#DNA modification

[medicomunicare]

Genes in a bottle: grammar, codes, writing and spelling inside that little sphere called nucleus

Over an organism’s lifetime, its genome changes very little. What does change, constantly, are which proteins the cell produces in response to damage, changes in the environment, or stages in the reproductive cycle. The protein production is regulated by DNA-binding proteins that have evolved the ability to turn different genes on or off. Because the environment can change quickly, rapid…

[praveenmohantelugu]

పురాతన DNA మార్పుకు సంబంధించిన అసలు ఆధారాలు ఇవే!

Hey guys, ప్రాచీన భారతదేశం మరియు దాని సాంకేతికత గురించి కొన్ని తీవ్రమైన, సంచలనాత్మక సాక్ష్యాలను ఈ రోజు నేను మీకు చూపించాలనుకుంటున్నాను. ఇది ఒక పురాతన ఆలయంలో ఉన్న చెక్కడం. దీన్ని చూడగానే నేను చాలా ఆశ్చర్యపోయాను, ఇక్కడ ఒక sperm, ఒక అండం దగ్గరకు వెళ్తుంది, ఇది ఫలదీకరణానికి ముందు అంటే fertilization అని చెప్తారు కదా దానికి ముందు జరిగే విషయం ఇది. కానీ, దీన్ని చూసిన కూడా మనకు అర్ధంకావడంలేదు కదా, ఎందుకంటే, ఈ human fertilization process అంతా, 19వ శతాబ్దంలో మాత్రమే కనిపెట్టారని మనకు బాగానే తెలుసు. కానీ, ఇది వెయ్యి సంవత్సరాలకు ముందు, మన భారతదేశంలో నిర్మించిన ఒక పురాతన ఆలయం, కాబట్టి పురాతన కాలంలో, మైక్రోస్కోప్ లేకుండానే, ఈ spermను మరియు అండాన్ని ఎలా వాళ్ళు చెక్కగలిగారు?

Ofcourse, నాకు బాగా తెలుసు, ఇది వేరే విషయం అయ్యుంటుందని మీరు అనుకుంటారు, అంటే ఇది ఒక గుడ్డును తినే పాము అని కొందరు వాదిస్తారు. కొంతమంది, ఇది నవగ్రహాలలో ఉన్న రాహు అని వాదిస్తారు, అంటే, రాహు సూర్యుడు లేదా చంద్రుడిని తినడం వల్లే గ్రహణం ఏర్పడుతుందని చెప్తారు కదా. మన హిందూ గ్రంథాలలో కూడా ఇది చాలా interesting అయినా ఒక కథ, ఈ sperm, మరేంటో కాదు, రాహువు సూర్యుడిని మరియు చంద్రుడిని మింగుతుందని చెప్తారు, కానీ వాళ్ళకి ముఖ్యమైన ఒక విషయం తెలియదు, ఏంటంటే, రాహువు యొక్క సగం శరీరం మాత్రమే పాము లాగా ఉంటుంది కానీ, అతని ఎగువ మొండెం మొత్తం, పూర్తి ముఖ లక్షణాలతో మనిషిలాగానే ఉన్నట్టు, శిల్పులు ఎల్లప్పుడూ చెక్కడాలలో చూపిస్తారు, ఇక్కడ మరొక పురాతన ఆలయంలో, మరొక పురాతన శిల్పం ఉంది చ��డండి. మళ్ళీ, ఇక్కడ, అదే ఫలదీకరణం అంటే fertilizationను చూపించారు, ఒక spermను ఒక అండంను చాలా స్పష్టంగా చూపించారు, గత 5 సంవత్సరాల వరకు, ఈ చెక్కడం చూడడానికి ఇలానే ఉండేది, ఆ తరువాత, ఈ ఆలయంలో దీనికి పెయింట్ వేసేసారు, క్షమించండి ఇప్పుడు ఇది చూడడానికి, ఇలా ఉంది, నాకు మాత్రం దీనికంటే ఆ పాత చెక్కడమే చాలా నచ్చింది.

మరియు దీనిలో మరికొన్ని వివరాలు కూడా ఉన్నాయి చూడండి, ఈ ��్పెర్మ్ చిన్నదిగా మరియు అండం చాలా పెద్దదిగా ఉంది చూడండి, ఇది ఒక పాము అయితే, అది ఈ గుడ్డును మింగడానికి మార్గమే లేదు. పాములు గుడ్లు తినే వీడియోలను మీరు చూస్తే.. మీకు ఇది చాలా easyగా అర్ధమవుతుంది, So, ఒక పాము కూడా కాదు, ఎందుకంటే దీనికి తల లేదా పొలుసులు కూడా లేవు చూడండి. Normalగా మీరు హిందూ ఆలయాలలో గమ���ించారంటే, అన్ని వివరాలను వాళ్ళు చాలా ఖచ్చితంగా చెక్కుతారు, వాటి పొలుసులు చెక్కారు, వాటి నాలుకను చెక్కారు, వాటి నోటిలో ఉన్న పళ్ళ వరుసలను కూడా స్పష్టంగా చెక్కారు, చెప్పాలంటే, పాములకు ఈ విధంగా పళ్ళ వరస ఉంటుందని, మనలో చాలా మందికి, ఈ రోజు వరకు కూడా తెలియదు. సరే, నిజానికి ఇది స్పెర్మ్ మరియు అండం అయితే, ప్రాచీన భారతదేశం, అధునాతన సాంకేతికతలో చాలా ముందు ఉంటే, ఫలదీకరణం తర్వాత కూడా, ఏం జరుగుతుందో అని వాళ్ళు డాక్యుమెంట్ చేసి ఉండాలి కదా? ఇక్కడ మరొక పురాతన ఆలయంలో, మీరు మరింత విచిత్రమైనదాన్ని చూడవచ్చు, ఇక్కడ ఒకే ఒక సెల్ చెక్కడం ఉంది, సందేహమే లేదు ఇది ఒక సెల్ మాత్రమే, ఎందుకంటే ఇది గుడ్డు కణం లాగ roundగా ఉంది, మధ్యలో గుండ్రంగా, nucleus కూడా ఉంది, ఇప్పుడు, ఈ గుడ్డు కణంతో, స్పెర్మ్ కలిసినప్పుడు ఏమి జరుగుతుంది? Zygote లేదా పిండం అని పిలువబడే ఒక కొత్త జీవితం ఏర్పడుతుంది, ఆ Zygote వేగంగా విభజించడం ప్రారంభమవుతుంది, ఆ ఫలదీకరణం గుడ్డు, రెండు కణాలుగా విడిపోవడానికి ప్రారంభమవుతుంది.

