dark eyes drinking you in before he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he undoes them, his toned chest coming into view, and once the shirt is off, he tosses it aside without a second thought. Then, he leans in again, claiming your lips with his own, his body pressing against yours as the heat between you intensifies.

For a moment, the purpose of tonight is forgotten. There’s no product test, no work stress—just the two of you tangled together, lips moving in sync, hands wandering, breaths coming out in soft, desperate gasps.

Then, your fingers trail down his chest, lower and lower, until you feel the growing bulge beneath his pants. Chris groans softly against your lips, his body tensing slightly at your touch. That’s when reality crashes back into you.

You break the kiss slightly, your breaths mingling as you whisper, “Chris, the condom. In my bag.”

Chris hovers above you for a second, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a slow smirk, he leans in, brushing a teasing kiss against your lips before murmuring, “Yes, ma’am.”

He gets off the bed, heading toward where you left your bag, and as you watch him, heart racing, you can’t help but think—maybe this test is just an excuse now.

You watch as Chris retrieves the condom from your bag, his fingers expertly tearing open the wrapper. He steps out of his remaining clothes, his bare form illuminated by the dim hotel lighting. Your eyes are drawn downward, and despite having seen him before, the sheer size of him still makes your stomach flip. It’s intimidating—taunting, even—and the nerves creep up on you all over again.

Chris notices the way you tense, the way your thighs press together involuntarily. Rolling the condom over his length with practiced ease, he turns back to you, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

“You need to relax,” he murmurs, his voice smooth yet edged with something deeper, something almost reassuring.

He crawls back onto the bed, hovering over you once more, his hands running along your sides as if to coax the tension out of your body. “You’re overthinking it,” he adds, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw, then another just below your ear.

Your breath hitches when his lips trail lower, down your neck, his touch slow and deliberate. It’s almost distracting enough to make you forget your nerves—almost. But when he settles between your legs, his gaze locking onto yours, the anticipation coils tightly in your stomach once more.

Chris smirks, tilting his head. “You trust me, don’t you?”

And the way he asks it—soft, teasing, but with a glimmer of something genuine—makes your heart skip.

His hands roam your body with a deliberate slowness, his fingertips tracing the curves of your waist, the dip of your stomach, the softness of your thighs. Each touch is meant to ease the tension out of you, to replace your nerves with something warmer, something deeper.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone. “So soft… so perfect.”

His voice is a lull, smoothing over your anxiety like silk. He drags his mouth lower, his breath fanning across your skin as he continues whispering praises—how good you feel, how much he likes touching you, how you have no idea what you do to him.

You shudder beneath him, your body instinctively responding to his words, his touch. The tension in your muscles slowly unravels, and Chris pulls back just enough to take in the sight of you. His gaze sweeps over your bare form, dark and heavy with admiration. He doesn’t rush. He just looks.

“Gosh,” he breathes out, a slow grin forming on his lips. “I could look at you all night.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch, heat rising in your cheeks. He leans in again, his hands framing your face as he brushes his lips over yours.

“You okay now?” he asks, voice low, his forehead resting against yours.

And maybe it’s the way he’s holding you, or the way he’s looking at you like you’re something precious—but you find yourself nodding, your nerves fading into something else entirely.

Chris’s fingers trail down your body with deliberate slowness, his touch igniting warmth everywhere he grazes. His lips brush against your ear as his fingers tease along your inner thigh, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re already trembling,” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement and something deeper—something that makes your stomach tighten. “Are you nervous or just impatient?”

You don’t answer, not when his fingers finally slip between your legs, parting you with ease and easily finds your clit as it pulsates with each gentle rub. He does it for a long moment, waiting until you're wet enough for him to slip his two fingers inside you. A soft gasp escapes before you can stop it, and Chris hums in approval, pressing a lingering kiss just below your jaw.

“You always take me so well,” he whispers, his fingers moving in slow, calculated pumps that make your toes curl. “And you’re already clenching around me… How do you think you’ll handle me when I’m actually inside you?”

The words alone send heat rushing through you, but it’s the way he says them—low and coaxing, like he’s savoring every reaction you give him. You turn your face into his shoulder, gripping onto him as if grounding yourself, but Chris only chuckles.

“Don’t hide from me,” he coaxes, shifting so he can watch your face. “I want to see everything.”

He curls his fingers inside to get to your sensitive spot, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, and your breath stutters. Chris smiles against your cheek, his voice softer now, gentler.

“Just relax,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your body tightens around his fingers as the pleasure builds, your breath hitching with every precise movement of his hand. Chris watches you intently, his dark eyes flickering with something both possessive and admiring as he feels you getting closer.

"That's it," he whispers, his lips grazing your temple. "You’re so good for me."

His thumb circles your clit just right, and the tension in your body unravels all at once. A sharp cry slips from your lips as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling in his arms. Chris doesn’t stop right away—he works you through it, dragging out every last wave until you're gasping, your fingers digging into his shoulders for stability.

When you finally go limp against him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his voice warm and full of praise. "So beautiful when you come around my fingers like that," he murmurs, his fingers slipping away only to trail soothingly along your thigh.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. "Think you’re ready for me now?" he asks, a teasing grin playing at his lips.

Despite his words, he gives you a moment to climb down your high, touching you, kissing you, keeping you heated just enough for the next one.

When he deems you're ready, he settles himself between your legs and take another moment to warm you up, sliding his cock between your folds, intentionally lubricating it with your essence.

The moment he starts to push his cock into your entrance, you whimper, your fingers gripping the sheets. He stills immediately, his brows furrowing.

“Still hurts?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, tinted with concern.

You shake your head instinctively, but he isn’t convinced. His large hands massage your hips soothingly, and for a moment, he just stays there, warm and solid against you. Then, as if making a decision, he leans down, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades before murmuring against your skin, “There’s more than one way to do this.”

Before you can ask what he means, he shifts, gently guiding you onto your stomach. His hands coax your legs together, and then you feel it—his length settling between your thighs, snug and heavy. He lets out a low hum of approval as he starts a slow, deliberate movement, sliding his cock against you, the condom still doing its job.

“This works just fine for the test,” he says, a smirk evident in his voice. “No need for penetration.”

The new sensation sends a shiver through you. His body is warm against your back, his arms caging you in as he moves, taking his time. His above average cock allowing him to hit your clit for every time he thrusts forward. Every deliberate stroke of his tip on your clit has you squirming, and when he presses his lips to your ear, his breath hot, he whispers, “You feel so good like this… almost better than the real thing.”

His hands grip your waist, guiding you to match his rhythm, and before you know it, the tension in your body builds again. The sensation overwhelms you, and with one final push of pleasure, you come undone beneath him, trembling as the feeling washes over you. Chris lets out a low groan, his own release following moments after.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as your breathing evens out, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything else disappears.

Chris lets out a content sigh, his grip on you loosening slightly as he shifts onto his side, still keeping you close. He presses a lazy kiss against the back of your shoulder before murmuring, “Well, I gotta say, the condom held up pretty well.”

You blink in confusion, still trying to come down from your high. “What?”

He chuckles, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you. “You know… the test? The whole reason we’re here?” His smirk deepens when you don’t respond right away. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

Heat rushes to your face as you realize he’s right. You were so caught up in the moment, in him, that you completely forgot this was supposed to be about work. You scowl at his teasing tone, but Chris only grins wider.

“That’s cute,” he muses, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re really slacking as a researcher, you know? Getting too distracted by your test subject.”

You groan, pushing at his chest, but he just laughs, rolling onto his back with a smug expression. “Don’t worry,” he says, stretching his arms over his head. “We can always run more tests. Just to be thorough.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you know you’re in trouble—because a part of you is already considering it.

Chris stretches his arms behind his head, still lounging in the bed with that smug expression. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Should we order some room service?”

You hesitate, still tangled in the sheets, still feeling the lingering heat between you. But the idea of food is tempting, and you nod. “Yeah… okay.”

Chris grins, reaching for the hotel’s menu on the nightstand. “Good. I was gonna order anyway, but I figured I’d be polite and ask.”

You scoff but let it slide, watching as he casually flips through the options. He orders for both of you without asking what you want, but somehow, he picks exactly what you would have chosen.

When the food arrives, the two of you settle onto the couch, eating in comfortable silence for a while. The tension from earlier has softened into something almost… normal. Like this is just another dinner, another night spent together. Then, as you poke at your plate, you find yourself speaking without really thinking. “Thanks, by the way.”

Chris glances up from his food. “For what?”

You shift slightly, feeling a little awkward. “For earlier. For not… pushing it when I said it hurt.”

Chris leans back, setting his fork down. He studies you for a moment before giving a small shrug. “I told you before, didn’t I? I wasn’t gonna do anything you weren’t ready for.”

You swallow, feeling something tighten in your chest.

Chris smirks, sensing the shift in your expression. “What? Surprised I’m a decent guy?”

You roll your eyes. “A little.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You wound me.” But there’s something softer in his eyes now, something that makes you look away before he can read too much into your expression.

Chris doesn’t push. Instead, he just picks up his fork again, casually adding, “Guess that means we’ll just have to try again next time.”

Your stomach flips. “Next time?”

Chris just grins. “Unless you’re saying the test is complete?”

You don’t answer, and his smirk widens as he takes another bite of his food.

-

The morning sunlight filters through the hotel suite’s curtains as you fasten the last button of your blouse, trying to ignore the way Chris watches you from across the room. He’s standing by the dresser, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt, looking far too put together for someone who spent the night in a hotel bed with you.

"You’re quiet this morning," he comments, slipping on his watch.

You smooth down the hem of your dress, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. "Just thinking about work."

He looks relaxed—too relaxed, considering the nature of your conversation.

"So," he says, tapping the fork against his thigh, "how are you planning to refine the product?"

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus. "I need to get more participant feedback, obviously. We’ve tested the fit, but durability and performance still need more trials."

Chris hums in acknowledgment, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. "And how do I rank as a participant?"

You shoot him a look, trying not to let the memory of the night’s events creep back into your mind. "You're… useful," you answer carefully.

He chuckles at that. "Just useful? After everything?"

You press your lips together, ignoring his teasing tone. "I mean it, Chris. But I need more participants for a thorough evaluation."

At that, his amusement fades slightly. He sits up straighter, turning toward you. "More participants, huh?"

You nod, scribbling something in your notebook to avoid looking at him. "It’s necessary for better data."

Chris is quiet for a moment, then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warmth. "I get it," he says, voice softer now. "Just don’t forget who was here first."

You finally glance up at him, and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip. There’s something unreadable in his expression—not quite jealousy, but not far from it either.

You swallow. "Of course not."

A small smirk tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, he nudges your knee with his. "So, should I clear my schedule for next weekend?"

You exhale, shaking your head. "I’ll let you know."

Chris grins, leaning back onto his elbows. "Can’t wait."

You roll your eyes, not indulging him with an answer. Instead, you head toward the door, but just as you reach for the handle, Chris beats you to it, leaning down slightly.

"Leaving without a goodbye?" he teases, voice low.

You glance at him, hesitating for half a second before sighing. "Goodbye, Chris."

As you walk down the quiet hotel corridor, your thoughts swirl between the pressure of finalizing your product and the undeniable truth that you still need more data. More tests.

You tighten your grip on your bag, exhaling sharply. That’s what this is about—work. Research. A product that needs to be perfected before it can move forward.

