#Sampling And Large Sample Tests Project Help

[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!

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[steviebunny]

So I have been loving your IWTV Rusalka story and I was wondering if in honor of the spooky season, can you please do a scene where the rusalka is forced to be part of the shows at the Thèâtre des vampires and later on, Armand announces that they are going to crash a Halloween festival in town and the rusalka uses her powers on the guests while she and everyone else are disguised by their Halloween costumes and masks?

Forced to Perform

A pumpkin, a fucking pumpkin is the costume chosen for her especially out from the rest. 

As if being pushed on stage wasn’t bad enough, being paraded around in front of mortal fools while dressed up as a gourd, projected vines serving as background while Santago plays some blathering all Hallows Eve farmer. Armand has also made the wise leadership decision to have a feast to honor the night of Samhain. 

Would this mean a set dining table with goblets of blood? A range of tourists to sample as a mock charcuterie? No, of course not. It means testing the new cast addition's powers and patience at some town festival all while dressed like an ugly, large, bright pumpkin.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad otherwise. Performing while not exactly a passion of hers is tolerable, skulking through crowds unnoticed is a honed skill from long ago. Now keeping all the victims still and witnesses from realizing their own cohorts are being torn to bits around them: harder. It would be a lot bloody easier if she wasn't wearing the itchiest, orangest, poofiest disguise in the world. 

Perhaps she wouldn’t have overexerted herself if her mind wasn’t focused on the itching.

Maybe that's why she collapsed. Or the utter exhaustion from listening to Santiago’s droning all evening. At least seeing Armand’s shocked expression brought a little laughter into her heart when she fell unconscious into Louis’s arms. 

When she came to a few minutes later surrounded by many more bodies than previously (both undead and numerous dead) she’d been stripped of the foolish costume thank the gods for conservative undergarments. The skin that was exposed to the pumpkin’s fabric was raised and raw…turns out even Rusalka’s can be allergic to fabrics that have been kept in storage since the 18th century. 

As morning approached the other vampires enjoyed their full bellies back at the theater, while Armand had to make it up to her in his and Louis’s apartment, making a moisturizer out of the two vampires' blood and some of Madeline's abandoned skin creams. She even made him beg to help her rub it into her skin, but notably didn't make Louis do the same. In fact, Louis had already finished caressing her back and was gently massaging her neck by the time she gave the coven leader reprive. 

First request! Keep em’ coming!

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive (Daily updates!)

By Pandora Dewan

After weeks of decline, "very high" levels of coronavirus have been detected in wastewater samples in the U.S.

"High" levels of viral activity are also on the rise with detections now in five U.S. states, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC).

"Very high" levels of viral activity have been detected in Montana, with "high" levels in Arkansas, Maine, Minnesota, Nebraska and Wyoming.

Meanwhile, "moderate" levels have been detected in Arizona, Idaho, Kentucky, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South Dakota, and Vermont. "Low" viral activity has been reported in 21 states with "minimal" levels—the lowest classification—in 14 states.

Viral levels in wastewater are a helpful indicator of disease prevalence within a population.

After a surge in COVID-19 cases this summer, infection rates seem to be on the decline. As of October 26, positive results account for only 5 percent of all tests, excluding at-home testing, in the U.S., down 0.6 percent from the previous week, according to the CDC data.

As of October 31, the overall viral activity level in wastewater across the country has been classified as "low" by the CDC, with the highest wastewater levels concentrated in the Midwest.

The map below shows which states have seen the highest detections in wastewater:

(Follow link to see interactive map!)

Is COVID on the rise?

Recent spikes in COVID-19 cases have been largely driven by a new class of subvariants nicknamed FLiRT after the position of the mutations on the virus' spike proteins, the projections that allow them to enter our cells. (NADI'S NOTE: The rising subvariants are NOT FLiRT variants. Many reporters are spreading this misinfo: We are seeing the grandchildren of the FLiRT variants we saw this spring right now.)

These proteins are also used as targets by immune systems and vaccinations, so changes in their structure can allow the virus to bypass the body's defenses more easily. However, existing vaccines are likely to provide at least some form of protection against more severe symptoms and long COVID-19.

As of October 26, the now-dominant subvariant, KP. 3.1.1, accounted for more than 57 percent of all U.S. COVID-19 cases over the previous two weeks, according to the CDC, with the new XEC variant accounting for 17 percent.

While overall levels nationwide have declined since the summer surge, Montana's rising wastewater detections may signal the beginning of a new wave of winter infections.

What are COVID symptoms now? Despite changes in viral DNA, symptoms remain largely the same, according to the CDC:

Fever or chills Cough Shortness of breath Fatigue Muscle or body aches Headache Loss of taste or smell Sore throat Runny nose Nausea or vomiting Diarrhea

More vulnerable individuals may still be at risk of severe illness, so it is important to self-isolate if you receive a positive COVID-19 test.

[therealdisneyfan2319]

The Spider and The Witch Chapter 1: The Experiment and The Flu

Summary: Peter Parker and Y/N L/N are junior biochem majors at Empire State College.  Peter needs a volunteer for his research project, and a series of events leads Y/N to come down with the flu...or does he?

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Language, blood, needles, description of medical procedures

Word Count: 3.6K

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“I don’t know how I managed to let you talk me into going to the lab with you this early.”  You stretched your arms out as you yawned, keeping your arm just so to keep your coffee upright.

“Dude.  It’s 10 am,” Peter chuckled.

“These good looks don’t just happen, man.  I need a full nine hours.”

“Maybe if you went to bed before 3 am-” “Now wait a minute.  You’re lecturing me about going to bed early when you used to pull all-nighters slinging webs around Queens?”

“Shut up!” He swatted your arm before you had the chance to pull away.  “At least I was doing something productive with my life, not playing Pokemon-” “Completing the Pokedex is extremely productive.  Now it might not be the same kind of productive as extracting the Spidey mutation from your genome sequence, but categorizing all the Pokemon from the Galar region is an important, time-consuming task.”

Peter rolled his eyes as he rolled down the sidewalk next to you.  You chuckled, taking a sip of your coffee as you shook your head.  This sort of banter was typical of your friendship.  Peter was one of your closest friends and easy to joke with, but you also worked well together.  It didn’t hurt that you were both biochem majors and had the same sort of scientific mind.  Since you met in world civ last fall the two of you had been as thick as thieves.  It didn’t matter that he was three years older than you, a grade above you, or that he used to be Spider-Man.  Finding out that the guy in the Stark tech wheelchair who loved Led Zeppelin and Star Wars was once the friendly neighborhood superhero was not what you expected when you went over to his dorm to hang out for the first time.  Peter was used to people freaking out when they found out and was thrilled when you shrugged it off.  

“So what exactly are we doing today?” you asked.  You had volunteered to help him out with a research project he was working on.  He hadn’t told you much about it, only that it was being funded by Tony Stark and dealt with genome sequencing. 

“Nothing too crazy.  I need to take samples of your blood.  I’ll use those as test subjects against my blood.  That’ll be the control sample.”  He punched in a sequence on the keypad on the arm of his chair.  Tank tracks dropped down from the bottom of the seat as the chair began to climb the stairs to the science building.  

“You know how to take blood?” you asked, holding the door open for him as he wheeled into the building.

“Yeah, well…yeah.  I mean Sam taught me how to start an IV and drawing blood is the same principle, right?  You gotta find the vein.”

“Oh my god I’m gonna die,” you mumbled as you turned down the hall toward the lab Peter worked out of.  It was one of the newest labs on campus.  Tony Stark had donated a sizable amount of money toward the Empire State College science and research division with the provision that all the money go toward funding better facilities for students.  The new building had just opened at the beginning of the semester.  Peter was more than excited to have a space stocked with the latest Stark technology to work on his newest endeavor.  It was more convenient than trying to head upstate to the Avengers Compound a few times a week.

“I won’t let you bleed out on me, man.  Worst comes to worst we’ll just throw some webs on it and send you to New York Pres.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better about all of this?  Because it’s totally not.”  You hated needles.  You hated doctors.  The thought of someone who was decidedly NOT a medical professional fishing around your elbow for a vein made your stomach flip flop.  Maybe a large coffee wasn’t the best idea for breakfast…

The bright fluorescent lights in the lab snapped on as you opened the door.  They seemed unnecessary as sunlight flooded the windows that took up the entirety of the easternmost wall.  The overhead haze added to the sterile feel of the room: the latest in Stark Technology, ranging from microscopes and test tubes to autoclaves and fabricators, shone brightly against the lights.  It was nerd heaven, stuffed to the brim with everything anyone could ever need for any experiment they could dream of.  You threw your backpack on a lab table adjacent to where Peter was setting up his laptop.  Once you were done helping him out, you figured you’d swing by the library to start cracking on the paper for your art history course.

“So I already took my own samples earlier this week,” he explained. “I’m storing them in the fridge over there.  Mind grabbing them for me?” He motioned with his head to the mini fridge that sat next to the sink.  You walked over to the fridge, seeing a rack of blood vials sitting on the bottom shelf amongst the Petri dishes of spores and sole can of Coke.  “Don’t drop it,” he cautioned as grabbed a ziploc baggie of medical supplies out of his bag.

“Whoop.”  You fake tripped, stumbling around and swinging the tray to and fro aimlessly.  He shot you a somewhat serious glare.  You returned a toothy grin.  

“Dude if you drop that-”

“Relax, Pete.  I’ve got steady hands.”  You placed the tray on the table in front of him with the grace of a swan.  “See?” You raised your hands up defensively.  “Steady hands.  I should be a goddamn surgeon.”

“Ah yes, Dr. Y/N L/N, the surgeon who hates blood.”  He dumped the contents onto the table.  Out fell some rubber gloves, a rubber tourniquet, needles, tubes, alcohol wipes, and cotton balls.  You gulped at the sight of the paraphernalia.  “So why don’t you just sit there and roll up your sleeve so we can do this.”

“Are you sure you can’t just, like, prick my finger?”  Plopping onto the stool you rolled up the sleeve of flannel.  

“Do you want to sit here and fill up these tubes one drop at a time?” Peter asked from the sink.  The tray of tubes, empty ones and ones full of his blood, sat next to him as he washed his hands.

“Good point,” you muttered.  It felt like you were chewing on the flannel from your shirt.

“Just relax, I did it on myself the other day and I turned out just fine.”  There was a slight waver in your friend’s voice as he spoke.  Try as he might to hide it, Peter was nervous, too.  He snapped on the baby blue gloves.  You turned your head away, refusing to look until he was done.  “Can you just make a fist for-good okay, yup, I see the vein.”  The sudden coolness of the alcohol against your skin made you shiver, but you refused to look.  Even as you felt the slight prick of the needle against your skin you kept your eyes firmly shut.  “Told you I wouldn’t let you bleed out,” he chuckled, replacing the now full vial with an empty one.

“How many vials do you need?”  You strained your neck as you tried to look as far away as you could from the scene unfolding in front of you.

“I don’t know, I did six of my own.  That should be enough,” Peter shrugged.  

Six vials of blood?  Why did you even decide to do this in the first place?  You could’ve been back in your dorm in the comfort of your bed, sleeping the morning away, instead of having your blood forcibly removed from your body.  Peter definitely owed you big time.  

He removed the tube from your arm, handing you a cotton ball to stop the bleeding.  “That should be it.  Mind putting those back in the fridge for me?”  

The second your feet hit the floor your knees wobbled.  It was probably psychosomatic, but the sight of all your blood sitting inches outside where it should be made you the slightest bit queasy.  “Yeah, no problem.”  You shook your head quickly.  There was no way you were going to let yourself puke or, even worse, drop the vials and have to do it all over again.  

It took all your effort not to look down at the plastic tray in your hands.  You concentrated all your effort on staring down the refrigerator.  That ultimately meant neglecting your untied shoelace.  Before you realized what was happening you found yourself tripping over your feet.  While you managed to not lose your balance completely, the sudden jolt sent two of the vials crashing to the floor.

“Shit,” you mumbled as you set the tray on the floor.  There were shards of glass and blood splattered across the marble tile.  You quickly glanced over your shoulder, hoping Peter hadn’t seen your mistake.  Much to your relief he was engrossed in his notebook.  That bought you some time to quickly clean up the mess.  You looked around for a roll of paper towels, spotting the roll next to the sink and tearing off a few sheets.  The crimson puddles looked like they’d be easy enough to clean up.  Not thinking too much about it, you knelt down and started blotting at the spill.  A sudden stab caused you to recoil from the ground in pain.  As you examined your hand, you noticed a small scratch on the pad of your thumb.  

“You good?” Peter’s voice broke you away from staring at your hand.

“Yeah.  Dropped one of the vials and cut myself.  I’m good.”

“Was it one of mine or yours?”

“Uhh, mine.”  Truth be told you had no idea if it was yours or his.  There was no way to know which vial was which.  Peter knew.  He probably had it marked down in his laptop or something.  But you remembered that his vials were facing you when you pulled them out of the fridge.  That meant yours were away from you and there was an empty spot there.  Yeah, it’s mine.  “You need me for anything else?”

“Nah, you’re good,” Peter focused intensely on his laptop, typing away as you finished cleaning up your mess and putting the samples away.  “Are we still on for dinner tonight?  Ned’s dying to try out that new Thai place on Watts Street.”

“Yeah, shoot me a text.  I’m headed to the library for a bit.”  You slung your backpack over your shoulder as you headed for the door.  “See you.”

“Thanks again, Y/N.”

******

You spent the rest of the day in the library researching and typing and revising your paper.  The minutes ticked by as you lost yourself in the endless barrage of Western paintings you thought looked all too similar.  Yet as the day passed you found yourself feeling strange.  At first you thought you had been studying too long.  The words on your laptop screen seemed fuzzy and you found yourself re-reading the same paragraph on Donatello about a dozen times before anything seemed to click.  Then the library seemed to drop ten degrees before abruptly shooting up another twenty.  Sweat on the back of your neck ran down your shirt and chilled you as fast as it cooled you off.  The lights were suddenly too bright and even the silence was too loud.  

Shit, you thought to yourself as your felt heat radiating off your forehead.  It was probably the flu.  It had been making the rounds through campus for the better part of a month, so you weren’t completely surprised.  Closing your laptop and shoving your books in your bag, you texted Peter as you left the library:

Got the flu.  You and Ned go without me.  I’m gonna go to bed.

The walk back to your apartment wasn’t long, but it was a near-impossible task in your ever-worsening condition.  Every step felt like you were trudging through molasses.  Your legs were as heavy as cement and you prayed you wouldn’t trip because you weren’t sure you’d be able to get up again.  Tears clouded your vision.  Rubbing your eyes didn’t help.  The only thing on your mind was downing half a bottle of Nyquil and passing out as soon as you got back to your room.  

Much to your relief you walked into an empty apartment.  Peter and Ned must’ve already left for dinner.  You kicked your shoes off and dropped your bag at the front door.  There was no doubt in your mind that this was the flu: you felt like absolute garbage as you shuffled to your bedroom.  As you flopped on the bed, clothes and all, your body felt like it was made of lead.  Bone-crushing fatigue consumed you as you shivered on top of your bedspread.  You prayed that you’d be able to get a little bit of sleep to help dull the pain.

When you woke the following morning, you were surprised to find that you didn’t feel sick at all.  In fact, you felt better than you had in a long time.  There wasn’t any evidence that you felt so poorly only a few hours ago.  You swung your legs around to the side of the bed and stared at the floor as you thought about what you were going to do all day, but when you tried to stand up something was off.  As you stretched your arms above your head, you felt something engulf you: it was your blanket.  It was stuck to your hands.  

Did I spill Nyquil on my hands? you wondered as you tugged at the fuzzy fabric.  No, I didn’t take any Nyquil last night.

It took a considerable amount of effort to tear just one of your hands away only for it to stick on the wall as you balanced against it for support.  Paint flaked away as you ripped your hand away.  At that point you weren’t sure if you were still asleep or not.  Squeezing your eyes shut, you reopened them to find flakes of drywall still attached to your fingers.  What the hell?  You shook your hands, trying to free yourself of the debris, but as you flicked your wrist downward, you heard a loud thwack.  The sticky white residue covered Marty McFly’s face on the Back to the Future poster that hung next to your bed.  That same white residue balled up on the inside of your wrist.  When you tried to pull it off, a long spindly web came with it.

Oh fuck.

The implications of what just happened were huge to say the least.  The vial you broke yesterday wasn’t yours: it was Peter’s.  His blood contaminated yours when you cut yourself and now you had…spidey powers?  It couldn’t be.  This all had to be some sort of nightmare.  You were just a normal guy trying to make it through college relatively unscathed.  Sure, your roommate was an Avenger and that was a little weird, but other than that your experience was pretty normal.  You had no interest in having superpowers or saving the world whatsoever.  

“Everything okay in there, man?” Peter asked as he rapped on your door.  It momentarily snapped you out of your panic.

“Uhh yeah, yeah.  I’m good,” you hollered through the door, still looking at the web in your hand.  

“You sure?”

“Yeah.  I’m okay.  Just, uhh, knocked my blankets off the bed.”  You wiped the web up with a tissue, praying that it wouldn’t stick to your hand, too.  It didn’t, much to your relief.  

“How are you feeling?” he called as you started taking off your clothes from the day before.  A long shower would help you figure out what your next move was.  

“Good.  Great actually.  I feel fine,” you responded, throwing your dirty t-shirt on the ground.  “How was dinner?” “It totally sucked, man.  You didn’t miss much,” Ned’s voice was faint as he yelled from the kitchen.  

“Bummer.  I told you that you should’ve done Indian instead.”

“Well hey if you’re feeling better why don’t we go for lunch?” Your stomach grumbled at the thought, but images of getting stuck to the subway pole loomed in your mind.  “Yeah, sure,” you responded absentmindedly while kicking your pants off and grabbing a clean pair of sweats off your bed.  

Wearing nothing but your boxers, you opened the door fully intending to go straight to the bathroom.  The second Peter and Ned saw you their jaws dropped.

“Dude!” Peter exclaimed. 

“Wha-?”  

“Woah!  Y/N, when did you get ripped?” Ned asked.  You were thoroughly confused.  None of your hobbies included going to the gym or working out.  What were they talking about?  The lights came on in the bathroom and as your eyes adjusted to the brightness you were shocked.  It was like someone took a  chisel to your body overnight.  There were muscles in places you didn't know there could be muscles.  The reflection in the mirror showed you defined pecs, swollen biceps, and the faintest outline of a six pack.

“What the hell?” you mumbled in disbelief.  Your fingers traced over your chest, taking in the new body you’d inadvertently fallen into.  It was a surreal experience seeing an unfamiliar body in the mirror.  It was almost like you were watching someone else live your life while you watched from outside yourself.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Y/N?” Peter asked as he wheeled himself in front of the bathroom door.

“Yeah.  I’ve just got spidey powers now.”  It didn’t even feel like you were the one saying those words.  Haze clouded your periphery, forcing you to focus on the newness of your body.  It was an out-of-body experience in every way.  There was no way to really process the profundity of the situation.  

“You WHAT?”

Time stopped.  Everything stopped.  Peter’s face contorted with dozens of emotions in the blink of an eye.  Glass shattered on the kitchen floor as Ned’s glass slipped out of his hand.  

“Umm, yeah I guess.  I’m starting to think that was your blood that I cleaned up yesterday.”  You half expected Peter to be furious at the truth, but the beaming grin on his face told you otherwise.

“It worked!  Holy shit it WORKED!”  He spun his chair around excitedly, whooping all the while.  “Mr. Stark, oh man, he’s gonna be so excited!  He’ll want to meet you.  Man, now he doesn’t even need to look for someone to be the next Spider-Man because…oh this is great, I can teach you everything!  That way you’ll be WAY ahead of where he thinks you should be and he’ll let you onto the team fas-”

“The next Spider-Man?”

“I mean yeah, Mr. Stark will definitely want to talk to you about it,” Peter replied.

“Dude, I’d kill to be Spider-Man!” Ned added, sweeping up what remained of his glass.

“No way, absolutely not,” you groused as you stormed out of the bathroom.  “No offense, Pete, but I don’t want to be an Avenger.”

“You don’t have to make a decision now.  I don’t even know if he’ll ask.  I mean he probably will but that doesn’t mean anything.  He might just want you to come in to do, like, more testing or something.”  Peter gingerly walked back his excitement.  The prospect of training the next Spider-Man brought a sense of optimism back into his life that had long been forgotten.  Losing his identity as the local neighborhood web slinger stripped away a core part of his identity: Peter Parker and Spider-Man were one in the same.  Sure, he still used his powers and webs when he could, but it wasn’t the same.  Tony had offered to make him an exosuit after the accident, but he knew that he couldn’t do it anymore.  One close brush with death was more than enough for him.

“Look,” you sighed, “I’m not you.  I don’t want to go out and swing through Manhattan and stop burglars or fight weird lizard things.  I just want to be a normal guy doing normal guy things with my normal guy friends if I can even call the two of you normal.”  Peter chuckled half-heartedly.

“Wait, can you stick to the ceiling?” Ned suddenly asked.  You sighed again, shaking your head as you extended your arm up and jumped: you stuck.  “Woah!  That’s sweet!”

“Yeah, it is kinda cool I guess,” you chuckled as you watched your fingertips completely suspend your dead weight from the ceiling.  Getting used to your new body was a curious sensation.  Everything felt sharper.  Colors were brighter and bolder.  You saw incredibly small movements even from the corners of your eye.  Your body felt stronger and faster and more agile.  It was strange, spending your entire life as a regular human being and then waking up one day twenty years later with these weird spidery feelings tingling inside you.  

“Do you want one of my web shooters?” Peter asked as you dropped down.

“Web shooters?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied questioningly as he raised an eyebrow.  “You don’t think I can actually make webs, do you?”

You responded by mimicking the hand gesture Peter frequently showed you, flicking your wrist downward as a raveled strand of webs flew out of your wrist.  Peter ducked his head out of the way in the knick of time while Ned’s jaw dropped in amazement.  

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

[strxnged]

TIGHNARI: # the roots of ambition.

CHAPTER II. In which your research is disturbed by several events, and Collei is told a bedtime story.

Word count. 2.6k. Genre. Found family, gn!reader.

Table of Contents. / Next chapter.

It was your first time in Gandharva Ville, and it was nothing like you expected.

You’d heard about the treetop huts, and the winding paths between them. You’d anticipated the culture of the Forest Rangers and the rustic lives they kept. You couldn’t have been mistaken about the smells or sounds of wildlife around the village. No, it was something you couldn’t have prepared yourself for with all the knowledge in the world.

Everyone was so friendly. As compared with Sumeru City, the glowing diversity of food vendors and perfume smells had been replaced by chatter of Forest Rangers with one another, with the nature around them, and with your entering group that day around noon. 

“General Watchleader, how was your journey?” — “Collei, how are you feeling? You should get some rest.” — “Amir, come and see how your pups are doing!” — “Forest Watcher Tighnari, I finished a rash cream prototype!” — “Hello, who’s this you’ve picked up, sir?”

You realized this question addressed you. You smiled, “I’m an Amurta scholar.”

The woman who had asked the question replied with a knowing grin, “Ah. Not for long, dear.”

Tighnari’s hut sat near the centre of the village and there was no door on the way in—simply a large leaf he pushed aside for himself and you. He pulled a chair out from a desk and said, “Please, sit. Why don’t we go over your research goals?”

You obliged. 

“I’m interested in the current state of fungal mycelium as the ecology of our nation changes drastically. Especially, I want to understand the changing role of mycorrhizal networks between trees.”

“With the spread of Withering Zones.”

You nodded.

“I see. How are you testing it?”

“I’m trying to collect samples from healthy soil and from soil near Withering Zones. Or, I was, before I was so rudely interrupted.”

“Before you were almost so rudely killed,” Tighnari sassed.

“The fungi wouldn’t have been aggravated if you’d left me alone!”

Tighnari only laughed. “We do apologize for the inconvenience. So, what do you hypothesize? Do you expect the control group to associate with Adhigama saplings, and for the fungal mycelium from areas at risk to infect them?”

“Based on the circulating theory that fungi are the most deeply connected with Irminsul, this would support the idea that the mycorrhizal networks are the paths by which The Withering spreads.” 

“Interesting,” Tighnari said, narrowing his eyes pensively. “Very, very interesting.”

You unloaded your samples and tools from your bag onto his desk. As he continued you labeled the last sample that he’d helped you filter yesterday and sorted them.

“Now, why trees? Why not, say, Nilotpala Lotuses? Though mycelium might not interact quite as much with them, they have a way of repelling The Withering that would be beneficial to study. In my studies I have been able to unite them.”

“I’m more interested in replicating as much of the context as I can. It would be an entirely separate phenomenon that would yield results I’m less interested in.”

“Context.” He nodded. “Good.” He knelt next to his desk so that his sparkling hazel eyes were horizontal with the items on the desk. 

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⸙

|

Working with Tighnari was unlike any group project you’d engaged in reluctantly at the Akademiya. In some ways, he was like a senior guiding you, rebuking you, facilitating your ideas—in others, he was like a fellow student who had as much curiosity—though not possibly more—as you in this project. There was also the issue of his proximity. He wasn’t encroaching on your personal space by any means, but he had a way of looking over your shoulder or reaching across the desk that felt like the closest any person had been to you for a long time, aside from your physician. You had always known that people had a certain hesitation because of your condition. Some would feel squeamish, as though the plain knowledge that the disease was not contagious suddenly merited questioning anytime you were too close. Others acted careful, as if they were afraid your arms or legs or emotional mask would just brittly snap off at a moment’s notice. You assumed it was his experience as a medical professional, but a part of you doubted things would stay the same if he knew. Things always changed when people found out about the Eleazar.

You spent days together, mostly, though it seems Tighnari was the most popular individual in the Avidya Forest. Every few hours or so, someone would let theirself into the hut to address Tighnari with whatever news or issue he needed to help with. He’d go off and fix it and then return to get to work with you.

After a few days of this, as the experiment was nearing its end, a certain request caught your attention. “Sir, Collei’s just come back from an expedition with some other Rangers and we’re trying to convince her to get some rest, but she just won’t stop reading.”

Tighnari’s ears perked and you turned to see a Forest Ranger with a somewhat defeated look on his face. As Tighnari made to leave, you offered to step in. “I haven’t seen her much since we got here—I’d like to see how she’s doing.”

Collei was indeed reading stubbornly. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed in her hut with a thick book open on her lap. Her eyes had dark circles under them, making her purple eyes look rather ghostly.

“Collei,” Tighnari said sternly.

She started and nearly threw the book. “M-Master!”

Tighnari tsked at her and took the book with ease from her grasp, closing it. “You need rest. I told you not to push yourself. Should I tell Y/N I’ll take a break to stay with you until you listen?”

“I can stay with her,” you said, taking the book from Tighnari’s grasp. The Folio of the Foliage, Three Volumes, read the cover. “What chapter were you on, Collei? I’ll read it to you so you can lie down.”

“I was just starting Volume 3… I’m sorry, Master Tighnari.”

Tighnari crossed his arms. “I need you to take your health more seriously, Collei.” He turned to you and leaned in to whisper, “Take care.”

You nodded at him as Collei got herself under a blanket, facing you on her side. You observed her for a moment. She looked so small, so young. You would have hated to have been taken care of in such an attentive way at her age. Back then, you were always running off to be by yourself outside. And still now, you wouldn’t let anyone press their knuckles to your forehead. Life was easier this way. You knew in your soul that you were not made to be taken care of, and so you were at peace with the prospect of the sudden end your life may have.

You could only give others that same peace, you’d realized long ago, if they weren’t given the opportunity to care.

|

⸙

|

You really wished you had brought some water with you as you reached the end of the story. Your voice was a bit hoarse, and you wondered how Tighnari kept it up when he talked her to sleep. Well, she wasn’t sleeping at any rate, so you might as well finish before you found some respite for your throat.

“The lord of all animals let out a furious roar with its dying breath,” you read, “then fell, protecting all that she had entrusted to him. But the memories themselves did not shatter, collapse, nor fall. Like the wisdom she left behind, they were unborn, imperishable, eternal, and ancient.”

You finished the last paragraph and looked up at Collei. She said, “Thank you, Y/N, for reading that to me.”

You tucked Collei’s blanket a little more snugly up to her chin and said to her, “Do you think you might actually get some sleep now?”

“Okay,” she acquiesced, her tone trailing off into drowsiness.

As her eyes slowly closed, you felt there was still a gaze on you. You rose from the side of her bed and acknowledged the General Watchleader, who leaned on the doorframe with his tail waving gently. 

“Thank you,” he mouthed.

You left the hut with him, letting the large leaves fall over the entryway before you asked, “Have you read that story before?” You noticed your tone was tired. You’d put more of your energy into that than you’d thought. 

“I have. You do it justice.”

You nodded, still feeling hoarse. You knew if you coughed, the tension in your chest from the Eleazar would worsen and ruin your day, so you kept your breaths shallow and slow.

“I think Collei really looks up to you, you know.”

You almost laughed. “Really? I thought you’d indoctrinated the Akademiya admiration out of her.”

“There’s more to you than your status as a scholar.”

“Can’t that be said of anyone?”

He shook his head. “Research out of curiosity and research out of greed are separate disciplines.”

That much was true. But yours wasn’t purely out of curiosity. You, too, had greed. You were greedy to search for a way to have a longer life than was allotted to you by Irminsul.

“Besides, you’re good company, and it was very selfless of you to sit there and give her so much of your day.”

“I didn’t know you liked to compliment people this much. Is this part of some scheme to convince me to join the Forest Rangers?”

Tighnari’s ears flattened a little. “No… Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

“We’d like you to stay and join our team. I hope that’s no secret. But I’m capable of giving genuine compliments too.”

“I guess it’s just backlash after all your critique these past few days. Doesn’t… sound right.” You felt out of breath and you slowed your pace.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?”

You shook your head, but you felt a chill up your spine that warned you of an oncoming bout of numbness. It forced you to stop and lean on a tree. “Archons. I’m fine,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I must have spent a little too long staring at a microscope lately. Don’t worry about me.”

“You should take a break tonight. No use in pushing yourself to exhaustion. There will be more mycelium.”

There would be more waves. More frequently.

And you were afraid that he knew.

What if he saw the shadow towering behind you and chose to say nothing?

“No, I’ll be fine once I’ve had some water. You know, I’m not so good at talking for extended periods.”

“It’s a skill I’ve been blessed to acquire in passing. The Akademiya occasionally persuades me to lecture field researchers.” He chuckled lightly. “You must have skipped the last one.”

You made no response. Perhaps you had.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

You decided a change of subject would be most suitable. “I’m just thinking about Collei. I feel bad for her.”

“She’s come a long way, you know. That child couldn’t read a word when Cyno showed up with her on my doorstep. Now? I have to chastise her for reading too much. Once again, thank you for making time with her. I want her to rest, but I don’t want her to hate every moment of surviving. Eleazar is hard on the body, and hardly easier on the mind.”

“She’s bright, and so eager to please you.”

“I know. I think she mistakes my care for her, sometimes, as anger or disappointment.”

“But she knows you care?”

He smiled. “She knows well that Cyno, the rest of the Forest Rangers, and I care about her and her well-being. It is my humble hope that she is finding herself a home with us.”

“Do many Forest Rangers start on your doorstep, Tighnari?”

“You know, now that I think about it, there is an uncanny pattern. I suppose that indicates we have a good reputation all around.”

“I wish that were true,” you said, meaning it. “I was wary of the Forest Rangers and their unbookish methods. Now I see things are different.”

You approached the hut and took a swig of water from your flask. “Things are… better here, than at the Akademiya. I will grant you that.”

“High praise indeed,” he said with a chuckle. “Are you feeling better?”

Hardly. The tension in your chest was building.

|

⸙

|

As you recorded the final details in your lab book, you couldn’t help but notice the fox-eared Forest Watcher watching you. The results of your study had been made clear tonight; there was no difference in the soils, your saplings and sample networks had intertwined equally, with no significant chemical differences found between control and experimental saplings. Your hypothesis hadn’t been supported. While your results were still worth presenting, you felt like you were missing something, and perhaps your face reflected this to Tighnari as you scribbled away.

Once you had finished and closed the book, he asked, “What’s next?”

You set the book on the desk. Exhaustion overwhelmed you, but you pushed yourself to your feet and sauntered to the window. The night sky was obscured with clouds, so you gazed into nothing when you said, “I don’t know, yet.”

“These results open a realm of possibility for future experiments. Do you want my help to brainstorm?”

You let out a puff of air. “No, not… Not right now.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

He was right. This wasn’t a bad thing, not exactly. But had your hypothesis been correct… “I’m just disappointed.” And fried. You felt like you needed to lie in a bed, and not leave it for a week. You refused to admit defeat in such a way, but the feeling remained. “I guess I was more invested in getting the results I wanted than I should have been.”

Tighnari stepped closer, tilting his head to look into your eyes. “Y/N. You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?”

You shrugged. “You’ve asked me this before.”

“You didn’t answer me then, either.”

Gripping the windowsill enough to turn your knuckles white, you admitted, “No, I haven’t been sleeping. I haven’t slept a night through in a very, very long time.”

He paused. “It’s more than the research, right?”

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“What do you… mean?” you said, trying to keep calm. He knew?

“For me, my research has always felt like an extension of myself. A space made just for me to examine nature’s mysteries. I break myself, sometimes, to learn something new. Gods know it’s the only time Collei gets to lecture me.”

You laughed. “Really?”

“I have a thing where I feel compelled to put non-toxic species in my mouth to taste their properties,” he said, sounding a bit sheepish. “It’s empirical. You can’t deny that.”

“I guess it’s something like that,” you lied. You couldn’t even imagine what you meant. Your head was swimming as you attempted a joke, “Did you lick my samples, Tighnari?”

He quickly made a gesture of denial with his hands. “No, no, no! Don’t misunderstand. That would have vastly altered our results.”

You tried to agree but no words came out. Here came the numbness—stronger than before, wiping even your mind blank from everything but senseless panic. The last clear thought you had was, if he doesn’t know yet, he will soon.

Then, you knew no more.

Table of Contents. / Next chapter.

[theslasherslut]

Scientist romance

parings: fr! Wally x reader

Ww:gore

---

Here is the new fan fiction I wrote for you. I hope you like it.😊

---

You have always admired Wally Darling. He was your boss, your mentor, and your friend. He was also the most brilliant scientist you have ever met. He had a vision of creating a new color, a color that would revolutionize the world of art and science. He had dedicated his life to this project, working tirelessly in the Rainbow Factory.

The Rainbow Factory was a secret facility hidden in yhe groaned, where people were captured and turned into rainbows. The rainbows were then used as raw materials for Wally's experiments. You knew it was wrong, you knew it was cruel, but you also knew it was necessary. Wally had explained to you that there was no other way to achieve his goal. He had tried everything else, but nothing worked. He needed the rainbows, he needed the colors.

You were his assistant, his right hand, his confidant. You helped him with his research, his calculations, his tests. You also helped him with his personal problems, his emotions, his pain. You respected him, you trusted him, you cared for him.

But you did not love him.

Not yet.

That changed on the day of the accident.

It was supposed to be a routine test. Wally had created a new color by mixing different types of rainbows, and he wanted to see how it would react with other substances. He had asked you to assist him in the lab, as usual.

You followed him to the lab, wearing your protective gear and carrying your equipment. You entered the lab and saw a large glass container filled with a swirling liquid that glowed with an indescribable hue. It was beautiful, mesmerizing, hypnotic.

Wally smiled at you and gestured to the container.

"Behold, my dear assistant," he said proudly. "This is my masterpiece. This is the new color."

You gasped in awe and admiration.

"It's amazing, Wally," you said sincerely. "How did you do it?"

He chuckled and winked at you.

"That's my little secret," he said playfully. "But I'll tell you this much: it took me years of hard work and countless failures to achieve this result. And it was all worth it."

He walked over to a control panel and pressed some buttons.

"Now, let's see how it behaves with other elements," he said excitedly. "I have prepared some samples of different materials here: metal, wood, plastic, paper, etc. I'm going to inject them into the container and observe the reactions."

He picked up a syringe filled with a metal solution and inserted it into a small hole in the container.

"Ready?" he asked you.

You nodded and moved closer to him.

"Ready," you said.

He pushed the plunger and released the metal solution into the container.

Nothing happened at first.

Then, suddenly, there was a loud bang.

The container exploded.

Glass shards flew everywhere.

The liquid splashed all over the lab.

You screamed and ducked behind a table.

Wally shouted and fell to the floor.

You looked up and saw him lying on his back, clutching his right arm.

His arm was gone.

Blood spurted from the stump where his arm used to be.

He looked at you with pain and fear in his eyes.

"Help me," he whispered.

You felt a surge of panic and adrenaline.

You ran to him and grabbed a towel from a nearby rack.

You wrapped it around his wound and applied pressure.

You tried to stop the bleeding.

You tried to save him.

You tried not to cry.

"Stay with me, Wally," you said urgently. "Stay with me."

He groaned and squeezed your hand.

"I'm sorry," he said weakly. "I'm so sorry."

You shook your head and fought back tears.

"Don't be sorry," you said softly. "It's not your fault."

"It is," he said bitterly. "It's all my fault."

He coughed and spat blood.

"I messed up," he said hoarsely. "I messed up everything."

"No, you didn't," you said firmly. "You're amazing, Wally. You're brilliant."

He smiled faintly and looked at you with gratitude and affection.

"You're amazing too," he said sincerely. "You're wonderful."

He paused and took a deep breath.

"You're beautiful," he said softly.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

You felt a warmth in your chest.

You felt a flutter in your stomach.

You felt something you had never felt before.

You felt love.

You looked into his eyes and saw love.

You leaned down and kissed him.

He kissed you back.

You kissed him with passion and tenderness.

You kissed him with fear and hope.

You kissed him with everything you had.

You kissed him like it was the last time.

It wasn't.

---

This is the end of the first chapter of the new fan fiction I wrote for you guys. Do you want me to continue?😊

[hlvrai-stuck-together]

He's late.

It's the big day, and he's already fucking it up. Awesome. Leave it to Gordon to continuously make everything harder for everyone around him.

Under stress, panicking, and annoyed to hell and back, he pushed the cart into the beam. As soon as the crystal touched the laser, it sparked, electricity zapping out across the large chamber. Smoke started to rise from the machine, and the creak of radiation filled the air.

Gordon took a few steps back, looking up at it in horror. Shit, they did it too fast, didn't they? They could hear their coworkers screaming behind them, but their attention was locked on the giant machine.

The security guard who'd followed him in suddenly vanished from his peripheral. Gordon looked away for just a moment to try and find him again- there! Standing on top of the platform where the controls were, there was the "non-human" guy who'd been following him all day. The radiation beams were shooting right next to him, ohh fuck he was going to die up there.

"Get off the top of the- you're gonna wanna be on the floor, what if the fuckin' rafters fall?!" they shouted up at him. "You gotta-"

With a flash of light, the test's sample started glowing an intense, neon green color, cutting Gordon off. He threw his hands up over his eyes, catching a glimpse of the chat as he did so. He couldn't make out any of the words, but he could see that people were speaking in all caps now. He yelled a swear at the pain.

He spun around to look at the window, shouting for help, only to watch helplessly as one of the other scientists overseeing the project launched himself down into the chamber. He shouted in fear, running around in panic before seemingly tripping over his own feet and knocking himself out on the floor.

The guard was just fuckin' gone by now. He must have gotten trapped in the beam or something, there was no way to tell and no time to find his body. The crystal started rocking in the cart, and with each shift there came another explosion, with atoms crashing into each other and splitting in ways that should not have been possible with humanity's current tools. Gordon could only look up at it, frozen in fear.

With one final shift of the crystal, it shattered. With it went the whole experiment, lighting the entire room up in harsh green. Gordon threw his hands up in front of him, screaming as his world was changed forever.

Then... nothing.

Gordon blinked a few times, looking around themself at the pitch blackness that had enveloped his world. He couldn't even see himself in it.

...Was he dead?

No, that couldn't have been right. He was still breathing, right? That had to count for something.

He squinted into the dark, trying to see anything. As his eyes adjusted, he swore he could see faint lines of green running lengthwise down his vision. Whether that was caused by the bright light of radiation or if that was actually SOMETHING, he couldn't tell yet.

He opened his mouth to yell, but instead of screaming out into the dark like he'd planned, he let out a simple, friendly greeting.

"Howdy."

No one answered him.

As his eyes continued to adjust, he began to make out what the lines were- numbers. They were lines and lines of numbers, wrapping all around him.

...Where was he?

"Howdy," he continued to call out. "Howdy. Howdy. Howdy. Howdy."

Still, no answer.

The world around him began to flash, green as the radiation from the test gone wrong. Gordon spun around, trying to find the source of it. The numbers lit up under the flashing lights- illuminated by shots of lightning- ones and zeros.

It was the same light from the Resonance Cascade. Aw fuck, was he still in the test chamber? Shit, he had to wake up, he was going to get hit.

He struggled to move, only to realize there was a pull on his arm. Looking towards it, he could see green strings attached, pulling him nowhere and in five different directions at once. It hurt, oh GOD it hurt, but no amount of pulling was freeing him. He pushed against it with his left hand, his free hand, and no avail. Nothing.

Before he could do much else, the strings yanked, and with this tug went his hand. He screamed in pain and surprise, everything going dark again, but only briefly.

He was in the garbage compactor. His hand was gone.

He wanted to stop, but something compelled him forward. He wanted to lay down and go back to sleep, but something wouldn't let him. He wanted to give up. Something in him made him grit his teeth.

He kept going through Black Mesa, lead on by Tommy this time. He wanted to collapse. Something forced his legs forward.

He kept getting kicked back down when he tried to climb out of the water, the clone's heels relentless. He yelled for Tommy, trying in vain to pull himself out. He only could with Tommy's help.

His friend was caught up in the tide of clones, too, and was quickly shoved away from Gordon. The shots from his gun continued to echo through the room, adding to Gordon's massive headache.

"I've unleashed the power of all 300 clones," Dr Coomer's voice boomed from somewhere. It was near impossible to tell if he was far away or close by with all the noise. Gordon's head swiveled quickly, trying to pinpoint where the hell he was.

"There's an entrance in your suit, Gordon, AND I WANT IN."

There! He was shoving his own clones aside, slowly making his way closer. He had the look of a crazed man about him, eyes too wide, grin too large. He was shaking, too, like he was high on adrenaline.

Green lines were starting to creep along the walls, down down down like a watercolor painting. Gordon squeezed their eyes shut, shouting Tommy's name.

He was backed into a corner, swarmed by clones as the real- main?- Coomer crept closer and closer. "I've been outside Black Mesa, Dr Freeman. There's nothing there. But you..." He shoved his way in front of Gordon, grabbing his stub of an arm. "I KNOW there's a world in your dreams, AND I NEED TO GO THERE."

Gordon screamed.

Berdey shot up, startled out of xeir nightmare. Fuck... nightmare. At least it wasn't real.

Just to be sure, they pinched themself. Yep. That hurt.

They flopped back down on the bed with a sigh. Gordon could never escape these, either- of COURSE Berdey would inherit them from him. Couldn't catch a break, in this life or the next.

It was still dark under the door, implying the darkness outside, too. Night. Well, they didn't wanna go back to sleep, not after that.

Looking at xeir left hand, they saw no new messages aside from the "goodnight"s that had been there before they drifted off.

They didn't wanna get up, but they also wanted to check on Coomer, just to make sure he was okay. Gordon had never managed to figure out what the fuck he'd meant by the whole "world in your dreams" thing. His dreams were a nightmare. Literally this time around. Why would Coomer want to go there?

It was anxiety talking. Coomer hadn't brought it up in a long time. Maybe he'd finally gotten over it. Besides, he didn't exactly want to see him right now.

With a sigh, he laid back down. It was gonna be a long night.

[spidermilkshake]

Until September

More RE fanfics--more mutants, more corporate shenanigans. There is fluff! Also a rival company commando is blitzed by a Tyrant, but, uh, this is Resident Evil. Even the nicest scenes are bookended by scary.

Rating: Teen (TW for suggestive language, human experimentation, dehumanization, medical/lab settings and stuff, plus also human adults cuss like human adults, some obvious child neglect and endangerment, alcohol abuse, implied animal abuse)

Mr. X's long first assignment--to be upper-level Tyrant Project researcher Dr. Julian Ramirez's personal bodyguard as he spends his summer at his fancy house bought with his evil corporation money. Having a test mission prototype Tyrant on your property to help flatten any intruders or rival company agents that sneak in is apparently a common perk if the company's board likes your work. Ramirez, uh, has an interesting home life, and T-00 is smart enough to detect some of that despite this being its first experience of humans not poking it in a lab or putting it through combat training in a top-secret facility...

5: Until September

            From that point, after a short cargo helicopter ride and another in the back of a large civilian armored car, T-00… “Mr. X”… experienced the brief life of Dr. Ramirez’s at-home lab.

            Situated in a cozy, deep-red corner of northern California, the man had the benefit of the rural landscape for all manner of reasons. One being his bunker laboratory which he fiddled around with variants of common viral and bacterial elements within, as well as examining various domesticated animal species’ genomes to try and discover another, more advantageous quirk that could be added to the Tyrant project. Some of the sources of these genomes could be found on the small attached ranch property in the form of a somewhat decrepit horse and several large, semi-feral cattle. A highly-pampered golden retriever mix also bounced its way around the property, but it could hardly be lumped in with the farm animals considering how loving and attentive Dr. Ramirez seemed to become on sight of the canine. This animal was about as untrained as the cows—though it balked at any close quarters with the Tyrant, probably smelling something was off about the inoffensive but intimidating newcomer.

            The Tyrant was ushered swiftly into a portion of the swanky abode which bordered the laundry and a small guest room on the first day. Between these two locations, the doctor had prepared a simple rest area for the bioweapon to reside in while it was not to be seen—roughly the size of the small laundry though without the obstructing machines, T-00 noted the heavily-built twin bedframe and the fitting mattress, which it assumed it was meant to rest on. It… was not bad, now that it had a few minutes to contemplate it.

            Okay, it was more than “not bad��. Mattresses were invented for a reason, and the insufficient nature of those holding chamber benches became richly obvious to the beast that had never experienced proper back support before. It had slept a solid nine hours the first night, until summoned by a cheerful call of its nickname—the longest stint of sleep it had ever known.

            Otherwise, the Tyrant which Dr. Ramirez called “Mr. X” stayed a moment, or a meter or two, behind him (depending on what the man requested, and what the Tyrant’s highly-tuned senses for danger dictated). The man spent a lot of time in the small bunker lab, checking fuse banks before booting up huge computers to run an equally massive hypermicroscope device in order to manipulate pieces of dead SARS and Hepatitis delta-virus, picking out segments of RNA and comparing them to Umbrella’s sample slides of base genes. He often made spunky commentary, knowing it was only the so-far nonverbal Tyrant hearing him, but based on his specific, jovial responses it knew he could only be speaking only to it.

            Despite the doctor’s fancy and frequent social life, he was very lonely. After dark fell, no other human occupied the languidly-spread and draftily large house in the hills. The man still chatted happily—sometimes too happily—with his newly-won bioweapon attendant.

            The bioweapon had once or twice also stepped out with him, and a very flinchy, nervous man whom the doctor’d called a “trainer”, to see the old horse and the half-dozen cows. T-00 eyed the dusty, vacantly-staring creatures staying well back from the bioweapon. They behaved much like B.O.W.s with none or very rusty training. The lone horse would come right to the gate for Dr. Ramirez’s trainer, even with the towering creature feet away, though the whites of its eyes flared plainly as it stood, ears pinning and legs shaking for the trainer to check its hooves and teeth.

            T-00 focused instead on the cows, not wishing to interfere unintentionally on the equine check-over. It locked eyes with a large, rusty-brown beast that had very small, stubby horns. The animal stamped its rear legs softly, nostrils flaring. Strange. The creature was fairly small compared to the others in the group, though it placed itself front and center regardless—a “leader” of sorts, making all of the protective motions towards the others that the position entailed. A much larger steer of a mostly black color hid ineffectually behind her—sharing many features with this cow.

            “Come on! We’re done Mr. X,” the doctor called from the gate, the first indication it had quietly shuffled a step inside the paddock area to watch the animals more closely. With an instinctual start, it turned and tromped off after its current objective.

            It wished the animals and its master’s use of the Tyrant as a social interaction stand-in had been the most predictable parts of its mission. No—that honor would go to the once-monthly incident of rival agents attempting to gain access to Ramirez’s nuclear-shielded bunker. Irritated out of its comfortable rest, the Tyrant followed the clinking and ticking of attempts to bypass the lock code and the other measures to find a body-armored individual in front of the small cellar entrance, like a sitting duck as they focused on the loud—annoying—puzzle portion. It wasn’t clear if they ever realized an eight-foot mutant weapon was creeping up on them before it happened. Regardless, Ramirez would have one of the informed Umbrella staff bag up the body and tote it off the next morning as the household came awake.

--------

            It was one week during the hellishly dry heat of summer than Mr. X encountered a true challenge to its adaptable wits—and it began more or less during one of the more predictable, boring parts of its duties. The bioweapon lurked a few meters behind the doctor in his home office, blocking the large window with its even larger back while Ramirez was distracted on the phone.

            The Tyrant could only guess at some of this, but it did recognize the codenames and designations used for various B.O.W.s:

            “So the train was just…? All of them?” Julian Ramirez scrubbed at his patchy stubble, “Jesus… Well, do you know how it happened? …Uh huh, I’m sure it came back inconclusive. There’s never any hypercompetitive, jealous pricks trying to off each other at Umbrella labs, huh.”

            “Speaking of, do you have any idea what they’re gonna do about Birkin?” There was a long pause before a tinny squeak of the other voice picked up, “Oh come on. They practically know it was him. Who else has been sabotaging projects involving T for months? …It was T on that train, right? …Okay, they even know it’s that strain—so who else has access to the Arklay lab who would?”

            There was an even longer silence this time before the other line began to speak again; and once it did Ramirez’s grip on the phone tightened, his dark complexion going sweaty and almost impossibly pale. The change was so extreme that T-00’s senses honed in and it watched its master with mounting concern, convinced the doctor was about to collapse out of some kind of medical distress.

            “… Since when? …Really, that recent?” He finally dredged up his voice again, wiping furiously at his brows and mustache, staring down at his own shaking hand in bafflement as if wondering who put all of that sweat there, “So where was Willy in all this?”

            “…Ah.”

            “So… they’re sure it wasn’t him… Well. I’ll see about giving Teifer a call soon if she’s got questions for me.”

            After Ramirez hung up, he glanced over his shoulder at his house-Tyrant with an indecipherable expression, which had Mr. X straightening up to full attention. Then, with a heavy sigh he turned in his chair towards the squat glass bottle of Pilár dark rum that he kept on one side of the desk and unscrewed the cap in a ritual which usually—T-00 had observed—took place later in the day. The powerful alcohol swirled into a coffee mug and shortly after was slammed into the man’s mouth, eliciting a rough grunt as he fought the burn of the unhealthily-large shot.

            Mr. X relaxed somewhat as Ramirez returned to the phone. The next conversation had more that the bioweapon recognized, but was even more confusing:

            “Hey, Teifer! It’s Ramirez,” he sounded as peppy as always, despite the haggard look in his eyes and the rum flooding into his bloodstream, “Yeah, he told me you needed to hear from me… eh? Ah, he did mention what happened up at the Arklay lab…”

            He leaned back, hooded eyes inspecting his propped-up shoes as he took in his colleague’s words. He rolled them upon a certain part of her story:

            “Hey, hey—you’re getting too stressed. Listen: I get the risk. But Cerberus specimens physically can’t spread the virus. That shouldn’t be your main concern.

            “Those dogs don’t have T in them anymore—they’re kinda like the modern Tyrants, alright? We enhance the genome, we infect—with the delta strain for the Cerberus—and let the mutation take its course, okay? Then when they’re fully baked, we quarantine the specimens, give them a T-virus vaccination, and a course of anti-retrovirals just to be sure before those guys go to training. Which, by the way, you should be able to get a hold of someone at N.E.S.T. with experience training animal B.O.W.s. They’ve got lots of new Hunters coming out of there, they can help you wrangle those dogs when the time comes…”

            “Hm? …Ah… Yeah, see, that one is a problem,” Ramirez’s shoulders finally slouched more naturally, and he got a level, if slightly slushy, tone of voice back, “Rabies is very real and a good explanation for any ‘public eye’ stuff… If the bear story is true you’ll want to get a squad with heavy weapons and track down every rabid animal claim in a five-mile radius, then be sure to bag and burn everything they shoot.”

            “..? Teifer, you know that’s even easier. Quarantine and trace identity, burn the premises, then let the weaponized-virals R&D team see the data.”

            “…What journalist?” At this new turn in the conversation Ramirez shot upright in his chair, “… You don’t have a name? …Uh-huh. … Hm. Well, if he knows too much he probably already knows he’s dead.”

            “Right. See you in fall. Bye now.”

            After Ramirez hung up, he sat for a long while, head in hands. Mr. X let a good ten minutes pass before the alarm bells started to go off, and the huge mutant huffed as it took a careful step forward. At the creak of the floors, Dr. Ramirez raised his head again.

            “Eh?” He twisted around, “What is it, Mr. X?”

            The bioweapon had a number of words that it might have wanted to put out—“Are you well?”, “What was that about?”, “Do you need help?”, or even “What the fuck?”—but it had no idea how to move its throat, or tongue, or lips to do such a thing. He did the next best thing: Mr. X grunted, managing to make the trailing end of the noise rise up in pitch with wordless questions, as humans did in such a situation.

            “Smart fella,” Ramirez gave a soft laugh. “One of these days I’ll have to get you practice in saying a few words. I’m fine. Can you just… turn and check out the window for a while? I have to call my ex,” he added the last part quickly, which while confusing did not hold up the Tyrant very long in turning around and scanning the exterior of the house for potential threats.

            The phone rang several times, with Ramirez left waiting. Mr. X’s pinprick pupils hovered over the entrance gate, then the edge of the pinyon treeline, then over to where the dog was laid out in a patch of dirt by one of the front garden walls. Finally, someone answered the doctor:

            “Linda… hey. No don’t—” there was an insistent buzz of muffled vocals from the speaker, “It’s about the weekend, Linda—look, you want me to just not warn you? Huh?”

            “Okay okay. Look, I just need you to know I have to be out a few hours Saturday to work with someone. Don’t worry—” he interrupted the agonized screech from the speaker, “—I have someone to watch her until I get back. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t walk back on this, mi amor.”

            “… Okay, Jesus, I won’t do it again. Just… noon Saturday, right? I’ll be there.”

            The phone slammed on the receiver. Mr. X peeked back over his lapels in anticipation of a command. There was only so much time in the office, however decorated and airy, that Ramirez could stand and Mr. X tended to agree with this habit. It was in the loft area of the house, and the ceilings were a foot too low for the Tyrant’s comfort.

            “Right. Mr. X?” The bioweapon swiveled around in reply, “I’m going to fetch some things from the basement. Take up a guard downstairs, yeah?”

            Mr. X nodded with eagerness, letting the somewhat tipsy human lead the way out the door and down the stairs. This was an ideal task for both of them, considering the ninety-plus temperatures outside, and once the man had vanished down the too-narrow steps to the musty, refreshingly cool basement level the Tyrant posted himself in a comfortable nook within sight of the open basement door, the front door, and the downstairs hall towards the kitchen area. It watched. Nothing much reached its eyes or ears—except for a distant snort of a horse or cow, a wasp bouncing against the nearest window in a frenzy to find food or shade, and a clatter followed by a Spanish-language curse from the cluttered sublevel. Business as usual.

-------

            On Saturday, the omen which Mr. X innocently overheard came to the doorstep.

            In the morning, with Ramirez nursing a pickle-juice-based hangover cocktail and holding a hardboiled egg like it was a sergeant’s switch from bygone days, Mr. X was confronted with a series of warnings which it knew right away were serious, very serious, and urgent… but that he didn’t entirely grasp right away.

            “Mr. X! Listen—listen,” the man pressed his eggless hand into the lapel of his tame mutant’s trenchcoat, “Today is going to be a bit different. I need you to be… uh… well… different.”

            T-00 stared down at the man pressing himself as close to its face as possible, and gave a low grunt as he tilted his head.

            “Well, I mean…” Ramirez let up on the contact, as aware as they came that pushing the living weapons too hard or confusing them with contradictory orders could come with serious consequences, “Mr. X, you are going to meet my daughter today. She’s visiting over the weekend and will be here until roughly 11 a.m. on Monday.”

            Ramirez waited, as if to hear an acknowledgement from the creature staring him down with wide, perplexed, but still willing eyes. The man sighed, leaning into his hands which had settled on the Tyrant’s chest, “While she’s here, I want you to put your protective orders over me as secondary. While she’s here, you protect her, is that understood?”

            Daughter. Mr. X had not heard anything of Ramirez’s family before, but it had an intuitive sense of what the word “DAUGHTER” meant. The creature took a deep, sharp inhale, then gave a rough, affirmative growl at the same time it bobbed its head.

            “Good… good…” Ramirez reached up and patted the Tyrant on the shoulder, grin of relief almost palpable without flashing it within sight. Mr. X reflexively swelled with the praise.

            “She’ll be here at noon, and you must watch over her very closely until about four. If she needs water, get her a cup and fill it from the fridge. If she gets hungry, take her to the bottom left cabinet and she’ll pick what she wants. Otherwise just make sure no one and nothing hurts her. I’ll introduce you—”

            —and then, the kitchen phone rang, and the pager on the doctor’s hip bleeped with an annoying tone. The man rounded and went to answer, while the biomutant stood silently processing the future orders. Daughter… did that mean juvenile or adult daughter? Probably… juvenile. It would not need to be providing water on demand to an adult, or show an adult to the bottom left cabinet. There was also no reason to limit an adult to that particular cabinet, which only contained the sacks of undiluted nutrient gel for its own fluid intake along with boxes of crackers, jars of peanut butter, and a few bags of veggie chips and other “health snacks” as the doctor had called them. It was… not exactly designed for the task of childcare, and it shuffled anxiously in place as it dawned on him that it would have to figure it out with no more instruction. It could… learn this… right?

            Humans seemed to be fairly unbothered by the duty to watch over their offspring—so it must not be that difficult.

------

            Mr. X had been ordered to stand still inside the gates of the garden in an area half-concealed with shade when the large sedan pulled into the gravel circle at the end of the rural mountain road and crunched to a stop. Its keen vision spotted the small figure step out of the passenger side and quickly have an arm snatched up in a control grip by the small woman who had emerged from the driver’s side. There was a bitter argument between all three, which quelled after a minute or two while the sedan’s engine puttered impatiently. The woman released the little one, who did not run to either parent and instead stepped towards the gate, keeping her large brown eyes on both of them, as if wary of them following her.

            After a minute the car’s engine revved up as it returned down the uneven paving, disappearing in a few seconds around a bend. Ramirez was left wearily standing by where it had once parked, a small bag dangling from one hand (presumably the belongings of his child, packed into a tiny, colorful package).

            Mr. X glanced down at a small sound and was suddenly locking eyes with the absolute tiniest human he had ever seen. Dark hair and cut short, dark skin with a few freckles, and those huge brown eyes which widened further upon noticing the massive, trenchcoat-clad form skulking just inside the property line.

            “Papá!” The shrill voice was at such decibels and pitch that the Tyrant was forced to stagger back. Such a tiny body was so, so loud! The bioweapon resisted the urge to raise up its hands to cup over its ears, but its knees did bend and buckle before the doctor rushed up and grabbed the girl around the shoulders:

            “What’s wrong, m’ija?”

            “M-monstruo!” She pointed straight to the half-subdued, heavily-stressed visage of the startled Tyrant.

            “Oh,” Ramirez hugged his daughter closer and chuckled, as if there was some clear, and obvious, and worse trivial confusion at play. He knelt to where he was halfway between his child and his personal Bio-Organic Weapon.

            “It’s okay, m’ija—this is my bodyguard. I promise, he’s nice, okay?”

            The child peeked over the shabby fabric of Ramirez’s polo shirt, meeting the obviously inhuman pupils of the giant form that had frightened her. Without telepathy, it was unknown if she found a lack of evil within, but she did relent and sniffle up the start of her tears.

            “Bodyguard?”

            “Sí, for work,” Ramirez gave a strained smile, “It’s okay, he won’t hurt you. Look, see? He didn’t mean to scare you.”

            The doctor had slightly pressed the girl further around his shoulder, closer to the colossal form. Mr. X sensed the girl’s resistance to this and took a step slightly back—almost mirroring her trying to push herself back away from it. Its hearts thudded stronger in a sympathetic feedback loop upon seeing the feeble struggle she was putting up against her own father. He was forcing her towards a powerful monster, knowing full well what it could do. What then could it do, a being built for combat?

            It did what only its inbuilt reflexes urged it to do—and bowed its head until it lost eye contact with either of them. Mr. X had assumed Dr. Ramirez’s child would know what a T-103 was. It was now clear that she did not know at all what he was; she might think it was a human. But a big human staring hard at a tiny child was… threatening.

            “You’re okay. C’mon let me introduce you!” Ramirez’s voice chimed out as if no terror or stress was in evidence, “This fella is Mr. X. Don’t ask his real name—it’s secret. He’ll keep you safe so long as you’re here.

            “Mr. X! Eyes up.”

            T-00 reluctantly obeyed, and the first thing its eyes met was the petrified face of the girl still trying to cling onto her father’s shoulder after he’d pushed her to be well within the bioweapon’s reach. Its back twitched before it forced itself to stay completely still, the only other movement he made the uneasy blinking, and the gaze flicking back and forth—from the man, to the girl, to the man.

            “Mr. X, this is my daughter, Mariposa.” He smiled, “You remember I was talking about her yesterday, yeah? Be nice to her. She’s only—how old are you, Mari?”

            Was it… normal for humans to lose track of how old their offspring were? Mr. X felt his brows twitch, and somehow this microscopic expression which went in opposition of her father’s constant push was what Mariposa needed to see to give a quick swallow of nerves and relax a fraction:

            “Ten.”

            “That’s my girl! C’mon now, let’s get your stuff inside,” Ramirez stood up, all but shrugging his little girl off of himself like an annoying weight and picking up the backpack from where he’d set it down beside him. Apparently only Mr. X heard the soft whimper she let out as she stumbled and scurried to put her father back between herself and the menacing giant; T-00 took the opportunity to also do away with this forced close-quarters and took a much larger step back. It hesitated to follow the two into the front door for a few moments, especially as it spied the child sneaking worried glances over her hardly-evident shoulders at the creature.

            “Mr. X! Come on you, get out of the heat!” Its eye twitched a bit at the impatient tone of the order, but ducked his head low to negotiate the entryway and squeezed into the welcome air conditioning. Ramirez had been rushing around the open concept downstairs, dropping off Mariposa’s belongings onto one of the kitchen chairs before scoping around for his own briefcase, wallet, and the keys to his armored truck. The girl meanwhile had posted herself up behind the kitchen island, staring over bewildered and clearly scared at her parent preparing to leave her alone with a monster.

            “Right… that should be it. M’ija, come give a kiss ‘bye for now—Papá’s got to go into town for some last-minute business.”

            “You can’t leave me with—”

            “Shh! Don’t be rude. Mr. X is a big teddy bear, really—relax!”

            The Tyrant itself shot the doctor a dubious look; bear was maybe an accurate comparison at least in terms of size and weight, but… teddy? That was soft and harmless—and Mr. X knew by now it was very much not harmless, and… probably not soft.

            “Papá, please—”

            “No no, you listen. I’ve got to do this and it’s not a choice. You stay here and if you need anything just ask him. I won’t be gone for more than a few hours.”

            With that, Ramirez brushed past the Tyrant and swept out the door. The sound of the latch setting again ushered in a new, heavy silence. The bioweapon could feel the girl’s stare boring into the side of his head—watching him for any sudden moves with the same alertness that a Tyrant might train onto a potential threat. Understanding somewhat, Mr. X held completely still and listened for any indication that the tiny figure was moving out from her cover.

            The click and whirr of the fridge fan cutting on startled them both—Mariposa shrieked, the Tyrant jolted upright so hard the flooring shuddered, and it turned to see that the child had ducked further down and was only barely peeking over the island countertop at it. Briefly grumbling with embarrassment that it had reacted so strongly to so little, Mr. X eyed the floor as it reached up and scratched at the deformed grooves on its jaw. Being scared of something new was one thing… being scared of the box that kept the treats from spoiling was another entirely…

            “Um… Mr. X..?”

            He froze mid-itch at the trepidatious voice; the Tyrant turned to find that Mariposa had crept around the side of the kitchen. While still keeping a chair between herself and the hulking brute, she had cut the space between them by half, maybe more. Without the insufferable pressure of her unobservant (or uncaring) father forcing either of their hands, she seemed to calm down to the idea that this monster was “housebroken”—at least in the sense that it wouldn’t break the house. Not without orders to.

            Mariposa’s nose appeared to wrinkle up in contemplation as the Tyrant continued to watch her, making no move or noise but the normal bassy rush of its breathing.

            “…You don’t say much, do you.”

            Mr. X gave a sluggish blink; it could try to speak a word of two, but it wouldn’t have the slightest idea how the attempt would turn out—and it feared it may turn out like the ugly bellows and groans other Tyrants could more easily produce, so T-00 simply gave a creaky shake of its head.

            “So, you don’t talk?” Another shake, and Mariposa bit her lip as she processed what this meant for their hours stuck unattended together. “But… you listen?”

            It made sure it gave an emphatic nod to this, and then tilted its head as if alertly waiting to listen to her at this very second.

            “Okay…” She stepped out with care and no small degree of lingering trembles from the chair, peeking over her shoulder towards the back garden door, “May I… go outside? I wanna see Benji…”

            Benji. Dog’s name. The Tyrant recalled. The back garden of the house was a forty foot by fifteen foot rectangle with no known toxic or thorny plants, and it was northeasterly. Getting more and more shade soon. It should be safe; it would not be blinded by the California sunshine, and both sunburn and heatstroke would be less able to get at either of them. Mr. X gave a soft grunt that he hoped sounded affirmative and nodded.

            “You have to come with me, huh?” Another nod. “Okay… um… I’m going now.” The Tyrant watched as the small human very warily made her way to the back door, shooting looks its way every few steps as if to brace for the moment the massive form would start pursuing. Waiting until she had her hand to the door’s handle, T-00 started to follow with the lightest shuffling steps it could manage.

            The two of them kept about ten feet apart at minimum—keeping close tabs on each other but not being so jumpy or anxious now. This got even easier in the open space of the garden, especially as the golden-furred canine came loping around the side of the dry clumps of Pampas grass and wagged his whole body on sight of the little girl. T-00 planted its back to the house wall close by so it had the widest field of view and the most sun protection, and for a while it was almost as if the parental badgering, the uncomfortable introduction, and the sheer aura of child-endangerment which permeated the whole situation was no factor. The oblivious and overjoyed dog was a big help with that, and Mariposa bounded around with it as they gave the oversized tennis ball chewtoy a new coat of slobber and montane dust before both flopping down on the patio pavers and engaging in the kind of lazy cuddling that Mr. X could only give a curious stare. It had no context for this kind of contact; it sometimes bordered on violent the way she scratched at the domestic canine, but… Benji seemed to like it, and the dog rolling onto her lap and nuzzling her wet nose into her face was even drawing a few giggles. How… uncoordinated. How… how… something that he couldn’t connect the word for, but knew in its bones the concept of.

            Shit, damn… something. Other-expletive. It was on the tip of its… tongue? Brain? Subconscious linguistic knowledge? It knew what the “good uncoordinated not-serious companionship stress-relief good thing” was. It knew it. But a good word that summed the idea up had somehow not been something it had been exposed to in the growth chamber, it supposed.

            After more than an hour both dog and child were worn out, and their Tyrant chaperone had relaxed more, eyes half-hooded and drowsy. The sound of shoes scuffing nearby had it snapping back to alertness, and on looking down it found a surprise in the form of the little girl craning her neck up expectantly, hand just short of tugging at one of the gigantic hands. Benji padded up close by, wagging away as usual.

            “Mr. X, I’m gonna go in now. Can I take Benji with me?”

            T-00 remembered the dog being allowed inside before—especially when it was as hot as it had been today, so as he unstuck his back from the pebble-stucco of the wall he gave her a slight bob of the head. Benji led the way with tongue wagging in time with his tail.

            In the artificially-cooled interior, Mr. X let out a low huff. His mass was such that it was difficult for him to regulate his temperature once it got much hotter than 25 degrees Celsius. Staying in line of sight of the happy dog and the small child as they curled onto the floor by the couch, tired and joyous, it tried to focus otherwise on letting its system cool off back to normal. But after a moment, Mariposa asked a question, which took the Tyrant a moment to register from its unexpectedness:

            “Mr. X? Are you okay?”

            The Tyrant gave a forceful nod, which perhaps had the opposite effect as the large droplet of its sweat dived from the tip of its nose to the floor at the movement. Mariposa fixed it with an expression that it felt was familiar—maybe it had tried to aim that one at its own trainers, weeks and months ago…

            “Mr. X, do you know where dad keeps the ice cream?”

            T-00 truthfully did not, though the swift flicker of its pupils towards the freezer—where anything “ice” would logically go—betrayed something to the small girl. She stood and joined the hulking bioweapon in the kitchen area of the downstairs, pointing to the freezer section of the fridge.

            “Can you check if it’s in there? I can’t reach…”

            T-00 narrowed its eyes slightly, even as it took two ginger steps closer and reached to open the upper section of the refrigerator. There was a blast of refreshingly chilly vapor as it did so, and after that had passed it blinked rapidly and studied the slim pickings of the contents. There was, however, something which claimed to be “ice cream” within—and in a short motion it plucked the small box from its confines and let the freezer door swing shut and seal while it turned the container about. Not sure what to make of it, Mr. X lowered the package to where Mariposa could read the labels on its side.

            “Ooh…” At the way her eyes lit up, the Tyrant had a panicky feeling that it had just disobeyed Ramirez’s orders for this short guardianship period. But then… with how hot it was, and the man’s daughter had just been outside for so long…

            “…Are you allowed to have one?” Mariposa hesitated at reaching into the box, still lowered to where she could access it. Mr. X didn’t really have an answer. It assumed “no”, since it had never been given one of these “ice cream” things or even informed of their storage area. Almost as soon as it had managed a short shake of its head, Mariposa had pulled out two of the oblong objects and pushed one into the Tyrant’s free hand.

            “I’ll give you one, if you don’t say nothing to papá,” Mariposa smirked. Mr. X lifted up the comparatively tiny frozen treat as it returned the rest of the box to its normal position, and met the child’s gaze again.

            He nodded. Whatever the damn thing was, he was starting to smell it even through the foil wrapping, and whatever it was caused unrelenting rivulets of drool to keep forming at the edges of its tightly-sealed lips. Whatever it was was the good stuff, by the nutrient-hungry standards of a Tyrant. And it was cold as ice, still remaining so after more than a minute in the grip of an overheated bioweapon. Why would Ramirez not let his daughter have one of these, if they seemed so good?

            Oh.

            Oh!

            “Ice cream”, as it turned out, was indefinite proof that the universe was fundamentally good. After what by any numerical measure was only a few minutes, the Tyrant felt like it had experienced an hour of sugary and creamy wonder, all from the three-inch chunk of what Mariposa had specified was an “ice cream sandwich”—the brick of vanilla-flavored goodness wedged between chocolate cookies. T-00 barely knew what these specifications meant but committed them to memory anyways. At least, once it had become able to focus on any other incoming stimuli after the intense deliciousness had faded into the past. It let out an animalistic groan of pleasure before it considered how it may sound frightening to its nearby charge; it needn’t have worried, since Mariposa was licking the melted remnants from her fingers with similar noise and fervor though at a higher pitch and smoother, human vocal tones. Mr. X scooped up the foil pieces where they’d each left them and deposited them in the garbage bin. Mariposa had now settled on the rug in front of the television, petting Benji where he lay half-asleep and scanning through stations in search of something she liked. Mr. X eyed the temptingly large, luxurious couch which he generally was not given much chance to occupy; it was close to where his protective target now was, and he would have good peripherals on each side from there… why… not? But perhaps the most important reason was Mariposa:

            At the heavy creak of the wood flooring under the rugs behind her, the young girl paused in her channel surfing and caught the bioweapon red-handed halfway to the couch.

            “Is the couch, ah… strong enough?”

            Mr. X nodded. Somehow, the couch always held. Of course, it was designed to hold at least four humans weighing over two hundred pounds each, so a single Tyrant weighing almost that much by itself would still be within its design limits. Though, it could still be a fluke. It had only sat here twice before now, so it was still possible… Thankfully, even though it did creak and groan very tellingly, the couch did hold well enough that the Tyrant was able to relax. Mariposa started watching something which showed a number of strange animals—they were larger than humans, though by the way they moved slightly lighter than most Tyrants. Or at least more graceful. The camera zoomed and focused, and T-00 realized these were horses—fully-fleshed, healthy-looking horses, much unlike the half-lamed and raggedy one it had seen in person.

            “The horse only arrived in the American Southwest by chance… Most experts agree that the wild horses we see here are all descendants of domesticated horses brought to the southern part of the continent by the Spanish as early as the 1400s…” The Tyrant almost managed a frown out of pure confusion; despite what the voiceover said, the visuals of the program showed clearly labelled petrogylphs from the area in question from several thousand years prior to the “1400s” which had horses pointed out by convenient labels.

            “Nowadays, amongst the dry chaparral hills and the prairie plains, wild horse herds roam under the protection of a conservation branch of the US government—allowing for a certain number of wild mustang horses to be corralled, auctioned off, and trained to become domestic horses once more so that the many thousands of their wild cousins can continue to run free…”

            Why these apparently thousands of creatures could not do so without something of this sort occurring every year did not make particular sense—but thankfully the program moved on swiftly to another animal from the same region:

            “The Harris Hawk is another wondrous creature found in the American Southwest—one which boasts the title of the only bird of prey in the world which will hunt in packs.” T-00’s eyes flashed at the swift movement on the screen as several handsome-looking birds swept into view, and then looped joyfully into a thermal which took them high over a desert landscape. “Working together in the harsh arid environment, the Harris Hawks can between a group of three catch more than ten times the number of small rodents and reptiles as their closest relatives could on their own, making the cooperative arrangement entirely worth it. Falconers have begun capturing and taming these magnificent birds, bending their amazing talents and social habits to their own purposes…”

            … There seemed to be a pattern here. Animal was found useful—animal got caught and used for human interests. It almost seemed like all of the fanciful camera shots of wild things running and flying and the long-winded narration was just introduction to this idea. Mariposa apparently found this as dry and bizarre as they Tyrant did, and switched the channels again until she landed on one that cycled through daytime gameshows.

            “Alright, Karen—tell me something that frequently gets replaced on a car!”

            “Ummm… the mirrors?”

            This did not appear to be a very smart answer, and yet somehow the answer appeared among the top five of some kind of overall results. The most obvious explanation was that everyone shown was so terrible at operating motor vehicles they had to replace their broken-off mirrors often. Maybe that was the appeal of this game—to watch teams of perhaps the most foolish and ignorant specimens of humanity put these attributes on display to amuse the audience.

            It felt its head bob lower and awoke with a start—panic shooting through it as it realized it had started to drowse mid-watch. But there was… something wrong? No, not wrong; different. There was a slight warmth and pressure up against its side, and the arm on that side was propped up on a low, soft object.

            Mr. X started to move the arm to try and find the flat surface of the couch again, but froze as his palm bumped instead on the frail shoulders of the small girl. It craned its neck down fraction by fraction, trying not to move any other muscles; Mariposa had, beneath its notice, crawled up onto the open section of couch beside the bioweapon, wedging her tiny frame under its limp forearm and nestling her head into the crease and folds of its Limiter coat where its waist met its lap. As if the monstrosity’s leg was a comfy pillow. T-00 blinked as its bleary thoughts woke up further in order to race to the logical conclusion: It had clearly not just “started” to doze off… a sting of unease lit up in its chest and its hackles rose at the thought it had lapsed in this duty. It was supposed to protect her—if she had left the house again—or if that was the moment a rival company sent their agent—or if by pure accident she had gotten injured or threatened—

            Ramirez’s daughter suddenly shifted in her sleep, more onto her back, and as she did so her slender arms grasped up and ended up around the Tyrant’s arm. She was utterly dwarfed by the limb alone, and even the tight hug she had around it was barely making it through his tough sleeve and even tougher skin. Regardless, Mr. X could feel it, and the change had jarred him out of the panic spiral. The Tyrant’s heavily-wrinkled face softened up, and it studied its charge for a moment to ensure she was safe and well. It settled down once more, noting the low angle of the orange-gold sunlight streaking in through the kitchen windows; it estimated the time to be well over an hour later than Dr. Ramirez had said he would return. Its eyes flicked over to the child’s backpack hanging over the backrest of the chair, then to the wind rustling through the Pampas grass outside the window, and then the color and light of the vapid programming still on in the background.

            Ramirez did not return until it was almost dark, and aside from the façade of a bright and attentive reunion with Mariposa that he’d plastered over his clearly exhausted and aggravated inner feelings, the man did not linger on the surprise long absence and instead started throwing together something he’d called “mac and cheese”. Mariposa did not seem enthused, but she tolerated her father’s lazy cooking—especially since she had secretly pilfered the ice cream earlier. The doctor snappishly ordered Mr. X to take up a sentry position outside and leave them to their family time; the Tyrant grudgingly obeyed, shooting a pointed glance down at the lower cabinet where the nutrient gel base was stored but its yearning being ignored. It supposed it would have to wait another few hours. Very unfair, considering it had pulled so much additional weight that day. The bioweapon snorted once it was prowling its usual route in the dark. It was hungry, not starving. There was no danger in waiting a little longer. Mr. X would abide.

[beeapothecary]

AI Pollen Project Update 1

Hi everyone! I have a bunch of ongoing projects in honey and other things so I figured I should start documenting them here to help myself and anyone who might be interested. Most of these aren’t for a grade, but just because I’m interested or want to improve something.

One of the projects I’m working on is a machine learning model to help with pollen identification under visual methods. There’s very few people who are specialized to identify the origins of pollens in honey, which is pretty important for research! And the people who do it are super busy because it’s very time consuming. This is meant to be a tool and an aid so they can devote more time to the more important parts of the research, such as hunting down geographical origins, rather than the mundane parts like counting individual pollen and trying to group all the species in a sample.

The model will have 3 goals to aid these researchers:

Count overall pollen and individual species of pollen in a sample of honey

Provide the species of each pollen in a sample

Group pollen species together with a confidence listed per sample

Super luckily there’s pretty large pollen databases out there with different types of imaging techniques being used (SEM, electron microscopy, 40X magnification, etc). I’m kind of stumped on which python AI library to use, right now I’ve settled on using OpenCV to make and train the model, but I don’t know if there’s a better option for what I’m trying to do. If anyone has suggestions please let me know

This project will be open source and completely free once I’m done, and I also intend on making it so more confirmed pollen species samples with confirmed geographical origins can be added by researchers easily. I am a firm believer that ML is a tool that’s supposed to make the mundane parts easier so we have time to do what brings us joy, which is why Im working on this project!

I’m pretty busy with school, so I’ll make the next update once I have more progress! :)

Also a little note: genetic tests are more often used for honey samples since it is more accessible despite being more expensive, but this is still an important part of the research. Genetic testing also leaves a lot to be desired, like not being able to tell the exact species of the pollen which can help pinpoint geographical location or adulteration.

[dzthenerd490]

File: Goosebumps - Welcome to Dead House

SCP#: ATI

Code Name: The Vampire Town

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: The entire town had been walled off, the roads leading to SCP-ATI have been destroyed and reconstructed to lead away from the town, and a perimeter outside of the town had been filled with do not enter signs. The cover story is that the walled off town is actually quarantined due to an out of control and unstoppable gas leak, which is technically not a lie.

Foundation staff within SCP-ATI are to never take off their protective suits and/or armor, especially when around the "citizens" of SCP-ATI. Under no circumstances are Foundation staff allowed to go anywhere with SCP-ATI instances especially alone. Foundation staff participating in tests are or collecting samples from SCP-ATI and its instances are to do so when escorted by Foundation security. Foundation security must have UV liquid bullets and UV flashlights with them at all times. 

Should the "citizens" of SCP-ATI ever rebel against the Foundation all "umbrellas" are to close right away, and all buildings are to be smashed allowing sunlight in. This is to continue until the SCP-ATI citizens either surrender or are extinct. 

Description: SCP-ATI is the small town and the citizens of a said town known as Dark Falls. The people have been exposed to an anomalous yellow gas by the nearby factory that suffered a chemical spill. The gas spread everywhere killing everyone, but they didn't stay dead but instead became vampiric like ghouls. They have the common characteristics of a vampire being they are immortal, they have a hunger for fresh blood, and UV rays like sunlight is lethal to them. Essentially this is all there is to them and their anomalous properties. Unfortunately, skin and blood samples harvested tend to be no different to died skin and blood from corpses and decompose twice as fast as normal dead human flesh does. Though just like any vampire so long as they drink fresh blood, they will regenerate their wounds and their strength. 

SCP-ATI was discovered in July 1992 when a concerning rise of families had disappeared. Evidence recovered by Foundation agents showed that they all ended up going to a hidden town of Dark Falls. Foundation agents posing as a family went in to investigate but quickly had to withdraw when the citizens of SCP-ATI started attacking them right away. As such the O5 Council approved sending in Mobile Task Force Epsilon-6 "Village Idiots". They were able to quickly surround the town and rounded up the citizens. The citizens agreed to surrender but also begged for blood as their population was growing due to them adding each family they consumed. Thus, having more mouths to feed and less blood to go around as time went on. For whatever reason they must drink the blood directedly from living victims. Blood, even fresh blood, cannot be ingested by the citizens of SCP-ATI, how or why this works is unknown. 

The Ethics Committee was rightfully horrified and furious at the citizens of SCP-ATI and the O5 Council took advantage of this. They proposed to have the D-Class fed to the citizens regularly. They are also to have a population cull every [data expunged] months. The Ethics Committee approved this and eventually most Foundation staff ended up joining in. The main reason almost everyone in the Foundation was on board is due to the personality alterations of SCP-ATI citizens. It appears that anyone who has had their blood drained by SCP-ATI they not only turn but consider themselves true citizens of SCP-ATI and thus help with future feedings. Weather this is actually a part of the anomalous effects of SCP-ATI or just desperation formed out of their increased hunger. 

The citizens of SCP-ATI are now used as labor for minor projects such as mass production of easy to produce Foundation items. In return the town making up SCP-ATI has been filled with large umbrella like structures that allow the citizens to roam around freely. They are made similar to umbrellas to ensure that if the SCP-ATI citizens ever rebel from the Foundation they can close allowing sunlight in to neutralize them all. 

To this day Foundation staff, Administrative staff, and Ethics Committee members debate on whether or not SCP-ATI should be neutralized or if its citizens should be given better treatment. Thought as the years go by, less and less Foundation staff worry about the conditions of SCP-ATI and just leave it be. As such it has been mostly forgotten and those that do remember simply don't care enough to change the current status quo. The unfortunate fate that most SCPs will eventually face within the Foundation. 

.

SCP: Horror Movie Files Hub

[divinejhonson]

Engineered for Strength: Best Ready Mix Concrete in Karachi

The rapid pace of urban development in Pakistan's largest metropolis, Karachi, has brought with it a surging demand for durable and high-performance construction materials. As the city continues to evolve with new residential communities, commercial hubs, and infrastructure projects, builders and developers are looking for solutions that offer both speed and reliability. One such game-changer in the construction industry is Ready Mix Concrete, and leading this innovation in the region is Allied Materials. With its advanced batching technology, strict quality controls, and a reputation for consistent excellence, Allied Materials has emerged as a top provider of Ready Mix Concrete in Karachi. Offering tailor-made concrete solutions that meet international standards, Allied Materials is the go-to partner for projects that demand strength, efficiency, and long-term performance.

What is Ready Mix Concrete?

Ready Mix Concrete (RMC) is a specialized construction material manufactured in a batching plant under controlled conditions. It is then delivered in a ready-to-use form via transit mixers to the construction site. This method ensures that the mixture maintains consistency in quality, proportioning, and strength—factors that are difficult to guarantee with traditional, on-site mixing.

Unlike hand-mixed concrete, which can suffer from poor workmanship and inconsistent compositions, Ready Mix Concrete is precision-engineered to meet specific project requirements. It is particularly well-suited for large-scale constructions, time-sensitive projects, and high-load structures, where quality cannot be compromised.

Why Karachi Needs Ready Mix Concrete

Karachi, home to over 20 million people, is witnessing a boom in both public and private sector construction. From high-rise residential towers in Clifton and DHA to infrastructure developments across Korangi and Gulshan, speed and structural integrity are essential. Traditional methods of concrete mixing can no longer keep up with this demand.

The solution lies in adopting high-quality Ready Mix Concrete in Karachi, which offers unmatched advantages:

Faster construction timelines

Consistent and reliable strength

Reduced labor and material wastage

Environmentally sustainable practices

Safer, cleaner job sites

A Leader in Ready Mix Concrete Solutions

Allied Materials has positioned itself as the top-tier supplier of Ready Mix Concrete in Karachi, serving a wide range of sectors including residential, commercial, and industrial projects. Their state-of-the-art batching plants and rigorous quality control systems ensure that every cubic meter of concrete they deliver is engineered for strength and performance.

Key Features That Set Allied Materials Apart

Advanced Batching Technology Allied Materials operates high-capacity, fully automated batching plants that guarantee accuracy in mixing proportions, temperature control, and water-cement ratios. This level of precision ensures that their concrete performs as expected—every single time.

Custom Concrete Mix Designs Different construction projects require different types of concrete. Whether it’s a lightweight mix for partition walls or a high-strength mix for foundations and columns, Allied Materials offers tailored solutions based on your structural and durability requirements.

On-Time Delivery with Fleet Management With a large fleet of modern transit mixers and a reliable logistics network, Allied Materials ensures timely delivery to any site in Karachi—minimizing construction delays and increasing productivity.

In-House Quality Control Laboratory Allied Materials has invested heavily in lab facilities where concrete samples are rigorously tested for compressive strength, workability, slump, and durability. This helps prevent any issues before concrete reaches your site.

Technical Support & Site Supervision Their team of experienced engineers and technicians provides onsite assistance, ensuring that the concrete is poured correctly and cured as per standards.

Applications of Ready Mix Concrete in Karachi

The versatility of Ready Mix Concrete makes it suitable for a wide array of applications in Karachi’s diverse construction landscape:

1. Residential Construction

From foundations to rooftops, Allied Materials provides RMC solutions that offer the strength and workability needed for homes, apartment buildings, and townhouses.

2. Commercial Complexes

Shopping malls, office towers, and parking garages require reliable concrete that can withstand heavy footfall and vehicle loads. Allied’s RMC ensures superior load-bearing performance.

3. Industrial Facilities

Factories and warehouses demand robust flooring and structural components. Allied’s high-grade RMC is designed to handle heavy machinery and dynamic loads.

4. Infrastructure Projects

Flyovers, underpasses, drainage systems, and bridges require large volumes of high-strength concrete with strict performance criteria. Allied Materials delivers on every front.

Benefits of Choosing Ready Mix Concrete

Using Ready Mix Concrete in Karachi from Allied Materials brings several advantages that contribute to better construction outcomes:

1. Time-Saving

Manual concrete mixing is labor-intensive and time-consuming. RMC speeds up the construction process significantly by eliminating the need for onsite batching and mixing.

2. Consistency

Each batch of RMC from Allied Materials is uniform and tested. This consistency results in stronger and more reliable structures, reducing the risk of structural failures.

3. Cost-Effective

Although RMC may appear slightly more expensive at first glance, it saves money in the long run by minimizing labor costs, reducing material wastage, and avoiding rework due to poor-quality mixes.

4. Cleaner and Safer Sites

With no raw material storage and mixing on-site, job sites remain clutter-free, reducing accidents and improving safety.

5. Environmentally Friendly

Allied Materials follows green production practices. Their batching plants recycle water and control dust emissions, contributing to more sustainable construction practices.

Real-Life Success Stories

High-Rise in DHA Karachi

A 20-story residential building under construction in DHA faced delays due to inconsistent on-site concrete quality. Switching to Allied Materials' RMC reduced casting time by 40% and improved structural integrity across floors.

Industrial Shed in Korangi

A large-scale industrial unit required fast completion. Allied provided high-strength concrete with early setting time, enabling the company to move in and start operations ahead of schedule.

Commercial Mall in Gulshan

The developers of a multi-floor shopping mall turned to Allied Materials to ensure that each concrete slab was poured within tight timeframes and under quality assurance. The result? Zero cracks, zero delays, and 100% satisfaction.

How to Place an Order with Allied Materials

Getting started with Allied Materials is easy and hassle-free. Here’s how you can place an order:

Contact Their Sales Team Call or email their representatives for a consultation on your project requirements.

Provide Your Mix Specifications Their engineers will assist you in selecting the right grade and type of RMC based on your project.

Schedule a Delivery Pick a convenient delivery time and date. Their team will coordinate logistics to ensure on-time arrival.

Onsite Pouring and Support Allied’s support staff will ensure proper placement and curing to guarantee maximum performance.

Conclusion

As Karachi continues to grow into a mega-city, the demand for faster, safer, and stronger construction solutions is only going to rise. Traditional methods are proving inadequate for the scale and complexity of today’s projects. Allied Materials, with its technologically advanced systems, expert team, and unwavering commitment to quality, is setting the benchmark for Ready Mix Concrete in Karachi. Whether you're building a family home, a corporate tower, or an industrial warehouse, their concrete is engineered for strength and built to last.

[akankshajain]

How to Hire the Best Digital Marketing Freelancer for Your Business

In today’s competitive online space, hiring the best digital marketing freelancer can be a game-changer for your business. Unlike traditional agencies, freelancers offer agility, affordability, and often more personalized strategies that drive results. But how do you find the right one?

This step-by-step guide will help you confidently hire a digital marketing freelancer who aligns with your goals and delivers measurable ROI.

Why Hire a Digital Marketing Freelancer?

Before diving into the “how,” let’s clarify the benefits of hiring a freelance digital marketer:

Cost-effective: No overhead costs or retainers like agencies

Specialized skills: Freelancers often focus on one or two areas (SEO, social media, PPC, etc.)

Flexible contracts: Hire short-term or long-term, based on your campaign needs

Global talent access: Work with top freelancers worldwide

1. Define Your Digital Marketing Goals

Hiring the best freelancer starts with knowing what you need. Ask yourself:

Do I want to increase website traffic?

Is brand awareness my main goal?

Am I looking to generate leads or sales?

Do I need help with SEO, content, social media, email, or paid ads?

Clear goals help narrow your search to freelancers with the right expertise.

2. Choose the Right Marketing Channels

Not all freelancers are generalists. Some specialize in one marketing channel, such as:

SEO Freelancers – Help you rank higher on Google and increase organic traffic

Social Media Freelancers – Create and manage engaging posts and ad campaigns

Email Marketing Freelancers – Build email lists and create automated flows

Content Marketing Freelancers – Write blogs, landing pages, and lead magnets

PPC Experts – Run Google Ads or Meta Ads with optimized conversions

Matching your needs to the freelancer’s strengths is key.

3. Look for Proven Experience and Results

Don’t just rely on portfolios—dig deeper. Ask for:

Case studies or real examples of past campaigns

Metrics or results achieved (traffic growth, ROI, CTR, etc.)

Client testimonials or references

Industry experience in your niche

Top freelancers often have measurable success stories and glowing reviews.

4. Use Trusted Freelance Platforms

Finding high-quality digital marketing freelancers is easier when you use vetted platforms:

Upwork – Large pool of freelancers with verified reviews

Toptal – Curated top 3% of freelancers worldwide

Fiverr Pro – Hand-selected premium freelance talent

MarketerHire – Matches you with pre-vetted marketers

LinkedIn – Great for personal outreach and seeing recommendations

These platforms allow you to compare pricing, communication skills, and previous work.

5. Evaluate Communication and Strategy Fit

Soft skills matter just as much as technical skills. When interviewing potential freelancers, consider:

How clearly do they explain their approach?

Are they proactive in suggesting ideas?

Do they ask smart questions about your business?

Can they adapt their tone, content, or design to match your brand?

Good communication is a strong predictor of long-term success.

6. Start With a Paid Test Project

Before committing to a large contract, hire them for a small paid project:

A single blog post

A one-week ad test

A short SEO audit

A sample email campaign

This lets you evaluate their process, turnaround time, and results before scaling the relationship.

7. Set Clear Expectations and KPIs

Once you hire the best digital marketing freelancer for your needs:

Define scope, deadlines, and deliverables

Agree on KPIs (traffic, leads, CTR, conversions)

Use collaboration tools (Slack, Trello, Google Drive)

Schedule regular check-ins or performance reviews

Clear expectations reduce misunderstandings and ensure a results-driven partnership.

Red Flags to Watch Out For

Vague answers about strategy

Overpromising unrealistic results (“Rank #1 in a week!”)

No portfolio or client references

Poor communication or missed deadlines

Unwillingness to track/report metrics

If it feels off, trust your gut and move on.

Final Thoughts

Hiring the best digital marketing freelancer isn't just about finding a resume with buzzwords—it's about choosing a strategic partner who understands your vision and can execute on it. Whether you're aiming to boost visibility, drive conversions, or scale your brand in 2025, the right freelancer can help you get there faster and more efficiently.

[rockymountainenvironmental]

Idaho Phase 2 ESA: What You Should Know Before Buying or Developing Land

Idaho Phase 2 ESA reports give developers, investors, and property buyers the environmental clarity they need before moving forward. At Rocky Mountain Environmental Associates, Inc., we make sure every assessment is detailed and straightforward.

Whether you're preparing to purchase or planning a development, this guide will help you understand why a Phase 2 ESA in Idaho is a smart move.

What Makes a Phase 2 ESA Different?

If a Phase 1 ESA uncovers possible issues, the Phase 2 ESA steps in to take a closer look. Rather than focusing on documents and site visits alone, Phase 2 includes hands-on sampling and lab testing.

During this stage, soil, groundwater, and vapor samples are pulled from specific areas that might be at risk. After analysis, we help you determine whether the land has been impacted by hazardous substances.

This essential process helps confirm or rule out pollution concerns so that you can take the next steps with confidence.

When Is a Phase 2 ESA Needed in Idaho?

You’ll likely need a Phase 2 ESA in Idaho if Phase 1 findings suggest that the property could be contaminated. Former industrial sites, fuel stations, or older buildings often trigger this next step.

You may also need it if there are signs like strong chemical odors, odd-colored soils, or buried waste. Even when it’s unclear, our team will evaluate your site and explain if Phase 2 testing is necessary.

By identifying problems early, we help clients reduce risk while protecting their investment.

What’s Involved in the Phase 2 Process?

Rocky Mountain Environmental Associates, Inc. begins with a site-specific sampling plan based on Phase 1 data. We then gather samples using professional tools and techniques.

Next, the samples go to a certified lab for testing. Our team breaks down the results into a simple report that highlights any issues and outlines next steps if needed.

This process helps ensure you’re never left in the dark about your property’s true condition.

Why You Need a Trusted Environmental Company in Idaho

Not every firm offering Idaho environmental services has the experience to handle complex sites. That’s why many clients choose Rocky Mountain Environmental Associates, Inc. — we know Idaho and we know environmental rules.

Our team understands local and federal regulations, and we always aim to deliver timely, accurate results. With us, you’ll have a partner who’s committed to keeping your project on track.

We’re a reliable environmental company in Idaho that values integrity, clear communication, and effective results.

How Phase 2 Results Affect Land Decisions

The findings from a Phase 2 ESA may impact your timeline, your budget, or even your development plans. If the site shows contamination, remediation may be necessary.

However, catching these issues early gives you options, including renegotiating purchase prices or adjusting your designs. Our reports are built to support decisions—not delay them.

When you understand your land’s risks clearly, you can act with more confidence and less stress.

Comprehensive Idaho Environmental Services You Can Count On

In addition to assessments, we also offer cleanup planning, compliance consulting, and monitoring programs. This makes us a full-service provider of Idaho environmental services.

Our goal is to support your project from start to finish. Whether you're working on a small commercial lot or a large industrial site, we bring the same level of focus and care.

And with each project, we make sure clients receive fast service, clear reports, and expert recommendations.

Environmental Site Assessments in Idaho Done Right

Environmental reviews are essential in real estate, especially when environmental risks are involved. That’s why our environmental site assessments in Idaho are tailored for accuracy and clarity.

We look at every detail and provide data that is both useful and easy to understand. Our assessments help you meet legal requirements while protecting your long-term interests.

For developers, city planners, and investors, we’re a team you can trust for honest guidance and dependable results.

Ready to Schedule an Idaho Phase 2 ESA?

Thinking about buying land or starting a development? Get the environmental facts before you move forward. An Idaho Phase 2 ESA can give you peace of mind and a solid foundation.

If you're ready to take the next step, our team is here and happy to help.

👉 Contact us here to get started or ask any questions you might have.

Final Thoughts

A thorough Phase 2 ESA gives you the insight needed to make responsible choices. At Rocky Mountain Environmental Associates, Inc., we bring reliable Idaho environmental services to every project we support.

Don’t let environmental uncertainty slow you down. Let our trusted professionals handle the assessment, so you can move forward with clarity and confidence.

[xpressluna]

I’ve Patiently Tested 10 Ways to Earn Money Online by Writing — Here’s What Works

The internet is flooded with promises of easy money through writing. As someone who’s spent the past year patiently testing dozens of methods, I can tell you: most are overhyped. But a handful actually work — and work well — if you’re consistent, strategic, and patient.

Here’s what I learned from trying out 10 popular ways to earn money online by writing, and which ones are truly worth your time.

Freelance Writing for Clients

Earnings Potential: $20–$200+ per article Best For: Writers who want stable income and client relationships

This is the most reliable method I tested. Sites like Upwork, Freelancer, and ProBlogger Jobs offer consistent opportunities for writers across niches. Landing your first client can take time, but once you build a portfolio and good reviews, work comes more easily.

✅ What Worked: Targeting a specific niche (e.g., personal finance, SaaS, health) helped me stand out and command better rates. 🚫 What Didn’t: Competing on price in general categories led to burnout and low pay.

Medium Partner Program

Earnings Potential: $10–$1,000/month depending on traffic and topic Best For: Writers who enjoy personal essays or thought leadership

Medium pays writers based on member reading time. You won’t get rich overnight, but with consistent publishing and a few viral hits, income grows.

✅ What Worked: Writing in trending categories (productivity, tech, relationships) and submitting to large publications like Better Humans or Start It Up. 🚫 What Didn’t: Writing random topics without targeting any audience — no one read those.

Ghostwriting

Earnings Potential: $500–$5,000 per project Best For: Skilled writers who don’t need a byline

Ghostwriting is lucrative if you’re okay writing under someone else’s name. I wrote blog posts, LinkedIn articles, and even an ebook for clients who had ideas but no time or skill to write.

✅ What Worked: Positioning myself as a specialist in one area (e.g., thought leadership for executives). 🚫 What Didn’t: Taking low-paid ghostwriting gigs — they often demanded more work than they were worth.

Self-Publishing Ebooks

Earnings Potential: $50–$2,000+/month depending on sales Best For: Writers with expertise or storytelling ability

I published a few short non-fiction ebooks on Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP). It takes effort upfront, but once live, sales can become passive income.

✅ What Worked: Writing concise, valuable guides in a niche people are actively searching for (e.g., productivity, freelancing). 🚫 What Didn’t: Fiction without marketing — I made almost nothing from my attempt at a short story collection.

Content Writing for Blogs & Agencies

Earnings Potential: $0.05–$0.25 per word Best For: Writers who can produce informative, SEO-optimized content

Agencies often hire freelance writers to churn out blog content for clients. The pay is modest, but regular work is possible.

✅ What Worked: Applying to content mills with higher standards like ClearVoice, Verblio, and Scripted. 🚫 What Didn’t: Platforms that pay $5 per 500 words — not sustainable.

Copywriting (Ads, Emails, Landing Pages)

Earnings Potential: $100–$5,000+ per project Best For: Writers who understand psychology and marketing

Copywriting is one of the highest-paid writing skills. I took a short course, practiced writing sales emails and landing pages, and started pitching startups.

✅ What Worked: Learning from top copywriters (like Joanna Wiebe or Alex Cattoni) and building a copywriting-specific portfolio. 🚫 What Didn’t: Generic proposals to clients without tailoring — they got ignored.

Writing for Revenue Share Sites

Earnings Potential: $0–$100/month Best For: Beginners building writing samples

Sites like HubPages or .media pay a small amount based on ad revenue or views. I used these to test content ideas and practice SEO.

✅ What Worked: Treating it as a testing ground and learning platform. 🚫 What Didn’t: Expecting real income — it’s a long game with low returns.

Newsletter Monetization (Substack, ConvertKit)

Earnings Potential: $0–$10,000+/month Best For: Writers with a unique voice and loyal audience

Starting a paid newsletter takes time, but it pays off with the right niche and consistency. My Substack grew slowly, but when I reached a few hundred subscribers, sponsorships and reader support came in.

✅ What Worked: Niching down and offering value (e.g., weekly insights on AI tools for creators). 🚫 What Didn’t: Writing random musings — people won’t pay for general thoughts.

Affiliate Blogging

Earnings Potential: $50–$2,000/month Best For: Writers who can write review-style or tutorial content

By creating blog posts that recommend products and including affiliate links, I made a small but consistent income. SEO and keyword research are key.

✅ What Worked: Product comparisons and tutorials targeting long-tail keywords. 🚫 What Didn’t: Writing without keyword strategy — no traffic, no income.

Writing Online Courses or Course Scripts

Earnings Potential: $500–$10,000+ Best For: Writers with subject-matter expertise

I collaborated with a course creator to write scripts and outlines for an online class. You can also sell your own course on platforms like Teachable or Gumroad.

✅ What Worked: Combining writing with teaching skills in a specific niche. 🚫 What Didn’t: General courses without a clear outcome or promise.

Final Thoughts: What Actually Works?

If I had to rank these based on consistency, income potential, and personal satisfaction, here’s how I’d place them:

Freelance Writing (Clients)

Copywriting

Ghostwriting

Medium (if done strategically)

Ebooks & Blogging with Affiliate Links

Everything else can supplement your income or act as a stepping stone, but the real money comes from treating writing as a business.

💡 Pro Tip: Choose one or two methods, go deep, and build a reputation. Trying to do all 10 at once will dilute your efforts.

[velosit]

Floor Levelers Supplier Hamilton

1. Understand Your Needs

Before selecting a supplier, identify your specific requirements. Consider:

Type of floor leveler needed (self-leveling, underlayment, topping, etc.)

Surface type (concrete, wood, tile)

Project scale (residential or commercial)

Application method (manual or pump-applied)

Knowing your needs ensures you seek suppliers with the right product lineup.

2. Evaluate Product Quality

High-quality floor levelers provide better adhesion, faster curing times, and longer durability. Ask suppliers:

What certifications or standards their products meet (e.g., ASTM, ISO)

Whether they offer technical data sheets (TDS) or safety data sheets (SDS)

If they allow samples or product testing

3. Check Supplier Reputation

Reputation can reveal a lot about reliability. Research:

Online reviews and ratings

Client testimonials or case studies

Years in business and specialization in flooring solutions

Ask peers in the industry for referrals or experiences.

4. Assess Technical Support and Expertise

A good supplier doesn’t just sell—they support. Evaluate:

Availability of technical advice or training

On-site support for large or complex projects

Responsiveness to questions or concerns

Suppliers with knowledgeable staff can help avoid costly errors.

5. Compare Pricing and Terms

Price matters, but so does value. Review:

Unit costs and bulk discount options

Payment terms and return policies

Delivery fees and lead times

Cheaper products with poor performance may cost more in the long run.

6. Review Logistics and Supply Chain Strength

Timely delivery is critical. Consider:

Inventory levels and restocking frequency

Geographic proximity or distribution network

Ability to handle urgent or high-volume orders

Consistent availability can make or break a project timeline.

7. Look for Green or Low-VOC Options

Sustainability is increasingly important. Ask suppliers if they:

Offer low-VOC or eco-friendly formulations

Have third-party environmental certifications

Support LEED or other green building initiatives

This is especially important in commercial or institutional construction.

Conclusion

Choosing the right floor levelers supplier is a balance of quality, service, price, and reliability. Do your homework, compare options, and prioritize partners who understand your needs and provide consistent support.

[mayaduffphleb]

Open Your Future: Top Phlebotomy Jobs in Los Angeles for 2023

# unlock Yoru Future: Top Phlebotomy Jobs in Los Angeles for 2023

**Meta ⁤Title:** Discover Top Phlebotomy ⁣Jobs in Los Angeles 2023 **Meta Description:**⁤ Explore ⁤the ⁣best phlebotomy job ⁤opportunities in Los angeles for 2023. learn about top ‌employers, career⁤ benefits, and tips for success⁣ in‍ the phlebotomy field.

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## ​Introduction

As healthcare ⁤continues⁤ to‌ evolve, the demand for skilled professionals in specialized⁣ fields,⁣ such as phlebotomy, grows steadily.⁤ In Los Angeles, ⁤the ‍job market for phlebotomists⁢ is ripe with opportunity, thanks⁣ to the city’s ⁢diverse healthcare landscape, including hospitals, clinics, and research facilities. This article will explore the top phlebotomy jobs available ‍in Los Angeles for 2023,the benefits of pursuing‌ a ‍career in ⁤this field,and practical tips ​to help you ‍land your dream job.

## understanding Phlebotomy

Phlebotomy involves drawing ⁣blood from patients for various ‍clinical purposes, including diagnostics, treatment,‌ and​ research. A phlebotomist requires specialized training and certification, ‍making it a promising career choice ⁣for those interested​ in⁣ the ‍healthcare‍ sector.

**Key Responsibilities of a Phlebotomist:** -⁢ Collecting blood​ samples from patients. – ⁤Ensuring patient⁣ comfort during ​procedures. – Maintaining sterile equipment and following safety protocols. – Accurately‌ labeling⁣ and processing samples for laboratory analysis. – Recording patient information and updating medical records.

With an increasing ‌emphasis on healthcare in Los ⁤Angeles, now is the perfect time ‌to harness the ‍opportunities in​ this⁢ field.

## The Demand for Phlebotomists in Los Angeles

According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics,⁢ employment for phlebotomists is ‍projected to ⁤grow‌ by ⁣11% from ‍2020 to 2030, which‌ is faster than the average for all occupations. In Los ⁤Angeles, several​ factors contribute⁣ to this significant‌ demand:

– The city has a large population with ongoing health⁣ needs. -‍ Numerous ⁢healthcare facilities, including major hospitals and ‍private practices. – ⁢Increasing focus on ⁤preventive ‍care, leading to⁤ more frequent blood​ tests.

### Top‌ Employers of Phlebotomists in Los Angeles

When exploring phlebotomy job opportunities, it’s important⁤ to know which organizations are⁣ leading the way in ⁢hiring. here’s a fast overview of some top employers in Los Angeles for‌ phlebotomists:

| Employer ‌ ⁤ | Type ⁣ ‍ ⁤ ‍ | ‌Job opportunities ​ | |———————————-|—————————|———————————| | **Kaiser​ Permanente** ‌ | Health Maintenance Org | ​Full-time and part-time roles⁢ ​ | | **Cedars-Sinai⁤ Medical Center** | Hospital ⁤ ⁤ ⁤ ‍ | ⁤Various positions available ⁤ | |‍ **UCLA ⁢medical center** ⁤ ⁢ ⁤⁤ | academic Medical Center ⁣ | Internship ⁢and residency roles | | ⁢**LabCorp** ⁣ ⁢⁣ ‍ ‍ ​ ⁣ | Diagnostic Lab ‍ ​ | Flexible ‍part-time positions ‍ | | **quest Diagnostics** ‌ ⁢ | Diagnostic Medical Lab ‍ | Multiple openings​ available ‍ |

## Benefits of⁢ a ​Career in phlebotomy

Choosing a phlebotomy career comes with numerous advantages:

### Job Security

With a ⁣growing need for blood work in diagnostic processes and research, phlebotomists ⁢enjoy strong ⁤job security and ‌consistent opportunities for employment.

### Competitive Salary

Phlebotomists in Los ⁤Angeles ⁤earn competitive wages, with experienced professionals averaging between $50,000-$60,000 per year, ​depending on their skills and workplace.

### Work-Life⁣ Balance

many phlebotomy roles offer flexible‌ hours, allowing you to balance work and personal life effectively.This versatility is especially appealing to those with other commitments.

### Impact on Patient Care

Phlebotomists ​play a crucial role​ in⁣ patient care. Your ability⁢ to ensure accurate ‌blood ​draws‍ and patient comfort directly contributes⁣ to better healthcare outcomes.

## Tips for Landing a⁣ Phlebotomy Job in Los Angeles

To secure a​ desirable position in⁣ phlebotomy, ⁣consider the following strategies:

### 1. Obtain the Necessary Certifications

Enroll in a ​reputable phlebotomy training ‍program that offers certification upon completion. Key certifications​ include:

– **Certified Phlebotomy ​Technician (CPT)** – **Registered‌ Phlebotomy Technician (RPT)**

### 2. Update Your Resume

focus on your training, work experience, ‌and relevant ​skills. Tailor your resume to fit the job you’re applying for,‌ emphasizing your phlebotomy training and ⁤any hands-on experience.

###⁣ 3. Network Strategically

Attend industry-related workshops, seminars, and networking events in Los‌ Angeles.Connect with healthcare​ professionals to learn about job‍ openings and ⁣recommendations.

### 4. Leverage Online Job Portals

Utilize online⁤ platforms like Indeed, LinkedIn,‌ and‍ Glassdoor to search for phlebotomy jobs specifically in Los Angeles. ⁢Set alerts⁢ for new job postings⁣ to stay informed.

### 5. Prepare for⁣ Interviews

Practice common interview questions for phlebotomists and be prepared​ to discuss your educational background, training, and ⁤experience. Showcase ​your passion‍ for patient​ care and ⁢commitment to safety protocols.

##‌ Case Studies: successful Phlebotomy Professionals in Los Angeles

### Case Study‌ 1: Maria’s Journey

Maria graduated from a local⁢ community college with a ​phlebotomy certification.She began her career as an intern at ⁤a small clinic, where ⁤she ‍gained invaluable experience working​ with diverse patients. After six‍ months, she secured a ​full-time position at Kaiser‍ Permanente, where she enjoys ‍a stable career and has opportunities for advancement.

### Case Study 2:​ John’s Success Story

After realizing his passion for healthcare, John pursued phlebotomy training while working part-time. He connected ‌with peers at workshops and created a strong network.‍ His persistence⁤ paid ⁤off when he⁤ landed‍ a role ⁣at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center,where he is now responsible for‍ training new phlebotomists and continually enhancing his skills.

## Practical Tips for Aspiring Phlebotomists

-⁣ **stay Informed**:⁤ Keep abreast of‍ the latest techniques in ⁣phlebotomy and related healthcare ⁢advancements. – ‍**Practice Good Dialogue**: Develop strong interpersonal⁣ skills to ‌help ⁢you relate to⁤ patients effectively. – **Prioritize Safety**: Understand and apply safety⁤ protocols when drawing⁤ blood to ⁤ensure⁤ a‍ safe and ‍professional surroundings.

## Conclusion

The future is shining ‍for aspiring phlebotomists in Los Angeles. With a growing demand for healthcare professionals and ⁤a robust job⁣ market,‌ you can unlock various ‌opportunities with the right training and dedication. Remember to leverage your skills and network ⁣strategically, and you’ll be ​well on your way to a rewarding phlebotomy career. ⁣So, get started on ⁤your journey today and become part⁢ of this essential ​healthcare sector ⁢in Los Angeles!

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By optimizing your journey with this actionable information, you can not ⁤only unlock a fulfilling career but also‌ play a critical role in improving patient care in your community. Good luck!

https://phlebotomyclassesonline.net/open-your-future-top-phlebotomy-jobs-in-los-angeles-for-2023/