దీన్ని మళ్లీ ఇదే గుడిలో, ఇదే స్థలంలో చాలా స్పష్టంగా చూపించారు. అప్పుడు, అది నాలుగు కణాలుగా విడిపోవడానికి ప్రారంభమవుతుంది. మళ్ళీ, ఈ cell divisionని కూడా అదే ఆలయంలో చాలా స్పష్టంగా, పక్కపక్కనే చెక్కారు, మనకు వాళ్ళు, ఈ ప్రక్రియ గురించి step by stepగా వివరిస్తున్నట్టు ఉంది కదా. ఆ తరువాత, ఈ కణాలన్నీ, ఒక చిన్న బొట్టుగా మారడం ప్రారంభిస్తాయి, అవి కొంచెం కొంచెంగా పెరుగుతాయి, 8 వారాల తర్వాత నెమ్మదిగా, ఒక మనిషిలా కనిపించడం ప్రారంభిస్తాయి. ఇప్పుడు, దీనిని పిండం అంటారు. ఈ వీడియోలో ఇప్పటివరకు, మీరు చూసిన విషయాలన్నీ మీకు చాలా ఆశ్చర్యంగా ఉండుంటుంది, ఇదంతా నిజమేనా? లేక ఈ చెక్కడాలన్నీ మరేదైనా ఉండే అవకాశం ఉందా? ఇది నిజంగా నిజమైతే, వాళ్ళు ఈ ఫలదీకరణం మరియు cell division వీటి గురించి study చేసుంటే, అప్పుడు గర్భం లోపల ఉన్న, పిండం యొక్క శిల్పాలు కూడా ఉండాలి, కదా? కోయంబోతూర్ దగ్గర ఉన్న, కుండడం భైరవర్ ఆలయంలో, ఈ ప���ండాన్ని చూపించే శిల్పాలు ఉన్నాయి, బొడ్డు తాడుతో జోడించి ఉన్న పిండం ఎలా ఉంటుందో అదే విధంగా, చాలా స్పష్టంగా చెక్కారు, ఇప్పుడున్న advanced technologyతో కడుపు లోపల ఉన్న శిశువును చూస్తే ఎలా ఉంటుందో ఈ చెక్కడం కూడా exactగా అదే విధంగా ఉంది. ఈ గుడిలో, మానవ పిండం యొక్క శైలీకృత రూపాన్ని చూపించే ఇతర శిల్పాలు కూడా ఉన్నాయి.

Praveen Mohan Telugu

[tenth-sentence]

Cytosine methylation is catalyzed by one of several methyltransferases, whereas DNA demethylation is catalyzed by glycosylases that replace methylcytosine with unmethylated cytosine.

"Plant Physiology and Development" int'l 6e - Taiz, L., Zeiger, E., Møller, I.M., Murphy, A.

[auideas]

Do you have any prompts about characters who were genetically modified and stuff under that umbrella?

In a society where parents have a choice over what DNA is given to their offspring, a couple who are narcissistic geneticists purposefully choose the worst DNA they could identify just to see if even those genes produced a perfect child. Character A -- their resulting kid -- is anything but.

When genetic modification becomes mainstream, everyone changes parts about themselves, but some take it too far -- those who deviate too far from their human DNA are called mutts and are looked down upon, mistreated, and casted out. However, the majority of those who deviated their DNA were left no choice because that deviation saved their life from cancer, organ failure, and other diseases. When Characters A and B meet in the back alley clinic to undergo their own deviations, Character A (a criminal on the run seeking to alter their DNA to escape the police) questions why Character B would be there. They seemed perfect on the surface...what could be going on?

Longtime professional gamer Character A enrolls in a special gene splicing program to attain faster reaction times. Although the rates of failure were next to none, Character A has never been anything but exceptional. A miscalculation in the splicing process leads them to become disabled; now, they work with other members of the 'miss-spliced community' to navigate the waters of pro-gaming with immobile wrists.

"I never wanted to be perfect, but I wanted to be a different person...the only way to get them to notice me was to change every part of who I am, and that seems like a small price to pay if they can be mine again." AU

From what Character A understood, the genetic modification program was supposed to be individualized and curated to each person and their unique needs; but, when Character A realizes that they and Character B (two people across the world from one another) had been modified to be identical, worlds collide.