And yet, as you recall the way Chris looked at you before you left, the way he smirked at the idea of "more participants," a different kind of tension settles in your chest.

Finalizing your product soon is the goal. But a small, dangerous part of you wonders if maybe… just maybe… you’re not quite ready to be done with the testing phase.

-

As you're walking through the office hallway, your mind is still clouded with the remnants of the weekend—Chris’s touch, his whispered praises, the way he held you close even after everything was over. Every time you close your eyes, flashes of that night play in your head, making warmth creep up your neck. You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it as you step into your lab, determined to focus on work. But the moment you walk in, you freeze.

There’s a man already inside, leaning lazily against the counter, his posture relaxed yet confident, like he’s been waiting for you. The overhead lights cast sharp angles on his sharp jawline, his lips curled into a smirk that feels almost too self-assured. He straightens when he sees you, his eyes—dark, playful—sweeping over you in quiet amusement.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he steps forward. "Finally," he drawls, his voice smooth, almost teasing. "I was starting to think I had the wrong lab."

You blink, caught off guard. He doesn’t look like he belongs here—his presence too bold, too magnetic for the clinical atmosphere of your workspace. "I'm sorry but who are you?" you ask, wary.

He stops just a breath away, the distance between you charged with something you can’t quite place. Then, with a cocky tilt of his head, he offers his hand.

"Han Jisung," he introduces himself, his smirk widening as his fingers brush against yours. "Your new test participant."

Your stomach drops and for a second, all you can do is stare.

"Looks like we’ll be working pretty closely together," he adds, voice dripping with amusement. "I hope you're ready for me."

And just like that, your carefully maintained world tilts off its axis.

-

The second chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page. ✨

Support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @drhsthl @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo @inlovewithstraykids @eastjonowhere @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @angstraykids @lenfilms @modesttiger @inniesfanblog @multi-fandommaniac @ebnabi

[theprivatewolf]

Taxes In UAE For Foreigners: Everything You Need To Know

The United Arab Emirates (UAE) is known for its dynamic business environment, luxurious lifestyle, and tax advantages. For foreigners looking to work, invest, or set up businesses in the UAE, understanding the country’s tax system is crucial. In this guide, we will explore the ins and outs of taxes in the UAE for foreigners.

Basic Overview of the UAE Tax System

The UAE operates on a territorial tax system, which means that taxes are imposed only on activities that occur within the country’s borders. This tax system has several key components:

No Personal Income Tax: Individuals in the UAE, including foreigners, are not subject to personal income tax. This is a significant advantage for expatriates.

No Capital Gains Tax: There is no tax on capital gains in the UAE, making it an attractive destination for investors.

No Inheritance Tax: The UAE does not impose inheritance tax on the transfer of assets upon a person’s demise.

Income Tax in UAE for Foreigners

As mentioned, there is no personal income tax for individuals in the UAE. This means that foreign workers can enjoy their earnings without the burden of income tax deductions, allowing them to save more of their income.

VAT in UAE

The UAE introduced Value Added Tax (VAT) in 2018. Currently set at 5%, VAT applies to most goods and services, but there are several exceptions, including essential food items, healthcare services, and education. Businesses with an annual turnover exceeding the mandatory threshold must register for VAT.

Other Indirect Taxes Foreigners Should Be Aware Of

In addition to VAT, the UAE imposes excise taxes on specific goods, such as tobacco products and sugary drinks. Understanding these taxes is essential, as they can significantly affect the cost of certain items.

Tax Obligations for Foreign Companies

Foreign companies operating in the UAE should be aware of the following tax obligations:

Corporate Income Tax: As of now, the UAE does not impose corporate income tax on businesses, which is advantageous for foreign companies operating in the country.

Withholding Tax: The UAE generally does not impose withholding tax on dividends, interest, or royalties, but it’s essential to review the specifics of tax treaties between the UAE and your home country.

Tax-Free Zones for Foreign Businesses

The UAE offers various free zones designed to attract foreign investment. Companies registered in these zones can benefit from 100% foreign ownership, no import or export duties, and no personal income tax for employees. Some of the popular free zones include Dubai Multi Commodities Centre (DMCC), Jebel Ali Free Zone (JAFZA), and Abu Dhabi Global Market (ADGM).

Navigating the UAE Tax Landscape

Navigating the UAE tax landscape can be complex, especially for foreign businesses and investors. It’s advisable to seek professional guidance from tax advisors and consultants who are well-versed in UAE tax regulations. This will help ensure that you comply with all obligations and take full advantage of the tax benefits the UAE has to offer.

In summary, the UAE’s tax system is highly favorable for foreigners. With no personal income tax, a reasonable VAT rate, and numerous tax-free zones, it’s a prime destination for expatriates, entrepreneurs, and investors looking to make the most of their earnings and business opportunities. However, staying informed about tax regulations and consulting experts is essential to make the most of the UAE’s tax advantages.

M.Hussnain

Private Wolf facebook Instagram Twitter Linkedin

[ice-creamforbreakfast]

lmao a $42 tutorial to make CC...

ANYHOO:

Requirements You will need: Sims 4 Studio Photoshop (however you choose to acquire it), or an alternative DDS Plugin (unless you choose to save files as PNGs) Blender (any version between 2.76 and 4.3 - I use 3.3) The Basics

Recolours and Textures

The easiest thing to start with is a recolour. If you have some knowledge of photo editing software, this should be fairly straightforward, but if you’re new to it, the following tutorial covers it well: Recolouring Tutorial - Softpine

If you’re feeling confident with your recolours, but want to add a little extra to your textures, it’s worth checking out specular and normal files.

Speculars are my favourite thing for elevating CC (by that I mean covering it in glitter and sequins). This tutorial covers the basics:

Speculars - Teanmoon

Normal maps (bumpmaps) are a little different. They can give a 3d texture to an item without altering the mesh (within reason). Teanmoon also has a tutorial on that:

The Bump Map - Teanmoon

If you’re feeling extra (I know I often do), you can use emission maps to make your item glow and/or flash/twinkle.

Get to know emission the map - S4S

Meshing

Meshing is a little more complicated (or perhaps not, depending on what your strengths are. I recommend starting with the Blender Donut Tutorial (pick the one that matches your Blender version) to familiarise yourself with Blender. I didn’t do this. I went in raw from using Milkshape for over a decade (don’t start me on Milkshape lol) I would have learned faster if I did…

Once you’ve navigated the majestic plate of donuts, you might be ready for a touch of frankenmeshing! This tutorial covers the basics really well, as well as a touch of texturing:

How to Make CC Clothing for The Sims 4 - Powluna

@joliebean also has some great tutorials covering some of the more technical details.

Going forward:

So you’re feeling confident and want to mesh from scratch! There are 3980193890381 CC creators and a limited pool of meshes to frankenmesh, so you may want to create something new. Trust me, start with earrings and work your way down from there.

For the alpha girlies:

Start to Finish Marvelous Designer Tutorial by owlplumbob

I'm also happy to answer any questions people might have as they're starting out. I don't know everything, nor am I one of the top-tier CC creating girlies by a long shot, but I'll do what I can and try to sign post if I don't know.

[ateliersss]

TOP GUN #2

…is part of The Bookshelf.

⇨ This is a collection of my favorite fanfics/oneshots on Tumblr I love to re-read once in a while. None of those works belong to me! Feel free to use it as well.

⇨ My own works are here

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Left at the Altar Summary: When you get left at the altar, a familiar face swoops in to save the day.

Can't Let You Go Summary: When you and Jake broke up, it hurt both of you more than you could handle. Now, after three months of barely seeing or speaking to one another, Jake walks in on the surprise of seeing you in a wedding dress, and it brings past memories and ruined dreams to the surface.

Wanting It All Summary: Hangman ends up in the hospital from a very similar Phoenix/Bob/birds situation, and you suddenly regret keeping a big secret from him.  

Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts Summary: You and Jake had a history of flirting and occasionally kissing if too much time was spent at the bar, but it never went any further than that. One night, after showing up at your house and passing out on your couch, Jake wakes up the next morning only to learn he had drunkenly confessed his feelings for you.

Less Misery, More Company Summary: Jake has feelings for you but you don’t believe it, so you play a little trick to get back at him for all of his flirtatious teasing. But that little trick fails miserably, and as the weight of your mistake settles in, you realize you owe him an explanation, one that requires you to admit some things you’ve long denied.

Scrapes and Bruises Summary: Basically, Rooster is not thrilled about your relationship with Hangman, and their issues with one another bring up some fears of your own.

Good in Bed Summary: Jake has made it crystal clear to you that you're only friends with benefits, so why did he go and delete your dating apps?

Cross Summary: The four times you captured Jake Seresin’s attention and the one time he did something about it.

There's a Honey Summary: 3 times your aunt penny sees herself and maverick in your relationship with jake and 1 time she doesn’t.

So Funny Story (I'm Fucking Your Daughter) Summary: You've had a thing with Jake for a while now. The thing is, your dad doesn't know and your brother is desperate for you to tell him.

All You Had To Do Was Stay Summary: Six years ago Jake hit your life like a hurricane. In and out in a matter of weeks. You thought after you get over the disappointment of him leaving without saying a word you’d never think of him again. But then two pink lines change your life forever. Now he’s back and still has no idea that the little girl by your side is his daughter.

Revelation

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Three Generations Summary: Rooster is married. Maverick found out when the paperwork got filed with the Navy, but he doesn’t have a chance to ask Rooster about it until after the mission

Endings and Beginnings Part 1, Part 2 Summary: It's Maverick's retirement party but Rooster's far more concerned about you, his pregnant wife, than anything else.

Wrong Number Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

Robert "Bob" Floyd

Only Love Can Hurt Like This Summary: Bob lost his fiancé in a dog fight and goes through the grieving process. Eventually he learns to move on but then everything he thought he knew was a lie, including the fact that Y/N had died on that mission.

All Fun & Games Summary: Returning to San Diego was just another assignment for you. Another step in the career path, full steam ahead, until you come to an obstacle in the road. Usually, you’d navigate around it, keep on going, but this is no normal obstacle. It might be enough to reroute you completely.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Part of Three Summary: Reader is Maverick's sister, dating Iceman, and finds out she's pregnant.

Scared Summary: A fight between you and your fiancé spirals out of control.

Get Your Girl

Tom Is Finer

[marticoresims]

USEFUL SOFTWARE FOR THE SIMS 2

This is a list of programs that will make your life easier if you're an avid Sims 2 player. Click on program titles to get download links.

SimPE The most known software for The Sims 2 that lets you edit package files. You can do basic stuff like rename a Sim, change family name, edit Sims' genetics as well as edit/create mods. Don't use if you have no idea what you're doing, watch a tutorial first or back up your neighborhood beforehand in case you mess something up! The newest version also has a terrain editor.

Sims2Pack Clean Installer The best program for installing downloaded lots and Sims. Those don't just go into Downloads, you need to install them!

Hood Checker This program checks neighborhood references and can clean out ones that are broken. Also useful for bringing back lost graves (it's still good to have NoUnlinkOnDelete).

HCDU Plus The Hack Conflict Detector Utility lets you scan your Downloads folder to check if you have any mods that edit the same aspect of the game, so can potentially be in conflict. Also useful to navigate which mods load first (load order is important for some mods to work).

What Caused This When you have 'testingcheats' on, the game gives you error messages if there's something going on. Not all of them mean there's a serious problem, but What Caused This can help you navigate what the source is. Upload the log file (Documents/EA/TS2/Logs) in the program, give it your Downloads folder and it will scan it to look for the culprit. Might give you straighforward information on which mod conflict caused the issue or that you lack Smarter EP Check for a mod that requires it.

The Compressorizer You can compress your Downloads to take up less space.

Delphy's Download Organiser You can filter your files to a certain category, scan for orphans (files that don't fully work if other files are missing, such as meshes), duplicates, and clean up your Downloads folder in an easier way than trying to track it inside the folder manually.

Outfit Organiser You downloaded CC clothes that the creator marked as outerwear but you think they don't fit in that category? With this program you can quickly change that! It's also doable in SimPE, but Outfit Organiser is a lot easier to use.

CPack Editor If you want to make plastic surgery genetic, there's no need to do it manually in SimPE, especially if it's more than one Sim. In CPack Editor, you just choose your neighborhood's folder, run the program, and it changes ALL surgery faces in that neighborhood to genetic!

Lot Adjuster This program lets you edit already existing lots. If you want a smaller or bigger lot than possible in-game, you can do it here! Also great for creating pavilions or row houses that are all separate lots, as you can get rid of the 2-tile border separating buildings by making the lots smaller and copying them.

[flowersforthemachines]

Giving your Rook a custom name for the subtitles in 5 minutes - A modding tutorial

The tutorial is also available on Nexusmods as a PDF-file, and as a Google Doc.

Hidden under the read more for length, but it's actually super easy! Anyone can do it following instructions, I promise!

The guide assumes you’ve already installed Frosty Mod Editor, so I won’t be covering its basic set-up. If it’s your first time using the Editor, please refer to this guide by Gabbet. Gabbet's guide may look somewhat intimidating, but to prepare for my tutorial, you’ll only need its “Frosty Editor Download & Installation” section.

Open the Mod Editor and navigate to View >> Localized String Editor

2. Once you open the Localized String Editor, click on the leftmost column inside it, input the following string ID: "0002F709" (without the "") and press Enter. It should display one search result that says “Rook”. 

3. Click on the line in the search results to make it appear in the column to the right. There, erase “Rook” and type in your custom name using your keyboard. In this tutorial, I’m using “Ghilasara” as an example. 

4. Once you finish typing your custom name, click “Update” to save the result.

That will refresh the line’s contents in the search results.

You’ve made all the necessary edits, and your mod is now ready to be exported :) 

5. In the Editor’s main window, click on File > Export to Mod

Feel free to fill in the contents of the pop-up window as you see fit. Note that the first line, “Title” will be the name under which your mod displays in the Mod Manager. I named mine “Rook to Ghilsara” to make it easy to find in case I need to remove it or turn it off. 

And, that’s that! All you have left to do is to import your mod into the Mod Manager. 

[dearjoons]

🗝️ SLYTHERIN!JIMIN HEADCANNONS

warnings: hogwarts/harry potter AU. golden trio era. he’s basically draco malfoy if he had a little decorum.

lulu speaks: anon thank you SO FUCKING MUCH for this idea. i was planning on doing smth like this but thought no one would match my freak. ily.

✦ slytherin!jimin who strides through the halls with his robes perfectly ironed and tailored, but his tie slightly loose because rules are for everyone else.

✦ slytherin!jimin who is both a prefect and head boy of slytherin—and mentions it every waking moment of the day.

✦ slytherin!jimin who is the slytherin quidditch team captain, and possibly the best catcher in hogwarts. he takes that title seriously.

✦ slytherin!jimin who is unnecessarily aware of school drama. call him gretchen weiners because he knows everything about everyone. he doesn’t feed into it or spread the rumors; he just files it for strategic use (aka blackmail)

✦ slytherin!jimin who is a pure blood heir, coming from a long line of dedicated and wealthy wizards—but his mother is a half-blood. no one knows that but him. he’d never tell a soul. which is also part of the reason why he has a secret soft spot for non-pureblooded students.

✦ slytherin!jimin who rolls his eyes and calls people either “insufferable” or “pathetic” like he were getting paid.

✦ slytherin!jimin who is SO annoyed at himself when he starts crushing at you. basically disgusted. he’s like, “this is ridiculous” and then proceeds to think about you for the next 4 hours.

✦ slytherin!jimin who will scoff when he walks past you, but secretly wards your bed with silent protection charms. just because.

✦ slytherin!jimin who hexes any boy who talks to you for too long. but, like…elegantly. swishes his wand around and smirks when he sees the consequences of his actions unfold.

✦ slytherin!jimin who angrily scribbles on his parchment about how much he hates you. the ink’s all blotted and his eyebrows are knotted together—the sentences are short and cold, signed with a “— J” at the end.

lulu speaks pt2: again y’all, i’m sorry this is so short but i never got this out and u guys deserve it ☹️ i hope i did this ask justice bc i genuinely love this idea

masterlist. navigation.

[amethystarachnid]

Hi!! I hope you’re doing well 🥰

I had an idea for the Marvel Multiverse Reality Show AU with Tony x F!Personal Assistant Reader (if you’re willing to write it?).

Maybe after just announcing he’s Iron Man, he’s agreed to have a reality show about himself called “The Stark Reality” (because we know this man LOVES attention and it’s a good play on words 🤭). He welcomes the crew in and it shows the world about his daily life, his iron man life, maybe his playboy life etc etc. Throughout filming his reality show, he has many interactions with his personal assistant on screen. Fans watching begin speculating on their relationship together, which after a while leads to an awkward yet sweet realization between the two. His PA definitely has feeling for her boss, but much to her surprise he’s had those same feelings too. It’s sweet when they come to the realization together, but it’s incredibly awkward when they realize the cameras had been secretly filming their sweet moment entire time 😵‍💫

I hope it makes sense lol. Thanks for taking the time to even read this! 🫶🏻

THE STARK REALITY (SHOW)

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): lack of privacy because they are in a reality show

ᯓ★ part 2

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The camera crew files into the mansion, wide-eyed and slightly overwhelmed, their equipment catching the gleam of expensive decor and cutting-edge technology. The grand entrance of the Stark estate is exactly as the world imagines—opulent, excessive, and bathed in the golden glow of wealth. The moment the director calls for the first shot, Tony Stark is already in the center of it all, perfectly at ease in the limelight.

“Welcome to The Stark Reality!” he announces, arms thrown wide, that signature smirk plastered across his face. “A reality show about a billionaire, genius, ex-weapons manufacturer, and recently announced superhero. Also known as me.” He winks directly at the camera. “You’re welcome, world.”

The camera crew shifts to follow him as he walks deeper into the house, narrating as he goes. He gestures to the extravagant living space, to the sleek glass walls revealing a sprawling Malibu view, to the open bar already stocked with expensive bottles. It’s all part of the spectacle, but then again, so is he.

And then there’s you.

You linger just outside the frame, tablet in hand, lips pressed together in a straight line. You’ve been Tony’s assistant for years now, navigating his unpredictable whims, his extravagant lifestyle, and now, apparently, his newfound interest in reality television. You should’ve seen this coming. The man loves an audience.

He turns suddenly, catching you off guard. “And this,” he says, beckoning you over, “is my lovely, brilliant, long-suffering personal assistant.”

The camera swings toward you, and you resist the urge to sigh. Instead, you school your features into something passably professional, giving the crew a tight smile.

“Hi,” you say simply.

Tony raises a brow, clearly unimpressed with your lack of enthusiasm. “Come on, give ‘em something. These people are here for entertainment.”

You don’t miss the way he leans in slightly, mischief dancing in his eyes. He loves doing this—pulling you into his orbit, pushing at your composure just to see if you’ll break.

You tilt your head, tapping your tablet. “Would you like me to list your meetings for the day or just summarize the number of ways this reality show is going to be a logistical nightmare?”

He grins. “See? She’s got personality. And she keeps me on schedule, which is an almost impossible task, so she’s basically a superhero in her own right.”

“I don’t have time to save the world,” you say dryly. “I’m too busy saving you from yourself.”

The crew chuckles, and Tony places a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Ouch. And yet, true.”

The filming continues as Tony moves through his morning routine—or rather, what he claims is his routine but is obviously exaggerated for the cameras. He lounges dramatically on his couch, sipping a green smoothie he wouldn’t drink on a normal day. He shows off the in-house gym he rarely uses because, as he puts it, “Why sweat when you have a suit of armor that does all the heavy lifting?”

Still, he’s in his element. The camera loves him, and he loves it right back.

Throughout the day, the crew captures glimpses of what it’s like to work for Tony Stark—organized chaos at best. You’re constantly in motion, fielding calls, managing his schedule, and dodging his playful antics.

At one point, you’re briefing him about an upcoming meeting when he suddenly cuts you off.

“Hold that thought,” he says, turning toward the camera with an exaggerated look of excitement. “This is the part where I ignore my assistant’s very important words and do something reckless.”

You let out a slow breath, eyes closing for a brief second. “Please don’t.”

Too late. He’s already bolting toward his workshop, the crew scrambling to keep up.

The rest of the day follows suit, a whirlwind of Tony being Tony—charming, infuriating, and completely impossible. The world wanted a peek into his life, and now they’re getting it. But beneath all the theatrics, the cameras capture something else too—those little moments where he looks at you just a beat too long, the way he teases you not just for the show, but because he enjoys it.

And maybe you enjoy it too.

The days of filming blur together in a chaotic, camera-filled whirlwind. Tony adapts quickly, thriving under the constant attention, but for you, it’s an adjustment. You’re used to managing him behind the scenes, not under the watchful eyes of millions who will dissect every interaction, every glance, every word exchanged between you.

And dissect they do.

At first, the comments from fans are lighthearted.

"Wow, Tony’s assistant is a saint. How does she put up with him?"

"The way he looks at her though?? I’d die for a man to look at me like that."

"There’s no way they haven’t at least kissed before. The chemistry is insane."

You ignore it. It’s just the internet being the internet. But as the show airs more episodes, the speculation doesn’t just continue—it grows. Entire compilations pop up online, showing moments between you and Tony that seem insignificant alone but, when stitched together, tell a different story.

One of those moments happens late one night when the cameras are supposed to be off.

It’s past midnight, and most of the crew has packed up for the day, but you’re still in the workshop, scrolling through Tony’s calendar on your tablet. He’s at his workbench, eyes locked on whatever latest modification he’s making to the suit. It’s quiet, comfortable. Just the two of you.

“You should go to bed,” he murmurs without looking up.

“You should take your own advice,” you counter.

A smirk tugs at his lips, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours. “I will if you will.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “I have too much to do.”

“So do I.” He gestures vaguely at the half-finished repulsor in front of him. “But unlike you, I am my own boss and can ignore my responsibilities.”

You huff out a laugh, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “You ignore them whether you’re your own boss or not.”

His smirk widens. “Exactly. Now sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sit?”

“Yeah.” He pats the empty stool beside him. “You’re making me nervous, standing there all tense. Come on, take a load off.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give in, sliding onto the stool next to him. He’s still looking at you, and now that you’re closer, you notice the exhaustion tugging at the edges of his expression. It’s rare to see him without the armor of his usual bravado.

“Long day?” you ask softly.

He hums, rolling his shoulders. “Something like that.”

Without thinking, you reach out and press your fingers against a knot in his shoulder, kneading gently. He freezes for a fraction of a second, then exhales, melting slightly under your touch.

“Oh,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “That’s dangerous.”

Your fingers still. “What is?”

He turns his head slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “Letting you know that feels good. You might start using it as leverage.”