A spy who has undergone over 700 modifications in their espionage career finally hits a wall when they're captured by an enemy agency; here's the thing, though -- this Character A immediately begins to beg their enemy (Character B) to put them out of their misery. They don't even remember who they are anymore, and they can't imagine a life worse than this.

In an attempt to balance the world order, the human population slowly but surely undergoes mass genetic modification to ensure there aren't too many people of a certain "type" on Earth at one time (you may choose what these five archetypes are, but examples may include Harmonious, Driven, etc.). Because some types have an easier life than others, parents begin to request that their children are born of a certain type...some rebellious clinics, however, purposefully make their children have no type at all.

Genetic modification began as a simple way to avoid medical issues later in life, but soon, it's taken to the -enth degree; small changes become big, unnatural changes, and the richest people in the world are able to pay others to obtain the equivalent of superpowers (super strength, super speed, night vision, incredible processing speed, etc.). The 1% decide that this type of surgery is a right of passage for their community and must be undertaken at the age of 16. When an impoverished child (Character A) is born with the ability to breathe underwater, however, leaders in the genetic modification field take notice, then take immediate action.

[ladysqueakinpip]

the only thing my sister and i have to offer to the rise fandom is theories about how lou jitsu's dna recombined with the turtles

[aurabird]

Desperate Measures

Sparrow attempts a risky experiment on himself out of his desperation for abilities. The results of his efforts are nothing short of painful and traumatizing.

Owen’s latest New Life episode gave me many thoughts so I bring you this.

Tw: Implied body modification, body horror, self-experimentation.

Ao3 Link

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Sparrow checked the machine for what was probably at least the hundredth time. It had to work perfectly, otherwise...

...he didn’t want to think about the outcome of what would happen if just one of the mechanisms was even the slightest bit off, shaking the unbidden horrific images from his head.

Everything was in order, yet a sense of dread washed over him. He was desperate...so, so desperate, for some kind of power, ANY kind of power.

Gaining abilities after death was not a certainty, for while some of the residents in this land had in fact in fact died and simply come back with different abilities, they were hybrids to begin with. He was only human, nothing more; there was no way he could be sure what brought them back would work on him.

He could have approached this in some other way of course, it had crossed his mind to simply experiment on the hybrids in this land and try and figure out what made them what they were so that he could then replicate it.

But he’d shot that idea down instantly at the image of Scott in a cage laying in his own blood, the carefree and joyful glow in his heterochromatic eyes dulled from being drugged or tortured. No, Sparrow could never do something like that to him; or any of the other hybrids he’d met for that matter.

That’s what led him down the path he had gone. If he refused to experiment on hybrids then he would experiment on himself instead.

It began to rain as he shakily approached the chamber, trying to ignore the various devices that would dig into him once he sealed his fate.

The door of the chamber closed once he was inside, his back against cold metal. Restraints clamped around his wrists and ankles, a precaution to ensure he would not struggle.

The walls shut around him, casting darkness over everything. Sparrow was alone now with only his fear and mechanical whirring sounds for company.

All at once pain shot through every atom in his body. It was like he was being torn apart and then pieced back together on a molecular level. He supposed, that probably was exactly what was happening to him, given what he designed the machine to do.

Sparrow could not fight back the reflex urge to cry out in sheer agony as the machine worked, even though the scream was simply swallowed up by the sounds of everything else.

The worst part of everything was that Sparrow could feel the overwhelming energy that came with having far too many conflicting powers, feel his body try and adjust to the changes being made to his DNA.

Everything hurt, everything burned. Sparrow just wanted it all to stop! Please! Make it stop!

Once more a cry was wrenched from his throat, this time followed by a resounding BANG as behind his closed eyelids Sparrow saw a flash of white, felt the warmth of the explosion that had occurred.

And then he was on the ground, sobs racking his body as he cried, curled up tightly in a ball for comfort.

Elemental particles of all kinds swirled around him, parts of his body ever-shifting between various stages of corporeal. Two pairs of wings had torn free from his back, the feathers and leathery membranes coated in a deep crimson; feline ears were pressed flat against his head, curling horns nestled between them.

Even his scaled tail thrashed with discomfort and pain.

Sparrow forced himself to open his eyes, finding his vision was mismatched. From one eye, he could see color; from the other, only monochrome shades.

It was then that the horrifying realization of what he’d done in his desperation finally dawned on him.

He’d introduced several types of hybrid and fauna DNA into his own without any care for what it may do to him.

He almost didn’t want to see what he’d turned himself into, the newfound feeling of appendages he definitely did not have prior to stepping into the machine and the fact that his body felt like it was floating but also on fire told him everything he needed to know.

Despite his fear, Sparrow began to crawl; away from the machine behind him, away from what he knew were several sharp objects stained with his own blood. He made his way over to the edge of the peninsula he called home, towards the ocean to get a look at himself.

He tried to ignore the fact his arms were not human anymore.

Cool water lapped against his webbed and scaled fingers as grass turned into sand. The ocean called to him, yet his instincts also told him to get far, far away from it.

The face that reflected back was still his, save his mismatched eyes and the horns and ears. At least some of his facial features from before had remained; he didn’t want to think about what would have happened if no one realized that he was still Sparrow.

He then turned to inspect the rest of him, being met with the sight of something not human nor hybrid; some kind of chimeric, humanoid creature.

This was the price for his hubris...and it was something he’d have to live with for the rest of his life.