You roll your eyes but keep massaging the tension from his shoulder. “Please. Like I don’t already have enough leverage on you.”

His lips quirk up in amusement, and for a while, neither of you say anything. The quiet hum of the workshop fills the space, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips grounding you. It’s easy to forget the world outside of moments like this.

What neither of you realize is that one of the smaller cameras in the corner of the workshop—the one meant to capture footage of his tech for the show—was never turned off.

When the footage airs, the internet explodes.

"GUYS, I AM LITERALLY GONNA SCREAM. Did you see the way he just let her touch him like that? He was SOFT for her. I can’t do this."

"No but the way she just casually massages him like it’s normal… THEY’RE IN LOVE."

"I don’t even care if they say they’re not together, the EYE CONTACT says otherwise."

Tony, of course, loves the reactions.

“People are calling me soft,” he says one morning, shoving his phone in your face. “For you.”

You glance up from your tablet, unimpressed. “I mean, they’re not wrong.”

His grin widens. “Oh? You admit I have a soft spot for you?”

“I admit you think you do,” you reply smoothly, swiping to the next appointment on his schedule.

“Ouch. Brutal,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile, but then he does something unexpected. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s a small thing, a fleeting touch, but it sends your heart skipping a beat.

And of course, the cameras catch it.

The moment goes viral within hours.

"Tony tucking her hair behind her ear?? Sir, I am UNWELL."

"I’m convinced they forget they’re being filmed sometimes because this is NOT platonic behavior."

"The way she paused for a second after he touched her… yeah, she felt that."

The more moments like this pile up, the harder it gets to brush off the speculation. The crew catches everything—the way Tony always seems to find excuses to be near you, the way his gaze lingers just a second too long when you’re not looking, the way you press a coffee into his hand before he even asks for it.

One day, after a particularly chaotic filming session involving a very unnecessary stunt with the Iron Man suit (which you had explicitly told him not to do), the two of you find yourselves alone in the kitchen.

You’re filling a glass of water when Tony steps beside you, leaning casually against the counter.

“You’re mad,” he observes.

You take a sip of your own water. “I’m not mad.”

He tilts his head, studying you. “Annoyed, then.”

You set your glass down with a sigh. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

His expression softens slightly. “But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

For once, he doesn’t immediately deflect with a joke. Instead, he reaches out, gently tugging at your wrist until you look at him.

“I’m fine,” he says, quieter now.

You exhale, shaking your head. “I know. I just—” You stop yourself, not sure how to put it into words.

Tony doesn’t push. He just holds your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his expression. The air between you shifts, heavier than before.

Neither of you realize the camera in the corner of the kitchen is still rolling.

"Nah, because that moment in the kitchen was INTIMATE. The way he reached for her wrist so gently??? PLEASE."

"Okay but the way she was genuinely worried about him? And the way he actually let himself be serious for once?? They’re in LOVE."

"I don’t even need confirmation at this point. This is a slow-burn romance happening in real-time."

You tell yourself it’s just the cameras.

That’s why everything feels heightened, why your heart stumbles in your chest every time Tony leans just a little too close, why your stomach flips when his gaze lingers a second too long.

It’s the show. The attention. The fact that millions of people are dissecting every interaction between you, making you hyperaware of the way Tony touches you so casually, the way he teases you so effortlessly, the way he just exists in your space like he belongs there.

Because that’s all it is.

Right?

You try to ignore it. Try to act normal. Try to pretend your pulse doesn’t quicken when he throws an arm around your shoulders in front of the cameras, pulling you into his orbit like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t let yourself think too much about the way his touch lingers, the way his hand sometimes settles at the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, the way he always seems to know exactly what to say to get under your skin—just enough to fluster you, just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

You’ve worked for Tony long enough to know that he’s always been like this. He’s charming, magnetic, impossible to ignore. He flirts with everyone, makes people feel like they’re the only person in the room when he talks to them.

It’s just who he is.

But then there are moments that don’t feel like a performance.

Like the time you’re both in the workshop late at night again, and he offers you a screwdriver without looking, like he somehow knows exactly what you need before you ask. Or the time he catches you yawning after a long day and, without a word, pushes his cup of coffee toward you.

Or the time you stumble half-asleep into the kitchen one morning, still in your pajamas, and find him already there, making two cups of coffee—one exactly how you like it.

“You’re up early,” you mumble, rubbing at your eyes.

He smirks, handing you the coffee. “You’re just up late.”

You take the cup from him, wrapping your fingers around the warmth. “Thanks.”

He watches you as you take your first sip, his expression softer than usual. “You should sleep more.”

You arch a brow at him. “You’re one to talk.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, but he doesn’t argue. And then he does something that makes your brain short-circuit—he reaches out and brushes his thumb over the corner of your mouth.

You freeze.

“There was coffee there,” he says, voice low, almost teasing, but there’s something else in his eyes. Something that makes your heart stutter.

The moment stretches, thick with something unspoken. And then—

“Morning, boss! Morning, Y/N!”

You both jolt back as one of the camera crew members strolls in, oblivious. You step away quickly, lifting your coffee to your lips to hide the fact that your face is burning.

Tony just exhales through his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like cockblocked by my own reality show.

The cameras weren’t even rolling that morning, but somehow, the clip of him wiping coffee off your lip still ends up online.

"HELLO?? HIS THUMB ON HER LIP?? WHAT KIND OF ROMANCE NOVEL BULLSHIT IS THIS??"

"He looked so focused on her mouth I am losing my mind."

"I swear they forget the cameras exist sometimes. That was INTIMATE."

The internet is eating this up. Fans are analyzing every look, every touch, every moment between you and Tony with the kind of dedication usually reserved for crime scene investigations.

You try to ignore it.

You fail.

Because suddenly, you start noticing things you’ve ignored before.

Like the way Tony always saves the last slice of pizza for you. The way he keeps an extra pair of your favorite sunglasses in his car because he knows you always forget yours. The way he always seems to position himself between you and any potential threat—even if the "threat" is just a pushy journalist or an overenthusiastic fan.

And then there are the looks.

The ones that last just a little too long. The ones where he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. The ones that feel different.

The realization creeps up on you slowly, like a shadow stretching in the late afternoon sun.

You like him.

No—you’ve liked him. Probably for a while now. You were just too stubborn, too careful, too scared to admit it.

And Tony—oh, Tony has known for a long time.

It’s in the way he looks at you, like he’s just waiting for you to catch up. Like he’s been patient, so damn patient, but he’s not going to wait forever.

But you don’t know how to cross that line. Not when the whole world is watching. Not when your job, your life, everything is so tangled up with him.

So you try to act normal.

The cameras catch every single slip-up.

Like the time you’re standing beside him at a press event, and someone asks a question about his playboy lifestyle.

He laughs, playing it up for the cameras. “You know me, I’m a man of many talents.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Most of which involve ignoring my carefully planned schedule.”

He turns to you, smirking. “See? This is why I keep her around. She keeps me humble.”

The reporter grins. “Y/N, what’s the secret to handling Tony Stark?”

You glance at him, and for a split second, you forget about the cameras. Forget about the audience.

“He’s not as much of a handful as people think,” you say, voice quieter, more honest than you mean it to be.

Tony blinks, and for the first time in a long time, he actually looks surprised.

The internet notices.

"DID YOU SEE HIS FACE WHEN SHE SAID THAT?? Bro was not expecting her to be SWEET."

"‘He’s not as much of a handful as people think’ MA’AM. MA’AM. ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH HIM??"

"I swear to god Tony is just waiting for her to admit it at this point."

The dress is too much. That’s your first thought as you stare at yourself in the full-length mirror, smoothing your hands down the fabric. It’s expensive—of course, it is. Tony sent it over himself, and you’d bet good money that it cost more than your rent.

It’s stunning, undeniably so, hugging in all the right places, the deep color making your skin glow under the soft lighting of your bedroom. Your makeup is flawless, your hair styled perfectly, and for once, you don’t look like Tony Stark’s overworked assistant.

You look like a woman on the arm of a billionaire.

Which, technically, you are.

Just for tonight.

It’s not that unusual for Tony to bring you to events, but tonight is different. There’s no work agenda, no schedule to maintain. For this one night, you’re not his assistant—you’re his date.

The word lingers in your mind, foreign but not unwelcome.

There’s a knock at your door.

“You decent?” Tony’s voice is light, teasing, but when you open the door, he just stops.

His mouth parts slightly as his gaze sweeps over you, lingering at your exposed collarbone, the way the dress clings to your curves. For once, he’s silent, and you think that might be the most shocking part.

You raise an eyebrow. “Well?”

Tony blinks, then clears his throat, smoothing a hand down the front of his sleek, tailored suit. “Yep. Nope. I was prepared for this. I am handling this just fine.”

You fight back a smile. “You sure?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he says, stepping back so you can follow him. “Just casually rethinking all my life choices and trying to figure out how I got lucky enough to have you on my arm tonight.”

Your heart does something stupid in your chest, but you roll your eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Stark.”

He smirks. “Worth a shot.”

The drive to the event is smooth, the car sleek and comfortable, but your nerves kick in the second you see the flashing lights ahead, the crowd of reporters, the sea of cameras waiting.

Tony notices.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice warm and steady beside you. “You look incredible. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

You exhale, forcing yourself to nod. “Right. Just another night.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Except this time, when they ask me who I’m with, I get to say you.”

Before you can overthink it, the door opens, and suddenly, you’re stepping onto the red carpet with Tony Stark’s hand resting at the small of your back. The flashes are blinding, the noise overwhelming, but Tony guides you through it with practiced ease, nodding and smirking at the cameras like he was born for this.

Reporters immediately start shouting questions.

“Tony! Who’s your date tonight?”

“Y/N, how does it feel to be on Stark’s arm instead of his payroll?”

“Why her, Tony? Out of all the women in the world, why did you choose your assistant?”

Tony grins, pulling you just a little closer. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says, his tone dripping with amusement. “Some secrets are just for me.”

Your face burns, and you’re grateful when you’re ushered forward, past the press and into the venue. The inside is just as extravagant as expected—glittering chandeliers, champagne flowing, a sea of celebrities dressed to impress.

And, of course, that’s when it happens.

The actor is objectively handsome—tall, broad-shouldered, a charming smile that probably makes half the world swoon. You recognize him immediately, a famous action star, one of the many guests mingling at the event.

And for some reason, he’s interested in you.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he says, his gaze sweeping over you in obvious appreciation. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I would have remembered.”

You offer a polite smile, feeling Tony shift beside you. “Y/N,” you say, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Y/N,” he repeats, his own smile widening as he takes your hand. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Tony’s grip on his champagne flute tightens.

You catch the slight tick in his jaw, the way his entire posture stiffens. Oh. Oh, this is interesting.

The actor keeps talking, asking about your work, throwing in more compliments than necessary, and you can feel Tony practically vibrating beside you.

And then—just to push it a little—you laugh at something the actor says, placing a hand on his arm.

It’s nothing. Completely innocent.

But Tony clears his throat sharply. “Hey, buddy,” he says, voice light but just a little too loud. “You mind if I borrow my date for a second?”

The emphasis is unmistakable.

The actor, blissfully unaware of the silent tantrum Tony is throwing, just grins and nods. “Of course. It was a pleasure, Y/N.”

Tony is already pulling you away before you can respond.

He doesn’t stop until you’re outside, away from the crowd, in a quiet balcony area overlooking the city lights.

You turn to him, crossing your arms. “Are you jealous, Stark?”

He scoffs. “Me? Jealous? Please.”

You step closer, tilting your head. “You sure?”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. Maybe I didn’t love watching that guy drool all over you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Because?”

He meets your gaze, and suddenly, all the teasing, all the bravado—everything—falls away.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Or at least, I want you to be.”

Your breath catches.

Tony exhales, running a hand down his face. “I know I joke around a lot, and I know I’m a lot to deal with, but I need you to know that this—us—it’s not a game to me. It never has been.”

Your heart is pounding.

He takes a step closer, his voice softer now. “I’ve been in love with you for a while, Y/N. And I know it took you a little longer to get there, but…” His lips twitch up. “You’re here now. Right?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

And then his hands are on your waist, pulling you against him, and your arms are wrapping around his neck, and then—

He kisses you.

It’s slow at first, careful, like he’s savoring it, but then you make a small noise against his lips, and suddenly, the restraint snaps. His hands tighten, his lips moving against yours with something deeper, more desperate, more real than anything you’ve ever known.

When you finally break apart, your forehead rests against his, your breath mingling.

“Wow,” you murmur.

Tony chuckles, his fingers brushing against your jaw. “Yeah. Wow.”

And then—

“Oh. Oh.”

You freeze.

Tony groans, turning to find one of the cameramen standing there, eyes wide.

“Are you serious?” Tony grits out.

The guy winces. “I—I swear, I wasn’t trying to film that—I just—okay, yeah, the cameras got everything.”

Tony sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. “Of course they did.”

You stare at him for a moment, then—

You start laughing.

Tony blinks at you. “Are you—are you seriously laughing right now?”

You nod, still giggling. “It’s just—of course this happens to us.”

Tony shakes his head, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “Guess the secret’s out, huh?”

You grin, reaching for his hand. “Guess so.”

And honestly?

You don’t mind one bit.

The internet explodes.

The second the episode drops, social media ignites like someone threw gasoline on an open flame. The clip of you and Tony kissing—your whispered words, his confession, the way he pulls you in like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered—spreads like wildfire.

"I’M SCREAMING. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL."

"The way Tony looked at her BEFORE the kiss? He’s been GONE for her. Absolutely down bad."

"We all knew it. We KNEW it. But seeing it happen is just chef’s kiss perfection."

"'You’re mine. Or at least, I want you to be.' That’s it. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I need a Tony Stark in my life."

"I can’t believe the cameras caught this. The way they got lost in each other? They weren’t even thinking about the cameras. That’s REAL."

"How do I file a lawsuit for emotional damage? I was NOT prepared."

Memes flood the timeline. Screenshots of Tony’s jealous expression when the actor flirted with you. Edits of your kiss set to dramatic music. Slow-motion compilations of every single time Tony had looked at you that way throughout the show.

The fans had always speculated, always hoped, but this? This is confirmation. And they are obsessed.

Of course, there are reactions from the media too. News outlets pick up the story immediately.

“Billionaire Tony Stark Off the Market—Confirms Romance with Longtime Assistant”

“The Stark Reality’s Latest Episode Features a Moment No One Expected—But Everyone Wanted”

“From Work Partners to Life Partners—The Love Story of Tony Stark and Y/N”

And through it all, Tony is thriving.

Because of course, he is.

At first, you don’t know what to expect from him. If he’s going to act differently now that the world knows. If he’s going to keep things professional in front of the cameras or tone down the way he touches you, the way he teases.

Nope.

If anything, he gets worse.

The next time the cameras are on, Tony makes absolutely no attempt to be subtle about the fact that you’re his now.

Like the moment in the kitchen when you’re making coffee, and he walks in, shirtless, hair still messy from sleep.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You tense for half a second, eyes flicking to the camera set up on the counter. “Tony—”

“What?” he hums, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I can’t say good morning to my girlfriend?”

Your face heats. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

The internet LOSES IT.

"TONY CASUALLY SHOWING UP SHIRTLESS TO CUDDLE HER?? I’M IN SHAMBLES."

"They’re acting like a real couple now. This is NOT a drill."

"Petition to make sure Tony is shirtless in every episode from now on."

Or the time you’re sitting on the couch, working on your tablet, and Tony just flops down, draping himself across your lap.

“Tony,” you sigh, adjusting your grip on the tablet. “I’m working.”

He looks up at you with that damn smirk. “I’m cuddling. Way more important.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you still love me.”

Your lips twitch, but you refuse to indulge him. “Debatable.”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, you wound me.”

The cameras catch it all—the way you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair despite your protests, the way he practically purrs under your touch, the way you smile just a little when you think no one is looking.

They eat it up.

"HIM LAYING IN HER LAP. THIS IS PEAK ROMANCE."

"You’re telling me Tony Stark went from billionaire playboy to a man who begs for cuddles? I LOVE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT."

"The way she plays it cool but is clearly obsessed with him? Relatable."

It’s not just the cuddling. It’s the stolen kisses, the lingering touches, the casual intimacy of a couple that has been circling each other for years and is finally allowed to have each other.

And Tony? Tony is having the time of his life.

He lives to fluster you on camera.

Like when you’re organizing his schedule in the office, completely focused, and he suddenly leans in, whispering in your ear, “You looked really good in my bed this morning.”

You choke on absolutely nothing. “Tony—”

“What?” He’s grinning, utterly unrepentant. “Just making an observation.”

You shove a folder at him. “Sign this before I kill you.”

His laughter follows you down the hall.

"THE WAY SHE CHOKED. HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING."

"Did he just CONFIRM they sleep together? Sir, have mercy."

"Tony Stark is officially the clingiest boyfriend in existence, and I respect that."

Despite the teasing, despite the relentless public scrutiny, it’s good.

Better than you expected.

The realization hits you on a slow morning, when the sun is barely up and your body is still heavy with sleep.

You don’t even think as you roll out of bed, stretching lazily before heading toward the kitchen for coffee. The floor is cool against your bare feet, the oversized shirt you’re wearing—Tony’s, of course—falling mid-thigh. Your hair is a mess, your eyes half-closed, and you let out a soft yawn as you step into the kitchen.

And then—

“Oh. Oh.”

It’s the cameraman again. The same poor guy who accidentally caught your first kiss with Tony.

You blink at him. He blinks at you.

There’s a beat of silence before it clicks in your sleepy brain.

“Shit.”

You spin on your heel, all but sprinting back to the bedroom.

Tony is still sprawled across the bed, barely awake, his hair sticking up in every direction. He cracks one eye open as you dive under the covers, groaning.

“Uh… good morning?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

You grab a pillow and shove your face into it. “I forgot about the cameras.”

There’s a pause. Then, a rustling of sheets as Tony shifts closer, draping an arm over your back. “Okay… and?”

You groan. “I walked out there wearing just your shirt.”

Silence. Then—

Tony cackles.

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. “This is not funny.”

“This is hilarious,” he corrects, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Damn. I wish I’d seen it.”

You smack his chest. “Focus, Tony! That footage is out there.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t air.”

But the incident sticks with you.

Because the truth is, you and Tony don’t have much privacy anymore.

The show has been fun—chaotic, ridiculous, but fun. And yet, it’s always there. The cameras catch everything—the teasing, the bickering, the moments when Tony pulls you into his lap just because he can now, the late nights spent tangled up in each other, and even the mornings when you wake up to find him watching you with something terrifyingly soft in his eyes.

Some moments are meant to be just for you.

And that’s when you know.

It’s time to end The Stark Reality.

Tony doesn’t even hesitate when you bring it up.

“Done,” he says easily, lacing his fingers with yours. “Let’s wrap it up.”

There’s a finality to it that makes your chest ache. The show has been his, in a way—one of his crazy ideas, something he threw himself into because he loves the attention, the spotlight. But he’s willing to let it go.

For you.

The last episode airs a week later.

And of course, Tony makes sure it goes out with a bang.

The final scene is classic Tony. He’s sitting on the couch, arms draped over the back, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“So,” he begins, looking straight into the camera. “This is it. The end of The Stark Reality.”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for dramatic effect.

“Or is it?”

You, sitting beside him, roll your eyes. “Tony.”

“What?” He gestures vaguely. “I’m just saying. Maybe the next time you see us, it’ll be in the documentary about our wedding.”

Your soul leaves your body.

The internet erupts.

"WEDDING?? HELLO?? THEY’VE BEEN DATING FOR TWO MONTHS??"

"TONY STARK, YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THAT AND LEAVE."

"Blink twice if you need help, Y/N."

And it doesn’t stop there.

“Or,” Tony continues, completely unfazed by your scandalized expression, “maybe another season of The Stark Reality… with our kids.”

You choke on air. “Tony.”

“Hey,” he says, throwing his hands up. “People love a good family reality show. Gotta give the fans what they want.”

The show ends with you smacking him with a pillow as he cackles.

"TONY, STOP PLAYING WITH MY EMOTIONS."

"IS SHE PREGNANT?? IS THIS A HINT?? I NEED ANSWERS."

"Manifesting a Stark wedding and mini Starks immediately."

The reaction is insane.

Theories explode overnight. People analyze everything—the way Tony said our wedding, the way he casually mentioned kids, the way you covered your face in embarrassment but didn’t deny anything.

Some are convinced you’re already engaged. Others think you’re secretly pregnant. A few believe Tony is just being Tony—chaotic, dramatic, and completely unserious.

But you know better.

Because when the cameras stop rolling, when it’s just you and him curled up in bed that night, he leans in, brushing his lips against your temple.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, “I was kinda serious.”

You shift, tilting your head to look at him. “About what?”

He smirks. “Marrying you. The kids. The whole thing.”

Your breath catches. “Tony—”

“I know, I know,” he says, waving a hand. “It’s only been two months. But let’s be real, sweetheart. This thing between us?” His fingers trace absent circles on your back. “It’s been happening for years.”

You bite your lip, your heart pounding.

“Just… something to think about,” he says, voice softer now. “No pressure.”

And you realize—he means it.

Tony Stark, the man who once ran from commitment like it was a ticking bomb, is ready for this.

For you.

You press a kiss to his jaw, your chest warm with something terrifyingly close to forever.

And for the first time, the cameras aren’t there to capture it.

Just the way it should be.

part 2 anyone ?

[shadesofmauve]

Alliance Normandy SR2 redesign: Deck 3

The crew deck sits in the middle of the ship, where the hull is widest. This is where design for a larger crew really comes into play.

Sleeping and other bodily functions

The main bathrooms are roughly the same shape and location as in-game, but people walking by no longer have a great view of the showers every time the doors open.

Enlisted racks

24 enlisted racks line the corridor to the main battery, housing the bulk of the rank-and-file. Bunks are stacked two high, with uniform lockers to one side and coffin-lockers under the mattress.Footholds in between sets of bunks let you can reach the top without stepping on the one below.

Junior officers' quarters

I assume a spaceship needs more technical expertise and less grunt work, so the crew is weighted towards officers and highly-trained technical specialists. These specialists fill non-command roles and bunk with the junior officers. Joker (flight lieutenant) and Traynor (comms specialist) berth here. So does Kaidan, because at the point he came aboard the guest stateroom was occupied by Khalisah Al-Jilani, and bunking with marines would muddy command waters because he seriously outranks Vega.

Bunks are two-high with coffin lockers just like the enlisted racks, but officers rate four inches more elbow room and two inches more to stretch out their toesies. They also get a bit more privacy, a little more storage, and access to the lounge overlooking the eezo core*.