That was all it took for him to break. Sparrow curled into a ball once more and wept, his sobs the only thing audible underneath the static that filled his still-ringing ears.

He didn’t know how long he lay there in the sand, but soon another sound aside from his sobs could be heard. Were those...voices?

Sparrow opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only a hiccup and a gasp. He could feel nothing but pain, couldn’t see anything but a mess of colors blurred by tears. If someone...or something was here, maybe they would just put him out of his misery.

A whisper of reassurance and a brief flash of orange and cyan broke through the fog of his mind, a familiar face...before everything went black.

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

Does this “living weapon trope” regard a person by the name of Barry Allen 👀👀👀

*gasps dramatically* Whattttt nooooooooo

I would never put a character I love so much in a situation where he basically loses his entire identity and memories, to the point where he’s a shell of his former self, and the only person he has to guide him is the one who destroyed him to the point of amnesia in the first place.

{fyi when I say amnesia; I mean the fake fictional kind— AUs are where I let myself self indulge without realism lies. I ignore realism often BUT not when it comes to mental health and stuff. Also there might be more to it than that anyways if I actually write this}

But of course, that person’s only using him to further their own goals; and their goals involve hurting— and killing a lot of people.

I would never do that to poor Barry >:)

[canadiancryptid]

Of course if any creature on earth could do that it would be some deep-sea creature

Interesting news for fucked up weirdos who enjoy body horror and exploring differences between Self and Other

[biology-geology-beaches-india]

The Science Diaries of S. Sunkavally. Page 142.

[clamsjams]

watching arlong park and since i’ve already been spoiled on sanjis backstory can i just say that it seems like a big oversight for judge to not give his “perfect creations” gills

[watercress-words]

THE MUTANT PROJECT-a book review

I review Dr. Eben Kirksey's book The Mutant Project-inside the global race to genetically modify humans

THE MUTANT PROJECT Inside the global race to genetically modify humans By Eben Kirksey If this were the title of a fiction book, you might expect the main characters to be brilliant but misguided scientists, funded by biotech start-ups who see potential for massive profits by developing methods to manipulate human DNA. The applications of such technology for the treatment of genetic diseases,…

[jameseiji]

Jurassic Park 2 (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1291075250-jurassic-park-2?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=Eiji692&wp_originator=xK4IA2rsNNwt00%2Ff28oXIdj6T0HwuRPBetU6kzEyspAT8vAuSnfR617gY%2FdH%2FK1rnNrkwX3k0lgHv5f2CJFjzZMvf2sLTe%2BDNvw1GNc7YeNqg3D7m9%2B%2BDL9F5vgl4S2I This is a summary and review of the second film of the first trilogy of dinosaurs. It was released four years later in 1997. In this second part, one of the protagonists from the first film returns to the island of the dinosaurs, as well as other newcomers. They are forced to face the dinosaurs once again, but this time, the dinosaurs arrive to the city, so the scientists and military soldiers have to return the creatures back to the island.

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Another is biolistics, sometimes referred to as the gene gun technique, in which tiny particles of gold coated with the genetic construct of interest are shot into cells growing in culture dishes (Figure 2.22).

Figure 2.22: Plant cell transformation using the "gene gun".

"Plant Physiology and Development" int'l 6e - Taiz, L., Zeiger, E., Møller, I.M., Murphy, A.

[bogleech]

If you have a hard time seeing why parasites are cool pretend for a second that their hosts are spaceships. Now imagine any animal at all can potentially evolve to live on spaceships in an absurdly specific way. Imagine a deer adapting into just a head with antlers shaped exactly right to hang off of a spaceship's air vents or a type of lizard evolving into just an armored tube that glues itself to the hull and digests metal. A bird that initially evolved to drink rocket fuel with its long beak until over millions of years it gave up anything resembling the life of a bird to spend its existence floating inside the fuel tank, a neotenous blind tadpole of a thing you only find out is a bird from its DNA alone.

Earth has "technically" (debatably) no vertebrates that became true long term parasites but there are crustaceans, worms, mollusks and many others that did things as weird or weirder than the spaceship examples in order to essentially become an unauthorized part of another, larger living thing. An illegal architectural modification. There's "shrimp" that turned into "slugs" that live in the uterus of angel sharks and a whole group of what used to be jellyfish until they evolved into single celled slime colonies on fish skin.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

i can see you (miguel o'hara's version)

pairing: professor/mentor!miguel o’hara x graduate assistant!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 4.5k

summary:

As Dr. Miguel O’Hara’s graduate teaching and research assistant, you’ve spent years pushing down the inappropriate thoughts you’ve had about the brilliant, gorgeous man.

But what happens when a late night at the lab and a scientific breakthrough leads to a breakthrough of a different kind?

author's note:

my first (but probably not my last) miguel o'hara fic based on taylor swift's song "i can see you" from speak now tv. if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or commenting and letting me know your thoughts!

content warnings/tags:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), explicit language, no use of y/n, alternate universe - no powers, age gap (undefined), presence of power dynamics (teacher/student), author took scientific liberties (forgive her, its been 10 years since bio II lab), pineapple on pizza, potentially bad spanish translations, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), miguel picking reader up, unprotected p in v, size kink, choking, pet names, praise kink, competency kink, dirty talk. let me know if i've missed anything!