*I gave them a lounge because in ME3 you occasionally find officers chatting at a table in the middle of the bunk room, and if anyone did that while I was trying to sleep three feet away I'd commit murder.

Senior officers' country

Miranda's old quarters, which Liara claims in ME3, are large enough to house the entire senior staff in staterooms, with one extra for guests and a shared head. Each room has one permanent bunk (two inches wider and four longer than junior officers; swank) and one fold-out upper-bunk in case of extra passengers.

In Sunset and Evening Star the first thing Shepard does on the Citadel is sign on a first officer**, old navy hand Lieutenant Commander Nguyen. The first thing Nguyen does is fill the missing weapons and ops roles (she heads the navigation department herself, since it's a small ship).

With Shepard in the admiral's quarters on deck 1, First Officer Nguyen gets what would have been the captain's cabin on the crew deck (except while Primarch Victus and his aide were aboard; when she gave up her quarters to the turians). Mukerjee, the head of ops, gets the slightly-larger-than-standard cabin intended for the XO.

Garrus has the 'extra' stateroom, as their liaison with the turians. He keeps the desk folded for space and sleeps crouched in one corner; the bunk is useless to him.

**Shepard delegated something! It's a Mass Effect miracle!

Vital ship functions

Main battery

The main battery looks exactly the same, except Garrus isn't sleeping in the corner or constantly fiddling with the guns. In fact, he's never fiddling with the guns. He and Silva were spending hours re-calibrating the thanix cannon to their own preferences whenever the other person's back was turned, and Nguyen stepped in and banned Garrus from the armory before it moved from passive aggression to murderous-interspecies-diplomatic-catastrophe.

AI core

Access to the AI core is from the battery corridor, not through the medical bay.

Medical bay

The medbay is divided into a front office, the main med bay, and an area for major surgery or isolation. There's also a small private cabin for the two members of the medic corps who assist Chakwas.

Life support

The life support corridor has another four enlisted racks, bringing the total enlisted berths on the crew deck to thirty. Life support itself is basically unchanged, except for some added Important Keep People Alive machines. Like engineering, life support systems are also spread throughout the ship.

Food & leisure

Mess & galley

The mess seats 32. It's also all-watch meetings are held, and occasionally movie screenings. Crew can grab shelf-stable snacks, cereal, or recent leftovers from self-serve areas outside the galley, or collect the meal currently on offer at the counter.

The galley feeds three shifts three times a day each, and one watch's breakfast comes immediately before the previous watch's dinner. About a week out, stores of fresh produce are gone, so a lot of food is frozen, freeze dried, or reconstituted. There's always something to eat; one of the two big pots is almost always full of soup, if not both Bread is made from scratch (flour keeps indefinitely, bread doesn't), and there's a flat-top as well as a six-burner range. The food storage in the galley and nearby walk-in are only what the cooks expect to need for the next two days or so; food actually makes up most of the Normandy's cargo, stored on deck 4.

Observation lounges

The observation lounges, important for crew morale and sanity on longer missions, are differentiated by volume. Starboard is generally used for quieter conversation, reading, solo gaming, or study. The Port lounge is for parties and games. (There is no free wet bar, this is a military ship).

Normandy redesign posts

Intro

Loft

Command

Crew

Engineering

Hangar

[musubi05]

╰┈➤ Get Me Out of Here

Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Dean Winchester x sister!reader

Summary: You have pretty bad claustrophobia which doesn't mix well with ghouls. Thankfully your brothers are there to help. I was thinking you're in your 20's in this but you can imagine yourself at any age.

Warning: Panic attack and mentions of death

Yes, all monsters are bad. Yes, you'd make them all go extinct with the snap of your fingers if you could. However, ghouls are the ones that you hate the most. The fact that they dig holes to eat the dead from the coffins always makes your stomach to turn. They basically live under ground or at least that's where you've seen them.

You, Sam, and Dean were in Wallace, Idaho looking into a case Sam found in the newspaper. Dean was excited to go and eat potatoes from the place where they're known for, while Sam was excited for the history of the town.

You, however, were not excited to be here. At least not after you read the case report you managed to grab from the local sheriff's office. With a disgusted look on your face, you stomped over to the diner across the street where your brothers were at. The bell on the door handle rang as you stepped in. Thankfully, Dean and Sam are very easy to spot, sparing you the awkwardness of scanning the crowded room like a lost tourist.

You walked over to them and slid into the booth next to Sam.

"Ghouls," you announced, your tone being flat. You should've sounded happier, considering you didn't have to do any research for this case. Dean raised an eyebrow at your tone of voice, so you smacked the brown file on the table which he quickly picked up.

"Hey, I wanted to look first," Sam complained which caused a small eye roll from you.

Dean smirked. "Too bad. Be faster," he shot back but the smirk faded away when his attention was pulled back to the papers in his hand. You assumed that he was looking at the pictures of the 'body' or at least what used to be one.

"Basically, the cemetery groundskeeper was dragged eight feet under ground by something. Some officers are saying he fell into the hole and the rocks are what scratched him up,' you explained, reaching over Sam a little bit to grab his water cup. "Others are saying an animal got to him and tried burying the victim."

"But ghouls eat on dead corpses. Why would one start attacking on a living person?" Sam grabbed the file from Deans hands and sharply inhaled when he saw the pictures. You shrugged and sipped some of the water.

"Don't know, don't care. It killed someone so we kill it. Easy peasy." Dean smirked when one of the waitresses went by, earning a synchronized head shake from you and Sam.

┆彡

It was not as easy peasy like Dean said it would be.

"Okay, machetes!" Dean excitedly handed out two for you and Sam to take. Plan was simple: go in the hole the guy was dragged down into and follow it then kill the ghoul.

Let's rephrase that.

The plan was simple for Dean and Sam not for you. Walking through tunnels underground with barely any oxygen and the chance of it collapsing on top of you made your skin crawl.

"Y/N? You okay?" Sam looked over at you from the graveyard entrance with concern in his eyes.

"Yeah sorry just thinking." You forced a tight smile, but Sam wasn't convinced. Still, he let it slide for now.

You followed Sam as he navigated through the graves to find the hole. Dean was behind you keeping an eye out for anything that moves. Now you just have to look for the hole. Since you guys didn't come out during the day, this will be a pain in the ass.

It has been about 15 minutes of looking when you guys got to the back of the graveyard which was cut off by a mountain. Using your flashlights, you looked around to catch a cave going into the grassy hill. You walked over to it, followed by your brothers.

"A crypt?" Sam asked shining down light in the tunnel. There were stone stairs that led creepily underground.

"An old one at that. And look." Dean pointed at the yellow police tape blocking it off. "How much you wanna bet that the guys body was found down there?"

"But I thought he was buried eight feet?" you asked trying to give an excuse to check somewhere else. There was a nauseous feeling in you when you looked down at those stairs.

"The ghouls could be down there. We've checked everywhere up here so I say we check down there too." Dean said taking the lead and going under the yellow tape. Sam gave you a nervous smile then followed Dean but not before rubbing your shoulder to give you some reassurance.

You took a shaky breath and tightened your grip on the machete in your hands, fingers trembling slightly despite your effort to steady them. You bit your bottom lip and proceeded on the path down into the crypt.

It wasn't a long walk down the stone stairs but you felt like it took hours. The walls seemed like they kept getting closer and closer to you the more you go down. The feeling made you start breathing just a bit more heavier than normal and of course Sam noticed.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice low enough not to alert any nearby ghouls. “You okay?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Fine.”

Another lie. You could feel the familiar vice tightening around your chest. The gnawing, creeping sensation in the back of your throat that always came with tight spaces. You hadn't told them about your fear, not wanting to be the weak link, but the farther you walked into the tunnel, the more your lungs strained for air that wasn’t there.

The stairs stopped into this long hallway. At the end of it, you saw a room that had some coffins in it. There were tunnels branching off of this hallway that had little rooms with more memorials of people. What surprised you were the ceilings. They were low enough where Sam could touch it with the top of his head if he just went on his tippy toes.

Dean looked back at you guys with a stern face. "Stick together," he said quietly then began to walk down more. You tried holding onto his voice as an anchor so you wouldn't go into a panic attack. You were safe with your brothers, always. You could push through this.

It was quiet. Maybe too quiet as you followed the boys down the hallway. You turned to flash your light down into one of the tunnels that branched out and you gasped.

The light shined brightly at the ghoul which was already running at you.

"Y/N!" Sam shoved you, causing you to fall back on the ground so he could take the hit from the ghoul. You fell hard against the stone wall, the jagged rock scraping your palms. Sam hit the ground with a grunt, wrestling with the ghoul just yards away from you.

You heard Deans grunts in another room and growls of the ghoul he was fighting. How many of them are there? You quickly grabbed the machete next to you and scrambled to your feet. You were running over to help Sam but a hand—cold and unnaturally strong—clamped around your ankle. With a violent yank, it dragged you backward into a narrow tunnel you hadn’t even noticed. Your scream barely had time to leave your throat before the soil and stone fell which separated the main hallway from you.

The hand that grabbed you pulled you down into a hole. It was the one that the other guy died in and it was pretty evident from the smell. You hit the dirt hard, pain jolting through your ribs.

Your chest heaved as you stood up, your fingers clawing at loose soil and crumbled stone. The space was suffocating, no larger than a coffin. Your breath came in short, panicked bursts, and you felt like you were dying. You tried to yell for Sam and Dean but you couldn't get the air in to speak.

Your knees buckled and you brought them up to your chest since there was no room to stretch them out. You sobbed as you breathed, slightly chocking on air that would be caught in your breath. You wanted out now.

┆彡 With Sam and Dean

"Y/N!" Dean heard Sam call your name from the other room but before he could turn back, a ghoul tackled him against some coffins from the side. The machete he had in his hand landed a few feet beside him. Quickly, Dean processed what was happening and punched the ghouls right into his cheek. The ghoul stepped back from the force and growled at Dean but it was enough time for Dean to grab the machete.

Dean stood up and took a swing for the ghouls neck. Thankfully the ghoul was pretty dumb to duck in time and its head came clean off.

He raced outside of the room he was in to Sam, not even try to take a moment to breathe. Right when Dean spotted him. Sam was pressing his machete down on the ghouls neck like he was cutting an apple with an apple cutter.

"Where's Y/N?!" Dean shouted at Sam looking around for you. By then you were clawing to get out of the hole you were in.

Sam's eyes went wide. He turned toward the tunnel which was now seal with dirt. "Shit!" Sam was getting more angry by the second. Angry and scared for your safety.

The boys dropped their weapons and started digging at the wall with their hands. Blood coated their fingers but they didn't stop.

15 minutes.

15 long, excruciating minutes.

They finally break through.

"Y/N?!"

Nothing.

"Y/N?!"

Then they heard the broken crying. Sam and Dean ran over getting closer and closer until he found the hole you were in. A sigh of relief came from the both of them, but you weren't out yet.

Sam dropped to his knees, looking down into the hole. "Y/N? Sweetheart?" Sam called down to you but you didn't answer. His voice shook a little but he tried to keep it steady.

You were trapped in your own cries and the ringing in your ears.

"Dean, something is wrong. She's not responding at all. Not even looking up at me." Sam looked up at Dean who was running his fingers through his hair.

Dean came closer and crouched next to Sam. "We got to get her out of there now." He demanded. The sounds of you crying and coughing on air was killing him. It was killing Sam too.