Translations you may need:

Universidad Estatal de Nueva York - State University of New York

Sí - Yes

Dios mío - My god

El Origen de la Genética Mutante - The Origen of Mutant Genetics

Mierda - Shit

Te lo prometo - I promise you

Lo juro por Dios - I swear to god

Arañita - little spider

Cállate - be quiet

Mirame - look at me

te sientes tan bien - you feel so good

Perfecto - perfect

________

You’re sitting in the front row, in the seat you’ve claimed as your spot, watching Dr. O’Hara pace in front of the projector screen that displays today’s lesson notes. 

“And what is the hallmark of this mutant gene that demonstrates its incompatibility for transmutation?” He asks the silent room of undergraduates that have found themselves on the roster for his Mutation Genomics III course at Universidad Estatal de Nueva York. 

A few hands go up around the room and Dr. O’Hara points to a student in the back who says, “Uh, it’s got a spiked protein arrangement that can’t be modified?”

“Is that a question or an answer?” Dr. O’Hara asks. There’s a sprinkle of laughter in the room and a smirk tilts his lips briefly. 

“An answer,” the student says more confidently. Dr. O’Hara nods.

“Correct, but that’s not the whole picture,” he says. His eyes catch yours and he gestures for you to join him. Your eyes go wide as you stand and walk to his side at the front of the class. “I’m sure some of you that actually use your available resources to pass my class recognize my teaching assistant. And if you don’t, I recommend visiting her office hours during this section because this is her area of research.”

Your cheeks feel warm as everyone’s attention falls to you. Dr. O’Hara hands you the data pad and steps back, giving you an encouraging nod. You tap the screen, bringing the diagram up on the holo projector and making it larger.

“You’re correct that the spiked protein arrangement can’t be modified, but there’s something more limiting in this particular model. If you look at it from this angle—,” you spin the DNA diagram, “you’ll see something else hindering the modification process. What do you see?”

Hands go up. Dr. O’Hara points to another student who says, “There’s a gap jump. The spike protein would continue to travel across the gap jump and avoid any inserts.”

“Exactly. So, what’s the potential alternative?” 

“Fill the gap. Target the spike protein in your modification cycle,” Dr. O’Hara finishes. “That’s all for today. Your exam next Wednesday will include this presentation, so don’t act surprised when you see the questions.”

A few students stop to speak with Dr. O’Hara as you gather your bag from your desk. His low voice calls your name, the timbre of it sending a shiver down your spine as you step up to his desk.

“You’re running a sequence right now, sí?” He asks, shuffling a stack of papers into order. 

“Yes, it should finish around seven tonight. Sorry, I know that it's late for a Friday,” you reply. He waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll see you in the lab.” His brown eyes flick to yours and your stomach swoops, heart skipping a beat, same as it always does when he looks at you. 

Dr. Miguel O’Hara makes you nervous. Not only because he’s one of the most notable researchers in the field of mutant genomics, but also because he’s so handsome he leaves you breathless. He’s tall, towering over most men you’ve met, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist that are always covered by a suit and tie in the classroom or a lab coat in the research lab. His tan skin is complemented by dark hair and brown eyes that make you lose your train of thought when you stare into them for too long.

Which…is exactly what you’re doing now.

You clear your throat, stepping back from his desk. Had you been leaning closer? Christ, you hope not. You give him a brief smile before responding, “Yeah, see you tonight. Thank you, Dr. O’Hara!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Miguel?” He calls after you. 

“Maybe when I’ve cracked the sequence!”

________

Miguel watches your hips sway in the jeans you wore to class today, the denim hugging your curves so well he has to bite back a groan. The door to the lecture hall slams shut behind you and he sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw in frustration.

You drive him crazy. Every class period you’re sitting in the front row, watching him as you tap your pen to your lips or leaning over your desk just enough to give him a glimpse down your blouse or dress. Or you’re in the lab, delicately handling samples and extractions with a level of competency beyond your years, your lip caught between your teeth as you analyze a sequencing output. 

He looks forward to and dreads your impending graduation in equal measure, being free from the constant temptation but losing the greatest researcher he’s met in years. 

Miguel finishes gathering his belongings as the door opens and the next lecturer comes in, nodding at him in greeting. As he steps out into the warm Nueva York air, he has a weird sense that something big is coming. 

He just doesn’t know what.

________

Miguel is waiting for you outside of his double locked research lab that evening, suit jacket hung over his arm and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to reveal tan forearms dusted with dark hair. Your brain nearly short circuits at the sight, conjuring up images of those arms wrapped around your—

No, you think. He’s your mentor. Your handsome, intelligent, and very serious mentor. 

He looks up as you approach, corners of his lips tilting the slightest bit. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light, you can’t be sure, but he presses his palm to the biometric lock and the heavy metal doors slide open. He steps inside ahead of you, putting his face in the frame of the security camera. A red laser scans his face and a light above the second locked door goes from red to green, the click of the lock disengaging echoing in the anteroom. 

You follow him through the door and into his research lab. The fluorescent lights glimmer off the chrome equipment and pristine bench surfaces. A machine whirs, running the sequence analysis you’ve been waiting on. 

“LYLA, what’s the status?” Dr. O’Hara says as he sets his belongings on the desk in the corner.

“Sequence will complete on schedule. Also, your specimen delivery is available in the ultra low freezer,” Dr. O’Hara’s AI assistant, LYLA, announces, feminine voice carrying through the room. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Dr. O’Hara says, tugging on his lab coat as he walks towards the ultra low freezer. 

“A surprise?” You ask, setting your stuff down at the assistant’s work space. 

There’s the beep of a passcode being entered and the heavy freezer door being opened and shut. He’s holding a tray of cryovials, the contents varying in color. He sets the tray on a bench top near your desk and pulls one out, holding it up to the light.

“Isolated arachnoid mutagen,” he says. Your mouth drops open in shock. You rush forward, pressing in close to stare up at the vial with him. 

“You’re kidding,” you whisper. He hands the vial to you, fingers brushing yours. You hold it between your thumb and index finger to inspect the suspension, red in color with tiny flecks of black. “Dr. O’Hara, this is insane. How did you even get this?”

“A guy owed me a favor,” he says. You glance up at his face and you’re suddenly very aware of how close your bodies are. One deep breath and your chest would probably graze his, and did you just imagine his eyes dropping to your lips? 

“That’s one hell of a favor,” you murmur, stepping back. “You want me to work on the extraction?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“You say that like I’m not your research assistant. You can tell me to do anything.” Dr. O’Hara’s eyes go wide and you cough. “I mean, you know, lab related. Research stuff. Yeah. I’ll get started on this. LYLA? Power up the centrifuge and thermocycler, please.”

“Centrifuge is online. Thermocycler will reach optimal processing temperature in t-minus five minutes,” LYLA replies.

You set up all the necessary supplies and prepare the sample for the thermocycler, going through the motions that are now part of your muscle memory - extract, vortex, centrifuge, extract, wash, set in ice. You set your tray of samples into the thermocycler and remove your gloves to hit the start button.

________

Miguel watches you run the PCR test, fixated on the confidence with which you complete each step and your words from earlier continue to echo in his head.

“You can tell me to do anything.”

Dios mío, he thinks. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to will away the possibilities that anything could entail. 

“Sequence results are available. Would you like to review now?” LYLA asks. 

“Display,” Miguel says. You spin on your stool to view the hologram of the spliced DNA you prepared. He notices an issue immediately.

“Fuck,” you hiss, stepping up to the control screen and spinning the model. “There’s a deletion.”

“You knew there was a risk of that.” 

You zoom in on the model DNA strand, a broken gap shown in the mutation. “I know there was a risk, but it should have worked.”

Miguel crosses his arms and watches as you bring up the transillumination image of the DNA you had attempted to merge with a human sample. “You wanted it to work. Science is finite. There is no room for should.”

You glance at him. You look like you’re about to say something when the thermocycler beeps and he’s left to wonder what you would have said as you busy yourself with removing your tray of DNA samples. He leans against the bench as you assemble the agarose gel for electrophoresis. 

“Tell me, why do you think there was a deletion?” He asks. 

“The mutagen was incompatible with the human strand,” you murmur, adding dye to your vials. “Just the same as it has been the last dozen times.”

You’ve loaded the wells of the gel with your sample and set it in the tank, closing the lid and turning on the power supply. Miguel takes the remaining tray of arachnid samples to the freezer while your procedure runs. He understands your frustration, he’s run his fair share of failed experiments after all.

After about an hour, the hum of the electrical current from the electrophoresis tank shuts off. Miguel, who had been reviewing a journal submission for El Origen de la Genética Mutante, joins you at the bench as you remove your gel and set it on the UV transilluminator.

“LYLA, scan and project,” you ask the AI assistant. Miguel stands behind you, looking at the DNA bands you’ve generated. He’s momentarily distracted by the fact that he’s so close he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume, something citrusy that reminds him of summer.

You jump suddenly, back colliding with his chest. His hands come up to grip your waist, steadying you as you turn to face him, face lit up in the brightest grin.

“Miguel, look. This arachnid mutagen. It’s a potential match for insertion!” You say excitedly. “It has the same length as the deletion seen with the scorpion mutagen.”

“LYLA, show the current projection against the scorpion scan,” he says. The two images appear side by side and it’s clear that the band of arachnid mutagen fits definitively in a space that appears void in the scorpion samples. “Mierda.”

“You see it, right?” You ask. It’s then that Miguel realizes he’s still got his hands on your waist. He flexes his fingers experimentally, watching as your eyes go the slightest bit darker at the pressure.

“I can see it,” he murmurs. He wants so desperately to lean in closer, to back your body up until you’re pressed between the wall and his body, nowhere to go as his lips explore yours.

But he doesn’t. He drops his hands and puts much needed space between your bodies. He clears his throat.

“Prepare a combined sample,” Miguel says. You blink, checking your watch.

“It’s almost nine. Running a new combined sample would mean we’re here until close to midnight.”

“I’m familiar with how time passes, sí.”

“Are you sure you want—“

Miguel sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re on the verge of one of the greatest scientific discoveries in the last decade. Do you think I give a shit about having to stay late? What kind of mentor would I be if I told you, ‘Oh just wait until Monday to change the scientific world’?”

“One with a work-life balance, probably,” you reply with a giggle. Miguel raises his eyebrows at you. “Okay, okay, combined sample. I’m on it.”

As you rush around the lab, it hits him that you called him Miguel. Not Dr. O’Hara. He’s not sure what that means but he’s certain he wants to hear his name from your lips again.

_______

Dr. O’Hara orders food while your new combined sequence runs, begrudgingly agreeing to a half pineapple and half sausage pizza to split. You’re sitting outside of the lab in the empty hallway, pizza box between you as you eat the slices over grease stained napkins. 

“What are your plans for after graduation?” Dr. O’Hara asks. You shrug.