"Neither of us can fit down there. It's too small."

"Okay then we improvise. Hold my legs while I get her."

Sam widened his eyes, "Are you dumb? It'll be a bitch trying to get her up!"

"Do you see a better solution here?! I don't!" Dean raised his voice which shut up Sam fast. Sam couldn't argue with him since he was right.

"Okay come on." Sam got behind Dean and held onto him while Dean leaned over into the hole to get to you.

"Y/N? Honey? I need your help to get you out of here." Dean spoke softly, he reached out one of his hands and touched the top of your head. Just by flinching at the touch you hit the dirt wall behind you.

"Y/N/N, come on. Please." He begged as he brushed his fingers against your cheek.

You sniffled as you looked up to Dean. "D-Dean?" You sobbed when you said his name.

"Yeah, baby. I need you to stand up so I can help you out." He moved his hands to yours which you quickly took hold of. The blood on your palms from when you scraped them on the wall were getting on his. You wobbly stood up feeling dizzy and ready to throw up but you don't. "Sammy, pull me up." He said in a calm tone so he didn't startle you.

Sam did what he was told and Dean held onto you while you tried to help him pull you but your legs were too weak to try anything. You were like dead weight.

Finally you were out of that hole. Dean sat on the ground with you in his arms as you gripped his shirt for dear life and shut your eyes. Tears were flowing down your cheeks onto it but he didn't care.

"We gotta get her some fresh air, Dean. She's not breathing right." Sam got up from the dirt ground and picked you up into his arms so Dean could get up. You didn't protest and leaned into Sam's chest.

Sam rubbed your shoulder with his thumb, "Sweetie, you got to calm down for me. You're not breathing right." Dean led the way up the stairs with your guy's weapons in his hands, looking back at your state a couple of times. You tried your best to slow your breathing down but every time you opened your eyes, you could see the walls closing in on you.

You guys got up the stairs and Sam sat on the ground against the brick wall which separated the graveyard from the rest of the mountain. Dean took a sit right beside you guys.

“Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe,” Sam murmured. His voice was soft but firm. Dean ran his fingers through your hair with had some knots in it but he tried his best to avoid those.

You choked in a desperate breath, lungs shuddering. Sam exhaled slowly. “Like me, Y/N. In… and out.” He grabbed one of your hands with his and softly started to rub your palm. He drew lines and circles but dodged the cuts you have on it.

You opened your eyes as you followed the breathing. His hands were warm, holding you firm against the swirling terror.

Then Dean’s voice came through, sharp but trembling with barely concealed fear. “You with us, angel?” When you looked up at him, his eyes were wide with concern, but his lips quirked into a familiar smirk, trying to ease you.

“Geez, next time you want to disappear underground, at least give us a little warning, huh?”

You gave a wet, broken chuckle, still gasping for air. It was ridiculous and stupid, but you were so relieved by the sound of his voice that you almost sobbed.

Dean squeezed your shoulder once, reassuring and solid. “We’ve got you, Y/N. You’re safe.”

You squeezed Sam's hand and leaned into Deans touch a little more. “Next time,” you croaked hoarsely, “I’m staying in the car.”

Dean huffed out a short laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, if we come up on any more ghouls, I might just let you.”

Sam squeezed your hand lightly, a small smile touching his lips. “We’ll stick together. No matter what.”

And you believed him. Because when you were with them, they would always be there to get you out of the tightest spaces.

[mathildeaquisexta]

How to request a document reproduction on the French National Archives website (without paying anything)?

Setting the scene: I'd like to obtain a digital version of this file, because online, only a brief unhelpful description is shown and the visual is not available.

If you don't know how to navigate through the website to get to the archive you want, I've explained in this post how to search for a specific item in the French National Archives' virtual reading room. You really should read it before this post, because there are many details I won't go into again.

You're ready? Okay, let's get into it.

Once again, you don't go to the official website, but to the virtual reading room. This is systematically the place to go to search for documents and leaf through inventories. You can access it here.

In real life, if you go to the Paris or Saint-Denis sites and ask to consult the archives, you'll be required to register by filling in a form with your information (not much personal details, they often just want to know if you're here for personal stuff like genealogy, or if you're studying documents for university-related works), and you'll be given a card.

Here, online, it's basically the same thing. You'll need to create an account. Don't worry, it's completely free. Be careful to go to the Espace personnel" (personal account) and not the "Accès sécurisé" (secured access).

Once you have clicked, the website will inform you that creating an account will give you access to the following options:

Order or reserve a document

Request document reproductions

Request search assistance

Save your search results

So really, I insist, this is a step you shouldn't neglect. And of course, this also works if you live in a different country!

Okay now, let's get back to our document.

I'm not going to explain a second time what a class mark is and how to find it, once again I refer you to my other post which explains everything in detail. Just know that the item that interests me has F/7/6712 as its class mark.

There's a lot of information. Just know that the first thing to do is to set aside your document in what we call the “panier” (the cart). Yep, the shopping cart, just as if you were buying clothes on a website. There is also an option to “reserve” the document, but this implies that the archivists will put aside the physical version of the document and wait for you to come and consult it directly in Paris or Saint-Denis. Yeah, no. Let's save ourselves a shit ton of money, all of us are way too poor for this.

This is what the cart looks like (image below ↓). This is where you will store all the class marks that interest you, but which you can't or don't want to have reproduced immediately, so you can easily find them later. As you can see, I've already put aside a few. You need to look at the access conditions right away to check whether you can make your request or not. If you look carefully, you'll see that some of the Carnot family archives I wanted to obtain are blocked because they're in such poor condition that the archivists don't want to risk damaging them further by scanning or even opening them.

However, for the document I want to get today (the last one on the list), there's nothing written in this section, which means that everything is fine and I can proceed.

So we click on "Demander une reproduction" (ask for a reproduction) :

In this space, you need to be as specific as possible about what you want. For example, if the class mark is linked to a file with... let's say 600 items (and this often happens), you specify that you only need the documents associated with the numbers 4, 96 and 546, so that the archivist doesn't have to scan 600 documents one by one for nothing and cry all day.

Then here, you specify why you want this document and what you're going to use it for (for me, this will be personal and private use because this specific research of mine isn't related to work or university, but you can see the “professional use” option also exists).

And this is where you need to listen to me very carefully, because in the price list for document reproductions, there's only one free option, and that's the jpeg or pdf scan. Trust me, I systematically ask for this option, and the scans are always of excellent quality. Currently I got +1000 Fouché-related documents without paying anything and without needing to move from my couch.

Of course, the prices aren't exponential, in fact they're quite reasonable (for example, if you want a paper photocopy sent by regular mail, it'll cost you between 15 and 30 eurocents. That's fine for a single sheet, but if, like me, you need files with more than 300 pages, it quickly becomes a problem).

And finally, you submit your request and you wait for 3 to 6 months.

They will most likely send you an email with a password-protected link they'll give you, to a site where you can send very large files (they often use WeTransfer), and you'll have a limited time to open it so be careful to use an email adress you check regularly when you create your account.

And you have your document. Good job <3

[winterrrnight]

hi edith! i love your writing so much 🫶 especially the dynamic scholar!reader with rafe. can you make more please 🥺🩷 but with mean!rafe or fratboy!rafe

ahhh thank you for your request and your kind words anon 🫶I hope you like reading this :) I went with frat!rafe because to be honest mean!rafe isn’t much of my thing 😅 let me know your views on this if you feel like <3

late night sessions

PAIRING: frat!soft!rafe cameron x gn!scholar!reader

SUMMARY: rafe helps you back in bed after you accidentally fall asleep while studying.

WARNINGS: reader is a stem student (or basically anything except business because that is rafe’s major); established relationship; minimal usage of nicknames like babe; minimal swearing; rafe is soft for reader; fluff

EDITH SPEAKS: love love love scholar!reader with my whole heart 🥰 I’m so glad I’m getting to write them again. (manifesting major scholar!reader vibes for myself for my upcoming college year 😚) read my original scholar!reader blurb here <3

please reblog if you liked reading this! feedback is always appreciated 🪸

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It’s like you are completely cut off from the outside world; your books, notes, flashcards, and your laptop surround you on your desk as you find yourself knee deep in this semester’s syllabus, your mind already working on an overdrive for midterms – even when you still have a whole week before the dreaded exams approach.

But your boyfriend? He’s totally opposite. 

Exams don’t even begin mattering to him until one night before the actual exam day when he practically rawdogs some borrowed notes, not knowing what half of the content means but he’s cramming and gulping down information as if his life depends on it. And then guess what? He always gets a minimum of 50% of the total marks on each of his exams, making him the cockiest bastard to ever exist. 

 “See babe? This shit’s easy as fuck. Passed with all flying colors ’n shit,” He grins, practically shoving his grade sheet in your face. You always have to swallow down the urge to smack that irritatingly perfect face of his, blowing off that smirk right off his face. 

“Shut it, your business shit’s easy to pass alright?” You grumble under your breath. You very well know business isn’t easy, but the fact that Rafe is passing it with pretty decent scores by studying only one night before makes you think differently.

Your current focus on your notes is broken when you hear a knock at your dorm door. Begrudgingly, you yell out a ‘come in’, not moving your attention from your notes for even a split second. You hear the door open and close from the front of the room, and when you feel a figure approach you from the back and wrap their arms around you, you know who it is. 

“Hey babe,” Rafe mumbles in your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he rests his chin on your shoulder, looking at all your books and notes surrounding you. 

“Hey,” You mumble back, your focus not withering at all. 

“Missed you tons today,” He mumbles, gently caressing your neck with his fingertips before nuzzling against the soft skin, his lips beginning to press slow, languid kisses.

“Yeah same,” You mutter, dragging your laptop closer as you open the file you want to access, your entire body, mind and soul completely unphased by Rafe. 

Rafe sighs as he presses one last kiss to the side of your neck before lifting his head up. “Already studying for your midterms?” He says, reluctantly stepping back from you to flop down on your bed, his gaze never leaving you. He already knows the answer to his question: you wouldn’t be the person he’s so deeply infatuated with if you aren’t giving a head start to your head start for your exam preparations.

“Uh huh,” Comes out your quiet voice as he watches you, your brows furrowed as you scroll through something on your laptop. He trains his gaze over to the small digital clock sitting on the corner of your desk, flashing the numbers 11:17 in a bright white. 

“Babe it’s getting late, come sleep with me,” He says, beginning to scoot over to make space for you, but your next words make him stop. 

“It’s okay Rafe you sleep, I’ll be there in a few,” 

Few. It can mean anything in your dictionary. It can mean 40 seconds, or 28 minutes, or 3 hours, or the entire night.

Rafe lets out a quiet sigh as he thinks of coaxing you to get in bed with him again, but he knows it’s not going to work. 

“You better not ‘accidentally’ pull an all-nighter again you hear me?” He says, a tinge of sternness in his voice as he fluffs the pillows once before dropping his head on them. 

You don’t say anything, just make a quick move to turn off the main light of the room and turn on your desk lamp instead. The room plunges into darkness except for the soft glow of your desk light, illuminating your desk and you sitting in front of it.

Rafe turns over on his side to look at you, his hand under his head. He watches you study quietly, your facial features glowing under the desk light and the light from your laptop screen. He tried to keep his eyes open for as long as he can, but the occasional typing of the keyboard, pen scratching against the paper as you write, and your barely audible whispering begin to lull him into a sleep which he finds harder and harder to pull himself from. 

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Rafe shifts in his position, letting out a soft grunt under his breath as he turns over on his side after being on his back. He squints his eyes as he feels a certain light hit his heavy, closed eyelids. He forces them to open, his vision blurry for the first few seconds. As his vision sets and his mind begins to gain consciousness, he realizes your desk light is still on. 

You are crouched over in the chair, your head resting on the table in your arms. Your notes are scattered around and your laptop is open but now under sleep mode. Rafe darts his attention over to the clock, and the numbers 2:32 flash back at him. 

“Jesus,” He mutters under his breath, helping his sleep-ridden body up from the bed. He walks over to your hunched position and gently shakes your shoulder. 

“Babe, babe come sleep in the bed,” His raspy voice comes out. For a moment, you don’t move, but after a few gentle shakes you do, slowly lifting your head up from your arms. 

“What…” You mumble sleepily, your eyes barely open. You are just as sleepy as Rafe, if not more. 

Rafe shuts your laptop close and switches off the desk light, the only light now coming through the small window of your dorm. His hand finds your arm and he gently pulls you up from the chair. 

“Come sleep in bed,” He repeats, his voice still groggy as he helps you up from the desk chair. Your extremely tired body doesn’t put up a fight even once and you let him lead you over to the bed.��

Rafe helps you lie down and he lays next to you, his arms wrapping around your frame in an instant. You succumb to his embrace the very next second and snuggle closer to him, resting your head on his chest. 

Both of you fall asleep after your shared moment of momentary awakeness, your sleepy body tucked snugly against his for the rest of the night. 

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

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[emmyrosee]

Kageyama my man the love of my life (just don't tell Atsumu you know?)

He's so emotionally constipated my poor baby, and even if he navigates through his feelings a bit better when he's older it's… Still difficult, nevertheless he finds ways to share how he's head over heels for you. We know he's not the best at words when he hasn't had the time to think about it (if you give him a day or two he comes with some non intentional poetic stuff)….So I feel his way to express affection is through actions

He's your personal nail saloon artist, he's a bit wonky with the edges on that painting department but he uses the nail file with precision. It's also like he has magic hands or something cuz your nails never break after he starts taking care of them

What else? I feel he talks on his sleep, or at least mumbles. Not canon in what we see on the whole series but he has so many thoughts going on his head he HAS to let something out while he sleeps

Also, big hands, his hands are ridiculously large and calloused like you can't imagine….but they are incredibly gentle when they hold your face or when you feel him caressing your cheeks at night. Totally related I feel he's the type to wait for you to fall asleep so he can stare at you

Won't cry at your wedding, but you feel his gaze on you the whole celebration and it makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy

Tone deaf, I'm sorry but I feel he just sings with the same intonation he speaks (still joins you on karaoke and enjoys screaming when there's rock or something like that)

Knows shit ton of hair and skin care products…. Courtesy of Miwa

And I have more but like, I have my headcanons and fantasies all over the place I might come back to share them later 🥲

I. Want to eat him alive. This is so cute.

Kageyama is so emotionally constrained that if you do something nice for him, or even simply say “I love you” he’ll just pull you in for a kiss on the cheek or a small, shy smile. But sure enough, when your head is on his shoulder, eyes focused on the tv, it’s so much easier for him to whisper a soft “I love you” while he copies your stare at the television.

His nail techniques go so hard it’s crazy. He’s got all the oils to make them strong, he files them to the perfect length and style (even though he’s best at squared filing) to make them easy to use in every day life. He typically denies your requests for him to paint your nails, but sometimes, he gives in to those sweet puppy eyes and gives you a few coat of paint. Just please don’t tease him about flooding your cuticles, because he’s trying his best to learn for you.

HE SO DOES TALK IN HIS SLEEP, rambling about nonsense sometimes, then forming coherent conversations in others. One time, he grabbed by the shirt collar and yanked you close, whispering in your ear a fully verbalized “I’m pretty sure Sailor Mercury is in our basement. Or someone else. I don’t know.” You were awake all night hoping, begging, praying, that it was sailor Mercury and he didn’t see someone downstairs- and when you ask him about his dream, he shrugs and said he didn’t have one. LIKE BROTHER HUH??

BIG HANDS BIG HANDS BIG HANDS MAKE BRAIN GO BRRRRRRRR BECause imagine like when you’re just laying on your sides, looking at each other in the most love you’ve ever felt, and all he can do is bring a big hand to gently cup your cheek, thumb softly stroking the delicate skin of your under eyes. Your lids just barely flutter at the tickly feeling, and you nuzzle into the warmth of his palm, pressing a kiss to the calloused heel of his hand. He doesn’t say or do anything, barely even smile, as his blue eyes glaze over your face adoringly. Even until your own eyes grow heavy, you feel his on you, grounding you and keeping you safe.

AND TOBIO IS NOT A BIG CRIER BUT he feels things so deeply, you basically see his brain buffer, cogs turning as his eyes glimmer and shine as he gazes at you. You know his mind is flooded with you, your future, your life together, and he feels so excited to spend every moment he can with you. He can’t wait to marry you 🥺🩷

KAGEYAMA TOBIO HAS NO SENSE OF SOUND, WE LOVE HIM SO MUCH. He cant whisper, he cant sing, he’s only able to do so when he doesn’t think about it, he just has one solid tone as he tries to sing with you in the car. But he will belt out songs with you regardless, he wants to make you happy, even if he can’t sing to save your life.

GRRRRRRR I LOVE HIM SO MUCJ TOBIO MY SWEETHEART 🥺🩷

[writingquestionsanswered]

How do I plot a romance story?

Most advice and plot structures I have found seem to be focused on quest-type stories. Do you have any advice or templates that are mpre easily applicable to romance stories? Do I need to include another major plotline?

Basic Romance Structure

Like most stories, there are different theories and methods about structure, and you can find these by Googling "romance story structure." However, let me walk you through a basic romance structure to show you the differences and similarities with the kind of structure you'd use for something like a quest story or an adventure story.

Introduction/Normal World - Like most stories, romance stories usually open with a peek at the protagonist's "normal world" as a means of introducing who they are and what their life is like. And, as with other stories, this also introduces us to the both characters' internal conflicts. In romance, rather than resolving the internal conflict with growth in relation to the story events, the internal conflict will be resolved via change/growth in relation to the romance. [Example: Sandi is a florist with a four-year-old daughter, navigating single parenthood after her husband filed for divorce and ran away to chase a dream.]

The "Meet Cute" - This is essentially the inciting incident... the moment the two characters meet for the first time, or the first time in a long time. All in one moment, we see how undeniably right they are for each other, but due to their individual internal internal conflicts, they're butting heads big time.

[Example: Sandi meets Brent, the new flower supplier who is adorable, sweet to Sandi's daughter, but infuriatingly inept at doing things the way she likes them.]

Forced Proximity - After the "meet cute," something will inevitably force them to spend time together. They get partnered together on the same job, stuck together in the same place, keep coincidentally bumping into each other... whatever. All that matters is that they're forced to get to know each other despite their head butting.

[Example: they get roped into working together on the town's rose festival.]

Resistance/Rejection - Now that they're forced to interact for whatever reason, they're going to spend a lot of time resisting their mutual interest/desire for one another due to whatever obstacles exist, like being from warring factions or one being in the middle of a divorce. But despite this resistance, we can see the sparks flying between them, even if they can't or don't want to admit it.

[Example: Sandi wants to focus on running her business and raising her daughter; Brent just got out of a long relationship and isn't ready for romance.]

Waning Resistance/Giving Love a Chance - Eventually there's a breakthrough... the obstacle gives way... they have a really fun time hanging out at the Christmas market and almost kiss... they move past the misunderstanding between them... or maybe they just slowly get over their issues and start to fall in love. Either way, they decide to give the relationship a go.

[Example: as they get to know each other and bond through working on the rose festival, they can't deny how compatible they are and an unexpected first kiss gives Brent the courage to ask Sandi out on a date, to which she agrees.]

Three Steps Forward, Two Steps Back - This is essentially the first date, then another one, then another one... though it doesn't have to be actual dates. It just needs to be some interactive scenes when they're in relationship mode. Each of these interactions will deepen their feelings for one another while at the same time raising new obstacles or re-raising the old ones.

[Example: the first date goes well except that Sandi is preoccupied with the fact that her daughter is staying with a new sitter. The second date goes okay, except Brent is in a bad mood after his ex came to town to pick up the last of her things. Then they pull an all-nighter to make some final preparations for the upcoming rose festival, which leads to a philosophical conversation about the future, wherein Sandi says she sees herself getting remarried one day and having another kid or two, and Brent says he can't ever see himself getting married or being a father.]

This Isn't Going to Work - This is the midpoint crisis... the "all is lost" moment where one or both put on brakes and say, "I can't do this," citing whatever obstacle/s that now stand in the way of their happiness. Sometimes this follows their biggest act of intimacy yet, whether that's simply their first kiss or going all the way. It could even be the first declaration of love, being introduced to family, or some other important early relationship milestone. But then it all falls apart... maybe because one or more of the obstacles become too much, a fear-based retreat, or some other external force

[Example: the rose festival has arrived... Sandi is there with her daughter and parents, Brent is there with his mom and sister. Everyone meets, Brent continues to be great with Sandi's daughter... it's obvious Brent and Sandi belong together. But then Sandi's wayward not-yet-officially-ex-husband shows up and wants to get back together. Although she's ambivalent, seeing him interact with their daughter and her parents makes her realize giving him another chance is what's best for their daughter. Meanwhile, Brent witnesses this from far away, thinks, "I'm not good enough for a family like that," and he and Sandi go their separate ways.]

On Second Thought... - This is the moment when something happens that makes one or both characters realize they belong together... that the obstacles aren't real or don't matter... [Example: Brent finds a drawing Sandi's daughter made of the three of them together that makes him realize he really is worthy of their love. And Sandi sees that her husband hasn't changed, that he's still focused on chasing dreams that aren't what's best for their daughter... or herself, for that matter. ]

The Moment of Declaration - This is where the one character finds the other, or they find each other, and one or both declare their love and commitment to the other, despite whatever obstacles there may be. This is the run through the airport to catch the other before they fly away to a new life. It's the objection at the wedding before the other can go forward with the less-than-ideal marriage. It's the boombox on the shoulders, the kiss in the rain, the "I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on" declaration in a foggy field at sunrise. [Example: Brent hears from a friend that Sandi's husband left again. He goes to the last night of the rose festival, finds Sandi, and tells her he wants all of it... her, the daughter, her quirky parents, the flower shop, marriage, more kids... he is ready to take on the world with her, and she couldn't be happier.]

The Happily Ever After or "HEA" - This is the story's denouement, where we flash forward a few days, weeks, or more and see the happy ending. This is the jump ahead a few months to see the happy couple living their lives together, the one year leap ahead to the wedding, or a leap ahead to a moment even further down the road when the couple is firmly established in their HEA.

[Example: two years later, Sandi and Brent have been married almost a year, and are at the rose festival with the now six-year-old and their newborn twins, Sandi's parents, and Brent's mom and sister, one big happy family.]

Now... like I said, there are a variety of different structure templates for romance as there are for other genre stories. Don't feel like you have to pick one, and if you do, don't feel like you have to stick to it exactly. Story structure is just a guideline to help make sure you hit the important points to help the story unfold.

Happy writing!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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