“Probably get my doctorate. No one takes you seriously in this field without one.”

He frowns. “You’re on the cusp of a major breakthrough, one that could change our understanding of genetic modifications and mutants as we know it.”

“Yeah, and it’s coming from your lab. You’ll get listed as the first author, that’s how this goes.” You pick at your pizza crust, tearing the bread into tiny pieces that you sweep back into the box. 

“I won’t let that happen. If this works, you’ll be the first name on that paper,” Dr. O’Hara says vehemently. “Te lo prometo.”

You smile, caught in his gaze for a brief moment before an alarm rings from his watch. LYLA announces, “Sequencing complete.”

Dr. O’Hara stands, holding a hand out to you. You grasp his broad palm and he pulls you up with ease, the force of it making you stumble slightly. You press a hand to his chest to steady yourself, marveling at how solid he feels beneath your palm. 

“Sorry. Slipped,” you murmur.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with a crease between his brow and storms in his eyes. His watch beeps again and he releases your hand to silence it, the spell broken between you. 

He unlocks the lab doors and you join him at the holoprojector, taking a deep breath. Dr. O’Hara brings up the sequence analysis, the hologram coming to life in the space between you. Your eyes scan the model, checking for gaps, deletions, frayed nucleotides, anything that could mean your procedure didn’t work.

You turn the projection this way and that, looking at it from every angle. You scan the result output reading, eyes jumping to the green SEQUENCING SUCCESSFUL text at the bottom. 

You turn to face Dr. O’Hara, eyes wide with surprise. “It worked.”

“It did,” he replies. 

“It worked,” you say again. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, your grin so wide it hurts your cheeks as you rush forward shouting, “It worked!”

Dr. O’Hara’s arms open to catch you, wrapping around your waist as he lifts you from the ground and spins you. He’s smiling, a rare sight for such a serious man, and it makes your heart pound in your chest as you stare up into his face.

“Dr. O’Hara?” You ask as he sets you down, his arms still wrapped tight around your back. “What—“

His lips collide with yours, stealing your breath from your lungs and your words from your brain as you melt against his broad body. The kiss is anything but gentle, with Miguel acting like a man starved as his tongue sweeps into your mouth.

“Dr. O’Hara—“

“Lo juro por Dios, if you call me that one more time,” he growls, lips trailing down your neck with wet kisses, “Miguel. Say it.”

“M-Miguel,” you whimper. He smiles against your neck before sinking his teeth against your pulse point, making you gasp. 

“That’s right,” he says, lifting his head. His brown eyes have gone dark and he’s smirking as his hands find the hem of your blouse, fingertips ghosting across the skin of your abdomen and dipping beneath the waist of your jeans. “Tell me what you want, arañita.”

Rather than trust your voice, you bring your own hands to his shirt collar, working at the buttons of his dress shirt as he opens the fly of your pants. He slips his hand lower just as you reach the last button of his shirt, revealing the tight white t-shirt that outlines his impressive chest.

His fingers rub you over your panties and you feel your knees buckle at the delicious friction. Miguel chuckles, removing his hand to grip the backs of your thighs and lift you against him, your legs wrapping around his trim waist and your hands holding onto his shoulders. He sets you down by his desk, reaching around you to sweep the surface clean, pens and paper falling to the floor.

“In a rush are we?” You say with a laugh. Miguel raises an eyebrow at you.

“Cállate.” He kneels before you, lifting each foot to remove your shoes before turning you to face the desk with his hands on your hips. He grasps the waist of your jeans and shimmies the material down over your hips. When they’re pooled around your ankles, his warm palms grip each ass cheek roughly, spreading you open. “This pussy is even prettier than I imagined,” he groans.

“You think about my pussy a lot, Dr. O’Hara?” You ask innocently. A palm lands a smack to your ass cheek, heat blooming across your skin as you gasp.

“Don’t play dumb, baby, I know you’ve thought about this just as much. You think I can’t see it. Trust me, I can see you watching me in class with those pretty little lips wrapped around your pen, wishing it was something else. Isn’t that right?”

You gasp as he runs his thick fingers through your soaked folds, reaching forward only enough to graze your clit without giving it the attention you desperately want. He leans himself over you, his chest pressed to your back and his lips grazing your ear as he says, “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes,” you pant, the confession earning you that delicious friction, his fingers drawing messy circles around the sensitive nub. He withdraws too soon for your liking, a whine falling from your lips that he shushes, his warm breath on your pussy. You turn your head to look over your shoulder, surprised to find him on his knees.

As you watch, he spreads your cheeks once more before leaning in, licking from your clit to your entrance with a rough groan. Your head drops down, hitting the surface of the desk with a thump as he eats you out like a man who’s found water in a desert. The sounds echoing in the lab are downright indecent, deep groans of appreciation against your cunt and desperate whines from your lips.

“Miguel,” you moan, unable to keep your hips still as his tongue drives you closer to the cliff’s edge of release. “Miguel, I’m gonna cum!”

The man only grips your hips harder, fingers digging deep as he holds you still and doubles his efforts. The thread you’re hanging on by snaps, sending you falling into ecstasy as your muscles go tight and your breath leaves you in a shout of his name as you unravel. 

He pulls away only long enough to stand and turn you to face him, lifting you so that you’re sitting on the edge of the desk, legs spread by his body. He wastes no time slipping two thick fingers inside of your still fluttering cunt, his grin sharp as he sets a pace that has you trying to wiggle away to escape the overstimulation.

“Ah, Miguel!” You yelp, trying to shut your legs. His free hand shoves one thigh wide, pressing it to the desk. “What–”

“Cum for me again, I need to see your face this time,” he demands. He curls his fingers, pressing against your front wall with each drag of his hand from your body. 

“I can’t!”

“What was it you said to me earlier? I can tell you to do anything?” He curls his fingers harder, focusing his efforts on a spot that has you squirming, desperate to get away and to cum in equal measure. “I’m telling you to cum again, arañita, so be a good girl and do as I say.”

Your orgasm crashes over you in a wave, the tightness in your abdomen unraveling as you clench around his fingers. His movements slow as you try to catch your breath until he’s withdrawing, leaving you feeling disparagingly empty.

“Mirame,” Miguel says. You lift your head, pushing yourself up on your elbows and watching as he unbuckles his belt. “You made a mess, baby.”

You feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you notice the wet stains on the front of his gray slacks. The feeling is short lived, however, as Miguel unbuttons his pants and pushes them down his thighs along with his boxers, kicking them to the side as he reaches behind his head and pulls his t-shirt off. You’re blown away by how stunning he is, broad shoulders and chest that lead to sculpted abs and a defined adonis belt that draws your eyes to his thick and intimidatingly long cock.

“There’s no way that’s going to fit,” you tell him nervously.

“Why don’t we test that hypothesis?” He asks, taking himself in hand. You blink at him.

“Did…did you just make a joke?” Laughter bubbles up your chest until it’s spilling into the room, your shoulders shaking with the force of it. Miguel takes himself in hand, notching the broad head of his length to your dripping entrance and sliding inside the barest amount, just the tip, but it has your laughter morphing into gasps.

“Mierda,” he murmurs, gaze fixed where your bodies connect. “So fucking tight, arañita.”

You feel like he’s splitting you apart, the stretch deep and all consuming as he fits himself inside of you, drawing back after each inch and slowly thrusting back in and giving you more of his cock in the process.

“You’re so close,” he tells you. “You’re doing so good for me. Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels so fucking good, Miguel,” you answer honestly. “I’m so full.”

“Fucking right you are,” he growls. His hands shove your blouse up, bunching the fabric under your armpits to expose your breasts. He tugs the cups of your bra down before leaning forward, the last bit of his length slipping inside of you as his lips wrap around a pert nipple and his hand gropes the opposite breast. 

Your back arches at all the sensation - the fullness and stretch of him inside of you, the warmth of his mouth and the pinch of his fingers. He moves his mouth to your other breast and looks up at you through dark lashes with darker eyes as he licks the taut peak while holding your gaze.

His hips draw back, the drag of each inch from your body exquisite torture until he slams into you, the force of it sliding you up the desk. You cry out, your hands gripping his shoulders and your fingernails leaving crescent shaped indents as you cling to him.

Miguel stands, his arms looping beneath your thighs so that the backs of your knees rest across his forearms, spreading you open as he picks up his pace. He looks down at your body like it’s his greatest discovery.

“Fuck, fuck, te sientes tan bien,” he growls. 

“Miguel,” you moan, “please, please, please!”

“What are you begging for, arañita? Tell me.” 

“Wanna cum, please, Miguel,” you beg. He drops your legs, reaching up to wrap a hand around the back of your neck, urging you to sit up. You keep one hand planted on the desk behind you, the other diving into his thick, dark hair, pulling at the strands.

He drags his strong nose along your jaw as he murmurs, “Greedy girl, but I’ll give you what you need. Won’t I?”

“Uh huh,” you moan in response. His other hand settles at the base of your throat and his eyes hold a question that has your pussy clenching around him in anticipation.

His palm creeps up, strong fingers wrapping around your delicate throat, squeezing the sides the slightest bit. Your eyes roll back at the pressure.

“Look at me,” Miguel demands, “look at me while I make you cum again with my hand around your pretty throat.”

You gasp for air as he pounds into you, your release sparkling at the edges of your vision. It explodes like a supernova across your nerves, your muscles tightening around him and making him moan, a deep rumble that you echo as his movements grow erratic.

He slams deep inside of you, cock pulsing and filling you with warmth as he groans your name, head dropped to your shoulder. You’re both panting, trying to catch your breath as the sweat on your skin cools and you run your fingers through his hair.

“That was—“

“Perfecto,” he finishes, lifting his head and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, one that has your heart pounding even harder than the lust filled ones from earlier. “It’s late. Let’s get this cleaned up and get you home. I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you argue. He scowls at you as you continue to say, “No, seriously, you don’t need to go out of your way—“

“Will you shut up for a minute?” Miguel asks. He holds your face in his hands as he says, “Get dressed. I’m driving you home.”

He steps back, the absence of him making you feel empty as you carefully stand from the desk on shaky legs. He hands you your jeans and you look around in confusion.

“Have you seen my underwear?” You ask.

“Hm? No, I don’t see them,” he hums, buttoning his slacks. The stain from earlier has blessedly faded. 

You shrug, pulling your jeans on and fixing your blouse. Miguel cleans up the stuff he’d knocked from the desk, putting it all back in haphazard piles and grabbing his bag. He holds his hand out to you.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. He must sense the hesitation you’re feeling when you don’t immediately grab his hand because he steps close, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “No one will see us. It’ll be our secret.”

You nod, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. “Just this once?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it, arañita.”

The most fantastic fanart by narutoss.ramen on insta that fits the vibe of professor! miguel: