Exploring Career and Job Opportunities in Davao City Philippines
Davao City, recognized as one of the Philippines' most progressive cities, continues to experience remarkable economic growth, creating a vibrant job market that attracts professionals from across the country. The city's diverse economy offers numerous employment opportunities, from entry-level positions to executive roles, making it an attractive destination for job seekers at all career stages.
The Business Process Outsourcing (BPO) sector stands as one of the largest employers in Davao City, providing thousands of jobs across various specializations. Companies in this sector actively recruit customer service representatives, technical support specialists, and quality assurance analysts, offering competitive salaries and comprehensive benefits packages. The industry's continued expansion has created numerous opportunities for career advancement, with many organizations promoting from within and providing extensive training programs.
Part-time employment opportunities have also flourished in Davao City, catering to students, professionals seeking additional income, and individuals preferring flexible work arrangements. The retail sector, food service industry, and education field offer numerous part-time positions with varying schedules and responsibilities. These roles often provide valuable work experience and can serve as stepping stones to full-time careers.
The Information Technology sector in Davao has seen significant growth, with many companies seeking software developers, web designers, and IT support specialists. This growth has been fueled by the city's improving technological infrastructure and the increasing number of tech-focused businesses establishing operations in the region. Tech professionals can find opportunities in both established companies and startups, with many positions offering competitive compensation and the possibility of remote work arrangements.
Davao's hospitality and tourism industry continues to expand, creating jobs in hotels, restaurants, travel agencies, and tour operations. The sector offers positions ranging from entry-level service roles to management positions, with many employers providing training and development opportunities. The industry's growth has also sparked demand for professionals in events management and tourism marketing.
The education sector presents numerous opportunities for both full-time and part-time employment. Educational institutions regularly seek teachers, tutors, and administrative staff. The rise of online learning has created additional opportunities for English language teachers and academic consultants who can work flexible hours from home or teaching centers.
Job hiring in Davao, the digital economy has opened new avenues for employment. E-commerce specialists, digital content creators, and social media managers are in high demand as businesses increasingly establish their online presence. These positions often offer the flexibility of remote work while providing competitive compensation packages.
Professional development resources are readily available in Davao City, with numerous institutions offering skills training programs and industry certifications. Job seekers can access career counseling services, resume writing assistance, and interview coaching through various employment support organizations. These resources prove invaluable in helping candidates prepare for and secure desired positions.
The financial services sector in Davao has also experienced substantial growth, creating opportunities for banking professionals, insurance specialists, and investment consultants. These positions typically offer attractive compensation packages, including performance bonuses and health benefits, making them highly sought after by experienced professionals.
Davao's agricultural sector continues to evolve, combining traditional farming with modern agribusiness practices. This has created opportunities for agricultural technologists, food processing specialists, and supply chain professionals. The sector offers both technical and management positions, with many companies providing specialized training and development programs.
For those entering Davao's job market, proper preparation is essential. Successful job seekers typically maintain updated resumes, prepare comprehensive portfolios, and stay informed about industry developments. Professional networking, both online and offline, plays a crucial role in discovering opportunities and advancing careers in the city.
The future of Davao's job market looks promising, with emerging industries creating new employment opportunities. The city's commitment to economic development, coupled with its strategic location and robust infrastructure, continues to attract businesses and investors, ensuring a steady stream of job opportunities for qualified candidates.
Whether seeking full-time employment or part-time job in Davao City offers a diverse range of opportunities across multiple industries. Success in this dynamic job market often comes to those who combine proper preparation with continuous skill development and effective networking. As the city continues to grow and evolve, its job market remains a beacon of opportunity for professionals seeking to build meaningful careers in Mindanao's premier business hub.
Possibly more chapters to follow if anyone likes this enough to want more.
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Dr. Brendon Park has well earned the nickname Park the Shark around PTMC. He's no stranger to making the medical staff around him cower in fear and shed a tear or two. However, when his favorite nurse from the ED finds herself crying hidden away in the hallway, Dr. Park takes it upon himself to find the source of her sorrow and fix it for her. Y/N has earned her reputation as the sacrifice sent to go into any exam room anytime Park the Shark comes down to the ED for a consult. She's not thrilled she seems to have earned his respect and she'd less thrilled when she overhears gossip his feeling for her go beyond professional respect. When he comes to her aid it hits her that maybe there's more to Park the Shark than she's previously assumed.
TW: Mentions of an abusive childhood, foster care system, probably behavior HR would shudder at from Park and Reader
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The fluorescent lighting was too bright even on this floor of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The lighting was making the pounding headache developing in the base of her skull all the more apparent.
She cringed knowing that the lighting wasn’t the only thing to blame for the blistering headache; the tears weren’t helping. She swallowed the thick lump in her throat trying her hardest to will the flowing tears to end to no avail.
She pulled her knees tighter against her frame trying to give herself a mental pep talk: “Come on, Y/N this is so stupid. Stop it, stop crying and man up. You’ve been through worse. You’ve had worse said to you. Men have tried harder and failed to hurt you. Stop crying. STOP.”
The mental pep talk did little to soothe her, the words that had been snapped at her playing like a horrible loop in her brain: “Who gave you your nursing license? You call this prepped? Useless, just pathetic. I suggest you find a different path before you really fuck something up around here.”
The words had been so quick and so careless uttered from the lips of the new ortho surgeon who’d been paged down to the ED for a consult. Dr. Baker was a new addition to the orthopedic department; and this was not Y/N’s first interaction with him.
Sure, she’d previously noticed that Dr. Baker could be arrogant in the worst possible way.
She was accustomed to a fair share of narcissism when it came to interacting with the occasional surgeon. They tended to be a smug bunch; it just came with the territory. She’d always thought that it was fair; to be that high and mighty when you were responsible for literally piecing people back together.
The arrogance had gone beyond the usual over inflated ego she had become accustomed to dealing with in her short career thus far.
It had been beyond simple arrogance; it had been cruel.
She had never been spoken to with such heartlessness in her nursing career though she knew she’d not been in the game for that long.
She was the ED’s newest baby nurse…though she had to roll her eyes at the term baby nurse. She was not some young fresh bushy tailed girl right out of nursing school.
She had worked prior to actually deciding to give her education a chance. She had waitressed through most of her late teens and her twenties; scraping by fresh out of the foster care system discarded into the real world at 18 years old with no one to guide her or care. She had scraped and fought and survived for years until she’d finally worked up the nerve to try for something more.
The student loans had not been pretty and she lived on ramen most of the time now trying to pay them off; but she had managed. She had worked her ass off and gotten into a good nursing school program. She’d studied her ass off though the entire process and passed any and all licensing exams. She’d applied for several hospitals and PTMC had been willing to take her on.
She had done so well up until this point. She was a grown woman, not a child. So, why was she weeping like a little girl?
She was not a naive, sensitive little girl. She’d had a life prior to her career. She was almost thirty four for heaven's sake. She was a grown woman; which made her feel all the more ridiculous.
Deep down she knew what had set her off; the words: useless, pathetic.
How many times had she had similar words uttered at her with so little thought when she was far too young to understand that she’d done nothing wrong?
From her mother, to whatever slime of a man her mother had brought home, to so many foster families she’d lost count…she’d had so many horrible words thrown in her direction.
She was no stranger to cruelty. She had always prided herself in being so strong; so willing to take shit and kick it back in whoever was dumb enough to throw it her direction.
She felt far from strong at the moment.
The cruel words hit too close to the bone; and she felt her usual strong will being knocked off center.
Her childhood had been a nightmare; one she had hoped she was getting over or at the very least learning to cope with. It seemed though that wounds she’d carried since she was a little girl were still not quite healed. A single cruel statement had ripped those wounds wide open and now she was here hiding far from the ED hoping to escape the judgmental and concerned gazes of her coworkers.
She took deep shuddering breaths trying so hard to push back the looming sense of failure hanging over her. It hung against her like a thick cloud though; she was unable to see through it as it smothered her.
She stared straight ahead, her gaze at the white wall in front of her blurring with her tears, her back pressed against the wall, the hard tile below her little comfort as she pulled her knees tight against her chest in a defensive stance.
She was almost so lost in misery that she almost didn’t notice the looming shadow beside her and the sound of footsteps approaching her.
His voice sounded out louder than her internal despair. “You’re crying.”
She gazed up at the source of the voice grimacing at the sight of him. Great, just fucking great.
This was the last person she needed to see her crying like a child in some deserted hallway in the hospital basement.
She gazed up at Dr. Brendon Park, her stomach knotting up.
Dr. Park had a reputation; one she’d been warned about the very first time he’d been summoned down to the ED for a consult.
She’d heard the murmured warnings from her fellow nurses, residents, student doctors, and attendees. Park the Shark was not a pleasant individual.
She’d almost cackled at the nickname the first time she’d heard it. She’d almost thought it had to be a joke. It sounded so ridiculous, how could it not be a joke?
The intense man who’d walked into that consult fit the nickname. He was not warm and friendly. He did not bring light and joy to the room. He was a tall hulking man; all muscle and scowl. He did not waste time on meaningless conversation, preferring to get straight to the point. He walked into the room as though he owned the damn place. He was clearly an expert in his field, and he was damn well aware of it. Any resident who was dumb enough to attempt small talk or try to ask what Park deemed as a dumb question was quickly and efficiently told that they were wasting his time.
Park the Shark was cold blooded.
Y/N had stood by stunned as she’d taken in Park the Shark for the first time; tall, broad shouldered, dark hair slicked back with pomade, and deep blue eyes that might be lovely if his gaze wasn’t so calculating.
She had watched Dr. Brendon Park assess that shattered femur during that consult taking note of the intensity of his gaze as he stared at the x-ray and the patient.
He was straight to the point expressing a plan of treatment to a nearby resident who was quite literally staring up at Park wide-eyed.
She could still remember the stone cold expression on Park’s face as he’d stared down at the resident and to Robby the offer that left his lips tinged with sarcasm. “Do you need me to repeat myself?”
The resident had parted their lips looking as though they were considering taking Dr. Park up on the offer for a brief moment only for Robby to speak up, saving the poor idiot from ruin. “Nope, we got it. Thanks, Shark.”
Y/N had felt just as wide-eyed as Shark exited that little exam room, his eyes turning to her for the briefest moment.
Though he’d only gazed at her for a second the moment had felt overwhelming.
She had told herself then that she could continue to scoot through her career never having to interact with Park the Shark as long as she lived.
Life wasn’t that generous though; because it seemed anytime a consult was called for Ortho then either Dr. Garcia or Dr. Park was the chosen surgeon to make their way down to the ED.
Y/N preferred Garcia. At least she seemed…human…she was sarcastic as hell and more than likely to throw out an insult than a thank you, but she didn’t have that same brooding gaze Dr. Park seemed to possess.
It had been Y/N’s own fault really; that Park had even noticed Y/N.
She had a big fat mouth and she’d let it run when Dr. Park had found himself staring down at a horribly fractured arm accessing a split that was not entirely up to par. “Who did this?”
Y/N noticed the uncomfortable shift of gaze in the room Dr. Langdon exchanged a glance with Dr. King, who was staring at Dr. Ogilvie.
Y/N sighed realizing no one in the room was going to man up and spill the beans. Before she could stop it the words left her. “Dr. Ogilvie set it. The splint the paramedics placed became dislodged when we had to sedate the patient after they became combative.”
She ignored the harsh look of betrayal Dr. James Ogilvie sent her direction, her attention more focused on Dr. Park who was now staring at her with that same look of intensity he often wore unchanging on his face. “What is wrong with this splint?”
Dr. Ogilvie was fast to speak his tone defensive his pride far too wounded to keep his lips sealed. “There’s nothing wrong with the splint. The bone is set in a natural position. There’s no deformity in the limb that would suggest that splinting is the wrong choice.”
Y/N’s big mouth once again won out over any sense of self preservation as she spoke up seeing the problem. “It’s too tight…the splint. It’s restricting bloodflow”.
She shifted in place, wanting nothing more than to sink into the cracks in the tiles below her as all eyes in the room turned to her.
She felt herself tense under the gaze of one set of cold blue eyes.
She almost missed the slight upturn of Dr. Park’s lips as he spoke nodding to Dr. Ogilvie. “Nurse, Y/L/N is right. It’s too damn tight. You’re going to give a patient nerve damage with a splint like this.”
Y/N had almost missed the nod that Dr. Park sent her as he’d left the room, the truth hitting her; she’d won the bastard’s respect?
Now it seemed that anytime Dr. Brendon Park had a reason to come up to the ED; he seemed to regard her with an odd sense of respect.
Of course; her damn coworkers had noticed and she was more often than not the sacrificial lamb chosen to go be in the exam room with Park the Shark.
She’d been dumbfounded when Park more often than not threw questions in her direction when he was being critical of something he’d discovered someone had done wrong. She’d not missed the hint of a smirk on his lips when she was able to answer his questions. The approval did not even fade when she admitted that she was unsure of an answer. It seemed Park appreciated someone who admitted when they didn’t know; instead of trying to throw some bullshit his way to appease him.
Y/N was none too thrilled that she had seemingly become Dr. Park’s apparent favorite nurse in the ED. Dana, the charge nurse, had told her to consider it a compliment from her peers; Park was a tough cookie and he was not above telling someone the harsh truth. If he thought she was worth her salt as a nurse; then Dana insisted Y/N should take the compliment.
Nurses Princess and Perlah seemed to have a different take on the strange sense of respect Y/N seemed to earn from Dr. Park.
She’d overheard the whispered gossip Princess forgoing her usual choice in reverting to Tagalog when gossiping with Perlah given Nurse Donnie had joined the conversation. “He’s sweet on her. Park the Shark has a big fat crush. It’s obvious. She’s the only one around here he’s halfway human to. Have you seen the way he looks at her? He wants to eat her up.”
Perlah affirmed the assessment. “He’s been eager to come down for every consult from Ortho lately, it used to be like pulling teeth to get him down here. He’s not suddenly interested in being helpful to the ED. Y/N is what he’s interested in.”
Y/N had backed away from the exam room she’d been ready to enter before she’d overheard the gossiping nurses, her mind spinning.
She had adopted a strict code of denial after overhearing that bit of whispered gossip. There was no way in hell that ominous callous Dr. Park the Shark had any sort of romantic interest in her.
She’d maybe felt uneasy around him after overhearing what seemed to be the opinion of at least two of her fellow nurses.
She had not avoided Dr. Park of course; she was still apparently the chosen offering to the Shark by her coworkers. Still though; she couldn’t shake the thought from the back of her mind…did Park the Shark really suddenly give a damn about coming down to the ED for every consult just because of her?
Y/N stared up at Dr. Park her exhausted brain finally absorbing the observation he’d made about her current emotional state. She dared to respond, the comment meant to be sharp in a weak attempt to protect her shame, but the weepiness to her tone made it seem more pitiful than venomous. “No shit, a whole medical degree just to make that astute observation.”
Dr. Park only raised a brow not shrinking away from the attempts at stinging him so he’d back off.
He took her by shock sitting down beside her on the ground, the sight almost comical with as massive of a build as he had. She’d be lying if she tried to pretend she’d not maybe admired his physique just the slightest. The man hit the gym and he did it regularly from what she could see from the form fitting deep purple scrubs he sported.
He spoke, his gaze still locked on her still all too intense as though she was one of his patients and he was assessing her and forming a treatment plan to put her back together. “Who made you cry? What happened?”
She took a deep shaky breath, everything in her wanting to be scathing and bitchy and scare him off. It would be easy to be rude to him and get him to fuck off and leave her to her misery.
She pushed back the need to attempt to wound him with words a part of her convinced that Dr. Park was well versed in dodging attempts at cruelty. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time.” was the response she received Y/N not helping but to stare at him as though he’d sprouted a second head.
“Dr. Park the Shark has time…are you the same doctor who practically stomps into the ED for a consultation and insists that we get straight to the point because his time is so precious?” She blurted out, Park rolling his eyes at the question.
Her jaw practically dropped by the words that left his lips. “I have time for you.”
She pushed back the strange sense of fluttering warmth that washed over her at the earnest simplicity of the comment. He had time for her…Dr. Park who seemed to act like his time was some gift he was granting the peons around PTMC had time for her?
She sighed, resigning herself to the realization that she would need to trauma dump on the last person she wanted to have a bonding moment with. “I…I’m not usually this…weak. I’ve…uh, growing up was hard. I know that sounds cliche. Everyone claims they had the hardest childhood, but mine was…fucked.”
She held her knees all the tighter against her frame as though it would keep her safe as she recalled her past. “My mother wasn’t…she shouldn't have ever had kids. There was nothing maternal in that woman. My dad was in and out of trouble. Pretty sure he spent most of my childhood locked up. When he was out, he was great. I mean as great as a convicted felon can be at fatherhood. I think he loved me, but he just always screwed it up…living a straight clean life. My mom usually found guys to keep her company while my dad was locked up…and they…they were disgusting, not even worth being called men. I learned to dodge the gaze of men who were way too old to be looking at me the way they did early in my life…The last guy she decided to hook up with, I was barely twelve years old…he introduced her the wonderful world of heroin and a year later my little brother, little sister, and I were in the custody of child protective services. My parents sucked but their parents sucked harder. My dad wasn’t exactly in the position to get custody and no one wanted me, so I went to the system…mom had zero interest in getting me or my siblings back so her parental rights were cut off and I stayed in the system. I was an angry kid…traumatized in more ways than one. No one wants a preteen with issues. I bounced around from foster home to foster home to group home to group home…my sister was about the same. My brother was lucky…he was young and cute and some family snatched him up and adopted him in a closed adoption. I wasn’t lucky…I grew up tough and I learned to take shit that was thrown my way.”
She paused, avoiding his gaze, her childhood not entirely her favorite subject to broach especially with someone who made her as nervous as Park. “I, I thought I was over it…I mean I guess you never get over some things, but I thought I was coping. Then Dr. Baker…just he said some things that just… it cut me open and I felt so small.”
She widened her eyes as Park spoke his voice holding an edge she was not accustomed to…yes, the man always sounded severe. He was no nonsense; direct and cold…but his voice held something that went beyond assertiveness…there was a ferocity there. “Dr. Baker? My Dr. Baker in ortho? What did he do?”
She dared to say the words, her voice trembling. “He said I was pathetic and useless…that I should change careers, implied my nursing license was unearned. I…I tried to tell him that I didn’t even place the IV. I, it was the paramedics that brought her in. I tried to salvage it and start a new one but…”
She didn’t have time to continue as Dr. Park stood up at an alarming speed for someone who was as pure muscle as him. “I’ll take care of it.”
She stared up at him as he strode away his shoulders tense, clearly moving with purpose.
She spoke her voice soft as she snapped out of the shock. “What the hell was that? What do you mean you’ll take care of it?”
She felt her stomach sink a frustrated groan leaving her lips as it hit her.
She’d just given the Shark a whiff of blood and now he was headed for the kill. Fuck her life.
—-------------------------------
She found Dr. Park in a record breaking time, given the man was far taller than her and had a head start on finding Dr. Baker.
She was not quick enough to stop Dr. Baker from meeting his fate though.
She cringed as she approached the floor the ortho department called home and found a clearly pissed off Dr. Park had cornered Dr. Baker in a literal corner.
They were tucked away in the hallway far from prying eyes and ears. Dr. Avery Baker looked horrified and Dr. Brendon Park looked like he was ready to bite.
Dr. Brendon Park was a large man; his gym routine had given him a strong broad shouldered physique. He insisted being strong was favorable in his line of work; standing in the OR for hours literally having to hammer into bones at times to form them back in place.
He was far larger than his opponent. Dr. Baker stared up at the head of the orthopedic department, his eyes wide with fear. “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
“Nurse, Y/N...ED. You had some choice words to say about your opinion of an IV placement. Does that ring a bell?” Park snapped Y/N cringing as she approached the pair.
She parted her lips wanting to plead with Park to let the idiot go. This was a mess. This was such a cliche; big scary Dr. Park coming to defend her honor while she tearfully pleaded with him to stop like he was her pissed off boyfriend beating the tar out of some idiot who’d groped her at a seedy bar.
She bit back any pleas knowing that she could not risk this becoming the clear messy cliche she was picturing in her mind.
Dr. Baker spoke, his eyes growing all the wider. She was almost convinced they might bug out of his head at this rate. “I…the IV was a mess, the veins were all blown out. The thing had to be redone. The patient was struggling and knocked it loose. She’s a nurse in the emergency department, she should be able to start an IV on a distressed patient.”
Dr. Park was fast to reply, nearing closer to the man if that was even possible with how he was towering over him. “She didn’t start the IV. If you’d given her a second to explain she could have told you that the EMT’s started it. She was trying to fix their mistake but you went off on her.”
“I…I didn’t…” Dr. Baker attempted to defend himself Dr. Park not giving him the chance.
Park spoke again, glaring down at the man. “I believe you called her useless and pathetic, implied her license was unearned and she needed to find a new career path. Does any of that sound familiar?”
Dr. Baker parted his lips struggling to form a sentence truly realizing just how deep in the shit he currently was.
Dr. Park spoke again, his voice making it obvious that the next words that left him were not an empty threat. “If you ever think of even glancing her way again or dare to say another word to her, the only useless and pathetic thing around here will be your career path in my ortho department. You step out of line again with her, then I’ll make sure the only cases you’re getting around here are setting casts on kids legs, no operating room time, no glory of learning a thing from me. You’re here because I recruited you to join my department. You are still new enough in your career that you’ve got a thing or two to learn. Trust me I’m the best orthopedic surgeon you’re going to meet, you want to stay on my good side. Are we clear?”
Dr. Baker frantically nodded his head, Dr. Park backed up just enough for the man to scurry off.
Y/N cringed as Dr. Baker gazed in her direction quickly scurrying off in the opposite direction.
She spoke her voice tight as she approached Park. “Why did you do that?”
Dr. Park turned to face her, raising a brow clearly not expecting her to witness his act of taking care of it for her. “Kid is a jerk. There’s a difference between confidence in your craft and dumb arrogance. I gave him a dose of reality.”
“And that reality dose involved threatening him to never even look in my direction or you were going to make his career a living hell? What are you going to do when he goes running off to HR?” Y/N snapped, crossing her arms gritting her jaw the headache she had been fighting off making its presence all too known.
Dr. Park scoffed at the comment fast to reassure her. “He won’t run tattling to HR. He’s eager enough to earn my approval. I smelled it on him the second I recruited him to this department. Kid is barely out of his fourth year of residency.”
She resisted the urge to press her palm to her face wanting to argue that this wasn’t the point.
She parted her lips to point out how idiotic this all was as Dr. Park spoke again, clearing his throat. “He made you cry.”
“You make people cry all the time.” She pointed out rolling her eyes at the comment knowing damn well that Dr. Park was no stranger to making the staff around this hospital get a little teary eyed if he really tore into them.
Park sighed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck almost looking nervous…it wasn’t a look she thought she’d ever see on him. “I don’t make you cry…I’d never make you cry. It’d be like…kicking a kitten or something.”
“A kitten?” She parroted dumbfounded by the statement and the possible meaning behind why it was so important that he not make her cry.
She glanced around the department relieved that it was just the two of them standing here sharing this exchange. The last thing she needed was this entire situation joining the rumor mill.
Dr. Park nodded his head, a hint of a smile crossing his lips. “Yeah, you know, all fluffy and cute. The first day I met you, you were wearing these earrings, plastic daisies and this lilac shirt under your scrubs ... .the head band you were wearing matched the shirt. You were so…cute.”
“Cute?” She blurted out trying to grasp the fact that Dr. Park, who scared the shit out of practically everyone in this building, thought she looked cute and seemed to remember the exact details of what she was wearing the first day he’d met her.
“Yeah, cute…I mean don’t get me wrong. You have a smart mouth and you curse way more than is probably socially appropriate in our profession. So you know…kitten has claws. I like claws.” He admitted the smile only grew all the more leaving her all the more dumbfounded.
He was…flirting? Seriously, he was flirting?
Why did she feel her heart rate pick up at it? Why did the words leave her lips, her tone far more flirty than it had a right to be. “Makes sense…a shark might appreciate claws.”
The smile only grew all the more apparent he taking a deep breath dropping his hand from the back of his neck.
He straightened his face as it seemed he mentally came to a decision. “I have a surgery tonight…should end at eight. Your shift ends at seven. Wait for me outside the ED, near the ambulance bay.”
She raised a brow wanting to respond that she would do no such thing but found herself speechless as he spoke again sounding as though he was directing her on a treatment plan for a patient in the ED. “We’re going to dinner.”
“You’re ordering me to go to dinner with you?” She remarked, causing him to roll his eyes in return.
He spoke clearing his throat realizing he had to try a little harder; drop a bit of the shark persona if he was going to get anywhere. “I’m asking you to dinner. Will you have dinner with me?”
She rolled the request through her mind, the offer taking her by shock. He was asking her to dinner?
He cleared his throat, almost doubting himself for a moment he was quick to speak again. “I’m not pressuring you. I didn’t defend you in hopes of pressuring you into a date. I meant what I said…he made you cry and I don’t like it. I’d do the same if anyone else made you cry. I’d kick my own ass for making you cry. If you aren’t interested, I won’t hold it against you.”
Y/N snapped out of her shock, it hitting her. This was by far the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her…he’d defended her just because some one made her cry.
Big intimidating Park the Shark who made everyone cower and run for the hills because of how mean he could be didn’t like it when she cried.
She made her choice nodding her head. “I’ll meet you by the ambulance bay. It’s a date.”
“Can’t wait, Kitten.” he remarked, causing her to let out a huff rolling her eyes though the smile that crossed her features was undeniable.
She spoke as she turned to walk away ignoring the racing of her heartbeat and the giddy feeling of butterflies settling in her belly. “I’m looking forward to it, Shark.”
stats class. keep ur glasses on when u fuck me. statistical analysis with ur tongue. thats abt it. sunghoon word porn ngl
ENHA HARD HOURS (kinda) 18+ MDNI
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You're late. Again.
The digital clock on your phone reads 3:10 PM as you sprint across campus, your backpack bouncing against your spine with each step. Statistics seminar started ten minutes ago, and Professor Clarke has definitely noticed your absence by now. Not that it's unusual—you've made it a habit to burst through those doors at exactly ten minutes past, a whirlwind of apologies and bright smiles.
"Sorry, sorry!" you announce as you push open the computer lab door, slightly out of breath.
Twenty pairs of eyes swivel toward you, but Professor Clarke doesn't even look up from his laptop at the front of the room.
"How kind of you to join us," he says dryly. "We were just assigning semester project partners."
You flash him your most charming smile as you slide into an empty seat. "Perfect timing then."
A few people laugh. You've mastered the art of diffusing tension with humor, of making your tardiness seem like a quirky character trait rather than a genuine inability to manage time. It's gotten you this far in university.
"As I was saying," Professor Clarke continues, "this statistical analysis project will count for forty percent of your grade. You and your assigned partner will select a dataset, develop a hypothesis, and use STATA to analyze your findings." He gestures to the complex statistical software displayed on the projector screen—the same software that has been giving you nightmares since week one.
You glance around the room, hoping you'll be paired with Olivia or Zara—friends who wouldn't mind carrying the team if necessary. But when Professor Clarke reads off, "Sunghoon Park and..." followed by your name, your heart does something unexpected.
It skips.
You've noticed him before—it's hard not to. He always sits in the same spot three rows from the front, always arrives fifteen minutes early, always has his notebook open at the exact moment class begins.
What you haven't fully appreciated until now, as you turn to locate him in the room, is just how devastatingly handsome he is. His dark eyes find yours immediately behind stylish wire-rimmed glasses that give him an irresistible intellectual appeal. One corner of his perfectly shaped mouth lifts in the smallest acknowledgment, and a strand of black hair falls across his forehead when he nods at you. The combination of his reserved demeanor and model-worthy looks creates an effect that makes your stomach flip. He's the definition of a hot nerd—the kind that makes you temporarily forget about statistical analysis altogether and wonder what he'd look like with those glasses slightly askew, his usually perfect hair disheveled.
After partnering announcements finish, Professor Clarke instructs everyone to move next to their assigned partners to discuss project ideas.
You gather your things and make your way to Sunghoon's station, dropping into the chair beside him with dramatic flair.
"Fair warning," you say brightly, "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this software. Like, none. Zero. Statistical analysis to me is deciding which café has the shortest queue."
You expect a sigh or a look of disappointment—it's what most serious students do when they realize they've been paired with you. Instead, Sunghoon's expression softens.
"It's okay," he says quietly, his voice carrying just a hint of an accent. "I'm... not an expert either."
"But you always look so focused during class," you say, gesturing to his immaculate notes.
He shrugs, the movement slight and controlled. "I write everything down. Doesn't mean I understand it all."
When he opens the STATA program and navigates through a few screens with apparent ease, you lean closer.
"Okay, so you're being modest. You definitely know more than I do."
"Barely," he admits, and you catch the faintest hint of a smile—not the polite one from before, but something genuine that makes you want to see it again. "I just know how to make it look like I know what I'm doing."
"That's an important life skill," you laugh, pulling your chair closer to see his screen better. "So what kind of data are we analyzing? Please say something fun like ice cream consumption versus happiness levels."
Sunghoon doesn't laugh, but his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "Actually," he says, "we can choose almost anything that interests us."
You bump his shoulder lightly with yours. "See? We're going to be great partners. I bring the wild ideas, you bring the common sense."
"Is that what they call it?" he asks, and there's a hint of playfulness in his voice that catches you off guard.
"What would you call it?" you challenge.
He considers for a moment, adjusting his glasses with a single finger pushed against the bridge. The gesture shouldn't be as attractive as it is. "Survival instinct."
You laugh, genuinely surprised. "So I'm dangerous?"
"No," he says, turning slightly to face you better. "Statistical software is dangerous. You're..." he pauses, seeming to search for the right word, "unpredictable."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was meant as one." The quiet confidence in his voice sends a small thrill through you.
Professor Clarke clears his throat at the front of the room. "I expect project proposals by the end of next week. Choose your dataset carefully—it will determine the scope of your entire project."
You glance at the clock. Only fifteen minutes of class remain.
"So, partner," you say, lowering your voice as Professor Clarke continues, "when should we meet to figure this out? I promise I'll try not to be ten minutes late."
Sunghoon's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Would you actually show up if I said 8 AM at the library?"
"Now you're just testing me," you whisper back.
"Coffee shop after class on Thursday?" he suggests instead, his voice equally quiet. "The one behind the science building?"
"Beans & Books? You've got good taste." You nod approvingly. "I practically live there between classes."
"I know," he says, then immediately looks as if he wishes he could take it back.
"You know?" You raise an eyebrow, intrigued and slightly pleased.
A faint color appears high on his cheekbones. "I've seen you there. You always order something different and then type furiously on your laptop."
The fact that he's noticed you before, observed your habits even, gives you a little flutter of satisfaction. "And what do you order, Sunghoon Park? Let me guess—plain black coffee, no sugar."
His eyebrows lift slightly. "Close. Earl Grey tea."
"Of course," you nod sagely. "Sophisticated."
When class ends, you gather your things slowly, suddenly reluctant to leave. Sunghoon stands, slinging his messenger bag across his chest in one smooth motion.
"Thursday, then," he says, as if confirming an important business meeting.
"It's a date," you reply with deliberate casualness, watching his reaction.
His expression remains mostly neutral, but you don't miss the quick blink, the slight pause before he nods. "For statistics," he clarifies, but the slight upturn of his lips betrays him.
"For statistics," you agree solemnly, though you're already wondering what other subjects you might explore together.
The coffee shop meeting goes surprisingly well. What you expected to be an hour of awkward dataset discussions turns into three hours of conversation that meanders far beyond statistics. Sunghoon, it turns out, has layers beneath his reserved exterior—he plays piano, reads philosophy for fun, and has a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard and makes you laugh harder than you have in weeks.
By the end of the evening, you've not only selected your dataset (coffee consumption versus academic performance—your suggestion, which he surprisingly agreed to), but you've also learned that his stammer appears when he's either nervous or passionate about a topic. You find both instances equally endearing.
When Friday's class rolls around, something shifts. You arrive only five minutes late (progress), and the space beside Sunghoon, which is usually empty, now seems to be waiting for you. You slide into the seat and he glances up from his notebook, the corner of his mouth lifting in that subtle way that's becoming familiar.
"You're almost on time," he says quietly, amusement in his eyes.
"Don't get used to it," you reply, but there's no bite to your words.
Throughout the class, your awareness of him is heightened—the way his brow furrows when he's concentrating, how his fingers tap thoughtfully against the desk when Professor Clarke asks a difficult question, the scent of his cologne when he leans closer to point something out on your screen.
After class, you find yourself hesitating as you pack up your things, watching as he meticulously organizes his notes.
"So," you begin, aiming for casual, "I was thinking... we should probably meet again this weekend to work on the project." You pause. "My roommate's gone for the weekend. We could use my dorm? Fewer distractions than the coffee shop."
Sunghoon looks up, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nods. "That would be... efficient."
You laugh at his choice of words. "Very statistical of you."
"I meant—" he starts, a hint of that stammer appearing.
"I know what you meant," you interrupt, grinning. "Saturday at four?"
He nods, adjusting his glasses. "I'll bring the data analysis. You bring the coffee."
"Deal."
Saturday arrives, and for the first time in your university career, you spend thirty minutes tidying your room before a study session. You tell yourself it's just basic courtesy, not because you care what Sunghoon thinks of your living space.
At precisely four o'clock, there's a knock at your door. Punctual as always.
You open it to find Sunghoon standing there in jeans and a simple button-down shirt, his laptop bag slung across his body. He's swapped his usual wire-frames for slightly thicker black glasses that somehow make him look even more attractive—scholarly but with an edge.
"You're making me look bad with this punctuality thing," you say by way of greeting, stepping aside to let him in.
"Sorry?" he offers, clearly unsure if he's actually done something wrong.
You laugh. "I'm joking. Come in."
Your dorm room is standard—bed, desk, small seating area with a loveseat and coffee table—but you've made it yours with art on the walls and plants on every available surface. Sunghoon takes it all in with curious eyes.
"I like your space," he says, and it sounds genuine.
"Thanks. Where should we set up? Desk or coffee table?"
"Either is fine," he says, that formal politeness still present even after your hours in the coffee shop.
You end up at the coffee table, sitting side by side on the loveseat, laptops open. For an hour, you actually make progress on the project. Sunghoon explains correlations in a way that finally makes sense, and you discover you have a talent for visualizing data in creative ways that makes his eyes light up with approval.
But as the afternoon wears on, the small space means your shoulders keep brushing, your knees occasionally touch, and each point of contact feels increasingly deliberate. When you reach for your coffee at the same moment he reaches for his tea, your hands collide, and neither of you pulls away immediately.
"Sorry," you both say at once, and then laugh.
"Great minds," you add, but you're distracted by how his eyes look behind those glasses, warm and focused entirely on you.
At some point, you shift positions, both of you turning toward each other to discuss a particularly complicated aspect of your analysis. Your knees are definitely touching now, and the loveseat suddenly seems much smaller than it did an hour ago.
"So if we compare these variables..." he's saying, but you're watching his mouth form the words more than listening to their meaning.
"Hmm?" you say, forcing your attention back to the screen.
He turns to look at you fully, and you realize how close your faces are. "You're not listening," he says, but there's no accusation in his voice.
"I'm distracted," you admit.
"By statistics?"
"By you."
The words hang in the air between you. Sunghoon blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to something more intense. He swallows visibly, and you watch the movement in his throat.
"I'm... distracting?" he asks, his voice lower than before.
"Extremely." Your eyes lock on his glasses, the way they frame his dark eyes, how they complete his devastatingly attractive intellectual look. "Especially with these on."
His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. "The glasses?"
"God, yes," you breathe, moving closer. "You have no idea how fucking hot you look in them."
A flush spreads across his cheeks, but there's a new confidence in the way he holds your gaze. Without warning, he pulls you forward into a kiss that has nothing of his usual restraint. His laptop slides forgotten to the coffee table as you shift closer, and then somehow you're straddling his lap, your hands on either side of his face as you deepen the kiss.
When you break apart to breathe, his glasses are slightly askew. You straighten them gently, then run your fingers through his usually immaculate hair, deliberately messing it up while keeping the glasses perfectly in place.
"You're so sexy," you murmur against his mouth. "I've been thinking about this since the first day we were paired up."
His hands find your hips, holding you firmly against him. "I find that... statistically improbable," he manages, but his breathing is as uneven as yours.
"I'll show you improbable," you whisper, grinding down deliberately. His glasses fog slightly from the heat between you, and the sight sends a thrill through your body. "So fucking hot," you repeat, unable to stop yourself.
His hands slide beneath your shirt, exploring with a surprising boldness that makes you gasp. "We should—" he starts, breathing heavily.
“Yes,” you agree, already pulling him up from the loveseat, walking backwards toward your bed while keeping his mouth on yours. “The project can definitely wait.”
You fall back onto the mattress, pulling him down with you, careful not to knock his glasses off as he hovers above you. They’ve fogged again from the heat between your bodies, and something about that sight—this controlled, precise man coming undone while still looking every bit the hot intellectual—pushes you past any remaining hesitation.
“Leave them on,” you insist when he reaches to remove his glasses. “Please.”
His lips curve into a smile that’s nothing like his usual restrained expressions—this one is knowing, almost wicked. “If that’s what you want,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your neck.
“It’s definitely what I want,” you gasp as his teeth graze your skin. “Along with… everything else.”
There’s a playful air to each touch, a slow building of tension as you both start to peel away layers. You tug at the hem of his shirt first, sliding it up inch by tantalizing inch until he lifts his arms to help you pull it off. He returns the favor by slipping a hand under your blouse, fingertips teasing over your ribs. Every time he tries to hasten the pace, you grin and slow him down, dragging the fabric just a bit more before letting it fall away, leaving him momentarily breathless. The sound he makes—caught somewhere between a groan and a laugh—sends a thrill through you.
Time seems to blur as clothing is discarded piece by piece, inhibitions falling away with each new revelation of skin. The afternoon sunlight filters through your curtains, casting everything in a warm glow.
At some point, you find yourself above him, both of you completely bare except for his glasses, which have somehow remained perfectly in place despite everything. You pause for a moment, taking in the sight of him beneath you—all lean muscle and flushed skin, those wire-rimmed glasses still perched on his nose, slightly fogged from the heat between your bodies.
“You’re staring,” he whispers, a vulnerability in his voice despite the intimate position.
“Can you blame me?” You lean down, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, then another, and another, each one growing more insistent. “God, look at you.”
His hands find your hips, steadying you as you continue to kiss him, his glasses occasionally bumping against your face in a way that only heightens your desire. There's something impossibly erotic about him being completely naked except for those glasses—the contrast between his exposed body and that one remnant of his studious, put-together appearance.
"You're so fucking sexy," you breathe against his mouth. "How does anyone focus in that statistics class with you sitting there looking like this?"
He laughs softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. "I could ask you the same question."
Your kisses become more urgent, your bodies moving together with increasing need. The heat between you builds with each touch, each whispered encouragement. Sunghoon's usually careful movements grow bolder, more instinctive, as your hands explore each other's bodies. His glasses, still perfectly perched on his nose, begin to fog at the edges first—just a light mist that catches the dim light of your room. But as your passion intensifies, as your breathing grows more ragged and synchronized, the lenses cloud completely.
When you pull back to look at him, you can't help but laugh softly at the sight—this brilliantly composed man now completely blinded by the evidence of your shared desire, those glasses that make him look so irresistibly intellectual now rendered useless by the heat radiating between your bodies. To your surprise, he laughs too—not the polite chuckle you've heard in class or the soft amusement from your coffee shop conversations, but a genuine, uninhibited sound that seems to come from somewhere deep inside him. It's rich and warm and completely unguarded.
"I can't see a thing," he admits, his voice husky with desire and amusement. His hands find your face despite his temporary blindness, thumbs tracing your cheekbones with unexpected precision. "But I don't need to see to know exactly where you are."
"Is that so?" you challenge, your breath catching as his fingers trail down your neck, across your collarbone, mapping you with deliberate attention.
"I've been studying you," he murmurs, his touch making you shiver despite the heat between you. "Memorizing. Analyzing patterns." His hands continue their exploration, finding every sensitive spot with remarkable accuracy. "It's very... statistical."
You laugh against his mouth. "Only you could make statistics sound sexy."
Through the fogged lenses, you can just barely make out how his eyes darken at your words. "I have other statistical terms I could demonstrate," he offers, surprising you again with his boldness. His accent becomes slightly more pronounced when he's like this—another detail you've grown to cherish.
"Show me," you whisper, and he does—his hands and mouth conducting a thorough analysis of cause and effect, of stimuli and response, until you're clutching at his shoulders and gasping his name. All while those fogged-up glasses remain perfectly in place, the final vestige of his composed exterior while everything else between you unravels into glorious chaos.
You’re already bare beneath him, skin flushed from teasing and anticipation, but the only thing still clinging to his body—those damn glasses—make it so much worse. Or better. Definitely better.
Sunghoon hovers over you, gaze dark behind the lenses, lips swollen and slightly parted as he takes in the sight of you. You should be embarrassed at how wanton you must look, legs spread for him, body already trembling, but he’s the one who looks wrecked. His composure is gone, shattered somewhere between the desperate kisses and the way you dragged your nails down his back.
His lips quirk. “Still want me to leave them on?”
“Don’t even think about taking them off.”
His smile turns wicked, and then he’s moving—kissing, sucking, trailing his mouth down your body with purpose. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider, and then he’s right there—close enough that you can feel the ghost of his breath against you, the heat of it making your stomach clench.
He doesn’t start slow. No teasing, no light flicks of his tongue just to test the waters. Sunghoon eats you like he’s been starving for this, like he’s been waiting for the moment he could taste you, drown in you. His tongue is hot and relentless, curling against you just right, pressing where you need him most, sending shockwaves through every nerve in your body.
But what really undoes you is the feeling of his glasses pressing against your inner thighs, the cold metal contrasting with the heat of his mouth. Every time he moves, every time he adjusts his angle, the frames shift against your skin—slightly rough, slightly smooth, a reminder of exactly who is between your legs and how absolutely ruined he’s making you.
You fist the sheets, hips jerking up into his mouth, but he pins you down effortlessly, a strong arm wrapped around your thigh to keep you exactly where he wants you. He groans when you tug at his hair, the vibrations shooting through you, making you gasp his name.
“Fuck, Sunghoon—”
His response is a low hum against your clit, and your whole body shakes. You feel the damp heat of his breath, the slick slide of his tongue, but more than anything, you feel the weight of those goddamn glasses as they drag along your skin, fogging up even more, smudging against your inner thigh every time he moves deeper, harder, sloppier.
The sheer filth of it makes you clench around nothing.
Sunghoon notices, because of course he does—because he’s been studying you this whole time, memorizing what makes you gasp, what makes your thighs tremble around his head. And he’s smug about it, too, because when he pulls back just enough to glance up at you, lips glistening, glasses just barely slipping down his nose, he smirks.
“You like that, don’t you?” His voice is raspy, breathless, wrecked.
You don’t even try to deny it. “Yes—God, yes, don’t stop.”
Sunghoon’s smirk deepens, and he doesn’t make you beg for it. He dives right back in, tongue flicking, sucking, his grip on your thighs tightening as you lose yourself completely. The drag of his glasses, the precise way he adjusts his angle to push you higher, the way he groans into you like he’s getting off on this just as much as you are—it’s too much.
The coil in your stomach snaps hard, pleasure crashing over you so intensely that you barely realize you’re pulling at his hair, moaning his name like a prayer, like you might fall apart completely if he stops.
Sunghoon doesn’t stop. Not right away. He works you through the aftershocks, his tongue slow, methodical, lazy in a way that makes you shudder from overstimulation. Only when your body twitches beneath him does he finally pull away, chin glistening, glasses fucking ruined.
You’re still gasping when he crawls back up your body, hovering over you, his mouth right there, his glasses so close you can see the way they’re fogged-up and smudged with sweat.
When you finally collapse beside each other, spent and satisfied, his glasses are askew once more. You reach over to straighten them, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm.
"So," you say, when you've caught your breath, "should we tell Professor Clarke we've found an interesting correlation to study?"
Sunghoon laughs, the sound free and unrestrained in a way you hadn't heard before today. "I don't think this is what he had in mind for the assignment."
"His loss," you murmur, snuggling closer. "I'd say our statistical analysis was very... thorough."
"We should probably actually work on the project at some point," he says, but makes no move to get up.
"Tomorrow," you promise, running a finger along his jawline. "I think we need to collect more data first."
His eyebrow raises above the rim of his glasses. "For the sake of academic integrity?"
"Absolutely," you agree solemnly, before dissolving into laughter.
The statistics of probability have never been so compelling.
-
Over the next few weeks, your statistics class takes on an entirely new dimension. What was once your least favorite part of the week has become the highlight—not because you've suddenly developed a passion for data analysis, but because of the subtle dance that unfolds between you and Sunghoon twice a week in that computer lab.
The Monday after your "study session," you arrive to class five minutes early—a personal record. Sunghoon is already there, of course, and the moment he sees you, his ears turn slightly pink. When you slide into the seat next to him, now officially your spot, he gives you a small smile that feels like a secret.
"You're early," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.
"I had motivation," you reply, letting your knee brush against his under the desk.
His eyes flicker to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to his notebook. "I hope it wasn't just for... statistical analysis."
"Depends on how you define statistics," you whisper just as Professor Clarke calls the class to order.
Throughout the lecture, you're acutely aware of every movement Sunghoon makes—how he adjusts his glasses when he's thinking, the precise way he takes notes, the occasional glance he throws your way when he thinks you're not looking. Halfway through class, you deliberately drop your pen between you. When you both reach for it, your fingers touch, and he doesn't pull away. Instead, he hooks his pinky finger over yours for just a moment before handing you the pen. The small gesture sends a flutter through your chest.
After class, you walk together to the coffee shop without needing to discuss it. Somehow, it's already become your routine.
"How's the dataset compilation going?" he asks as you find a small table in the corner.
"That's what you want to talk about right now? Really?" You raise an eyebrow.
A faint smile plays at his lips. "We do have a project due in three weeks."
"Always so responsible," you sigh dramatically, but there's fondness in your voice. "It's going fine. I've got the coffee consumption survey data from about fifty students so far."
He nods approvingly. "That's a decent sample size for our purposes."
When your drinks arrive—his Earl Grey and your excessively complicated latte—you notice something different about him. He's still quiet, still thoughtful, but there's a new ease to his movements, a softness around his eyes when he looks at you.
"What?" he asks, catching you studying him.
"Nothing," you say, then reconsider. "Actually, not nothing. You seem... different."
He takes a sip of his tea, considering. "I feel different," he admits after a moment. "With you."
The simple sincerity of his words catches you off guard. For all your flirtatious confidence, his straightforward honesty disarms you completely.
"Good different?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy.
"Very good different," he confirms, and beneath the table, his foot rests against yours. Not by accident.
By the third week, you've fallen into patterns that blend the academic with the intimate. Your Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are devoted to actual project work—usually in the library where the public setting keeps you reasonably focused.
Your Saturday “study sessions” in your dorm room are significantly less productive in the statistical sense, though you joke that you’re certainly collecting plenty of data on other variables.
Sunghoon rolls his eyes every time you say it, but you know he loves it—loves how eager, how shameless you are when it comes to him. Because every time you spread your legs for him, every time you drag him into another compromising position, he never tells you no.
Case Study #1: The Textbooks
It starts with an innocent enough setup—Sunghoon sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against your bed, flipping through a statistics textbook while you sit across from him, pretending to study. But it’s boring. He looks too good in his glasses, sleeves rolled up, the slightest furrow in his brow as he concentrates. And before you even realize you’re moving, you’re crawling into his lap, straddling him right there on top of the book.
He barely has time to exhale your name before you sink down onto him, making both of you groan.
The hardcover digs into your knees, the pages creasing beneath you, but you couldn’t care less. Sunghoon is buried inside you, stretching you open, warm and deep and perfect, and the only data you’re analyzing is how his breath stutters when you roll your hips just right.
“Fuck, you’re unreal—” he pants, hands gripping your waist, watching you through the slightly fogged lenses of his glasses as you use him, ride him slow, grind on him like you want to ruin him.
You do. You want to wreck him just as much as he’s wrecking you. The friction, the delicious drag, the way his hands squeeze your hips to urge you to go faster, harder—it all shreds your self-control.
By the time you both come undone, gasping and clinging to each other, the textbook beneath you is thoroughly creased, sticky, ruined. Neither of you even bother looking at it.
Case Study #2: The Desk Chair
Another Saturday, another useless attempt at studying.
Sunghoon’s seated at your desk this time, one leg lazily spread, hand bracing his forehead as he tries to focus. But you’re kneeling between his legs, and the moment you reach for his zipper, his entire body tenses.
“You’re insatiable.”
“And?” You tug his pants down just enough to free him, palming his length, watching him harden in your hand as his breathing turns shallow.
He leans back, exhaling sharply when your lips part and you take him deep. His hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as you swirl your tongue around him, tease him, make him fall apart.
His glasses slip down his nose as he watches you, half-lidded and dazed, jaw slack as you take him deeper, sucking, hollowing your cheeks, making obscene little noises that drive him insane.
He trembles when he finally spills down your throat, groaning your name, head thrown back against the chair.
And the moment he catches his breath, he drags you into his lap, flips you onto the desk, and fucks you stupid.
Case Study #3: Against the Window
Another week. Another “study session.” Another location.
This time, you find yourself pressed against the glass of your dorm window, palms splayed, breath fogging the pane as Sunghoon pounds into you from behind.
The curtains are open.
You don’t know if anyone can see—if someone walking by on the street below can look up and spot your bare body, the lewd way you’re bent over, Sunghoon’s hands gripping your hips as he drives into you with punishing force.
But you don’t care.
All you care about is the way he grunts into your ear, his glasses slightly askew, one hand slipping down to rub your clit, making you jerk and gasp his name as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave.
“Keep your eyes open,” he growls, voice thick with lust, dragging his lips along your shoulder. “Look outside. Look at what a mess you are.”
Case Study #4: The Shower
It’s late, and you should be asleep. But instead, you’re pressed up against the tiled wall of your tiny dorm shower, water scalding hot, steam curling around you as Sunghoon lifts you up, holds you against him, and fucks you slow, deep.
His glasses are gone, finally.
They’d fogged up the moment he stepped into the shower, and the second you’d made a joke about it, he’d taken them off and set them on the sink. But you don’t miss them too much—not when his mouth is on your throat, sucking bruises into your wet skin, not when his fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you in place as he rolls his hips into you with exquisite precision.
You come twice before you finally stumble out of the shower, exhausted, dripping, completely spent.
And the moment you walk back into your dorm room, still naked, Sunghoon picks up his glasses, slides them back on, and gives you a look that tells you he’s nowhere near finished with you.
Case Study #5: The Floor (Again, Because You Can’t Stop)
At this point, you don’t even make it to the bed.
You’re both desperate, panting, **clawing at each other like you can’t stand the idea of being apart for another second.**The moment Sunghoon pushes you onto the floor, you’re already wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him down, gasping when he fills you in one smooth thrust.
It’s fast, dirty, messy.
He grits out your name, one hand bracing beside your head, the other gripping your thigh, holding you open as he slams into you, pace brutal, relentless. The carpet burns on your back will be worth it.
He loses his glasses at some point, but you don’t even notice—you’re too busy coming apart beneath him, clawing at his back, moaning his name like you’ll never get enough of him.
Maybe you won’t.
Because the second you catch your breath, still tangled up in him, you’re already thinking about where you’ll fuck next.
What surprises you most is how much you enjoy both versions of your time together. The project, which should be tedious, becomes engaging through Sunghoon's perspective. He has a way of finding patterns in chaos that makes even the driest data seem fascinating. And through your influence, he's learning to approach problems more creatively, to see beyond the rigid frameworks he's always relied on.
"What if we visualize it this way instead?" you suggest one Tuesday, sketching a completely unorthodox chart on the margin of his meticulously organized notes.
His initial reaction is skepticism—you can see it in the slight furrow of his brow—but he considers it longer than he would have three weeks ago.
"It's unconventional," he says finally.
"But?"
"But it might actually work better for presenting the correlation," he concedes, and the smile you give him is so bright it makes the student at the next table look over.
In class, Professor Clarke notices the change in both of you. Your questions become more insightful, Sunghoon's responses more animated. When you present your initial findings mid-semester, the professor actually seems impressed by your unusual approach to visualization.
"An interesting methodology," he comments, adjusting his own glasses in a way that reminds you of Sunghoon. "Unorthodox, but effective."
You beam at Sunghoon, who ducks his head slightly but can't hide his pleased expression.
After class, he catches your hand as you're packing up—a gesture he would never have initiated before.
"We make a good team," he says quietly.
"The best," you agree, squeezing his fingers before reluctantly letting go. Public displays still make him slightly uncomfortable, and you respect his boundaries.
-
It's during a rainy Friday evening in your dorm room, six weeks into your relationship (though neither of you has officially labeled it as such), that something shifts again.
You're sprawled on your bed with your laptop, Sunghoon sitting at your desk reviewing your latest statistical findings, his glasses reflecting the blue light of the screen. Classical music plays softly from his phone—another new development. He's been gradually introducing you to his favorite composers, and you've found you actually enjoy the background music while working.
"Your scatterplot is missing a data point," he says, turning to look at you.
"Mmm, probably deleted it accidentally," you reply, not looking up from your position. "Is it important?"
"All data points are important," he says, but there's amusement in his voice rather than criticism.
You roll onto your back, laptop balanced on your stomach. "That sounds like something that would be on a statistics department t-shirt. 'All data points matter.'"
He laughs—a sound that's become less rare but no less thrilling to hear. "I'd wear it."
"Of course you would," you tease. "With your glasses and a pocket protector."
He makes a face at you. "I don't own a pocket protector."
"Yet," you add with a grin.
He shakes his head, turning back to the screen, but you catch the smile he tries to hide. After a moment, he speaks again without looking at you.
"My parents want to meet you."
You sit up so quickly your laptop nearly slides off your stomach. "What?"
Now he turns, his expression a mixture of nervousness and something softer. "I mentioned you during our weekly call. Multiple times, apparently. My mother... noticed."
"You talk about me to your parents?" You can't keep the pleased surprise from your voice.
He adjusts his glasses, a gesture you now recognize as his tell when he's feeling vulnerable. "It seems I do."
"What do you tell them?" You set your laptop aside, giving him your full attention.
"That you're brilliant in ways I'm not. That you see solutions I miss." He pauses. "That you make statistics class the best part of my week."
Your heart does that skipping thing it did the first day Professor Clarke paired you together, only stronger now.
"Sunghoon Park," you say softly, "are you saying I'm statistically significant to you?"
His expression turns serious, though his eyes remain gentle. "With a p-value approaching zero," he replies, and though it's phrased as a joke, his tone makes it clear it's anything but.
In statistics, a p-value approaching zero indicates an extremely high likelihood that an observed effect is real and not due to chance. It's the closest thing to certainty that statistics allows.
You cross the room to where he sits, gently taking his face between your hands. His glasses are slightly smudged, and you resist the urge to clean them, focusing instead on the eyes behind them.
"So," you say, "when do I meet these parents who raised such a statistically significant nerd?"
He laughs, pulling you into his lap in a move that would have seemed impossibly bold from him just weeks ago. "They're visiting next weekend. Dinner on Saturday?"
"I'm there," you promise, sealing it with a kiss.
-
The day of your semester project presentation arrives with an unexpected lack of anxiety. You're prepared—more prepared than you've been for any academic presentation in your life. Partly because the subject has actually become interesting to you, but mostly because working on it meant spending hours with Sunghoon.
You stand beside him at the front of the class, watching him explain your methodology with a confidence that wasn't there at the beginning of the semester. His voice is still quiet, still measured, but there's a strength behind it now, an assurance that comes from truly understanding his material. When he gestures to your creative visualization on the screen, there's a hint of pride in his voice that makes your chest warm.
When it's your turn to present, you catch him watching you with undisguised admiration. You explain the correlations you found between different types of coffee consumption and various academic performance metrics, throwing in jokes that make the class laugh and complex statistical terms that make Professor Clarke nod approvingly.
"And in conclusion," you finish, "we found that while caffeine consumption generally correlates with improved academic performance up to a point, the type of environment in which the coffee is consumed may be an equally significant factor."
"Furthermore," Sunghoon adds, stepping forward to stand beside you, shoulder to shoulder, "we discovered that the companionship variable—whether students studied alone or with others—showed the strongest positive correlation with both satisfaction and performance outcomes."
His eyes meet yours for a brief moment, and you know he's not just talking about the data anymore.
When Professor Clarke gives your presentation an A and commends your "complementary analytical approaches," you resist the urge to high-five Sunghoon in front of everyone. Instead, you wait until you're outside the building, then throw your arms around him in celebration.
To your surprise, he lifts you slightly off the ground in his enthusiasm, spinning once before setting you down, his face flushed with excitement and mild embarrassment at his own uncharacteristic display.
"We did it," he says, adjusting his glasses which were knocked askew by your hug.
"Was there ever any doubt?" you reply, reaching up to straighten them properly. "We're statistically significant, remember?"
His smile softens, and right there on the path outside the statistics building, with students streaming past on their way to other classes, he kisses you without hesitation or self-consciousness.
"What was that for?" you ask when he pulls away, delighted but surprised by the public display.
"I've been collecting data," he says, his eyes crinkling behind those glasses you've grown to love, "and I've formed a hypothesis."
"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow. "And what hypothesis is that, Mr. Park?"
He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as you begin walking toward the coffee shop that's become your place.
"That I'm in love with you," he says simply. "And unlike most statistical conclusions, I'm one hundred percent certain."
You stop walking, turning to face him fully. "That's a bold statistical claim. Absolute certainty is rare in your field."
"I have compelling evidence," he counters, and the confidence in his voice, so different from the hesitant student you met months ago, makes your heart race.
"I might need to review your data," you tease, though your voice catches slightly.
"Extensive observation over time," he begins, stepping closer. "Consistent results across multiple variables. Reproducible effects." His voice drops lower. "Significant positive impact on all quality-of-life metrics."
"Very scientific," you murmur, your hands finding their way to his chest.
"I thought so," he agrees, his eyes serious despite the playful exchange. "So my conclusion stands."
You rise on your tiptoes, pressing your forehead to his. "Well, as someone who's conducted a parallel study, I can confirm your findings. The evidence suggests I'm in love with you too."
His smile, rare and full, lights up his entire face. "Independently verified results. The best kind."
“Should we celebrate this breakthrough with coffee?” you suggest, already knowing his answer.
“I was thinking maybe we skip the coffee today,” he says, surprising you again. “I have other hypotheses I’d like to test.”
“Professor Clarke would be shocked at your dedication to statistical research,” you laugh, letting him lead you in the direction of your dorm instead of the coffee shop.
“Some variables,” he says with newfound confidence, “are worth studying in depth.”
You lean in close, pressing your lips right against the shell of his ear, and whisper the kind of filth that would make even the most shameless person blush.
“Then why don’t you pin me down the second we walk through that door, shove your face between my legs, and eat me so fucking good I forget my own name? And when I can’t take anymore, you’ll flip me over and fuck me like you’re trying to imprint yourself inside me—deep, rough, until I’m crying and drooling on the sheets, too dumb to do anything but take it.”
Sunghoon stops breathing.
You feel the exact moment your words hit him—his entire body locks up, his grip on your wrist tightens, his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear his teeth grind.
His glasses fog immediately.
A strangled noise escapes him, something between a curse and a choked groan, and then he’s moving.
Not just moving—dragging you, fast, purposeful, like a man on a mission.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, voice wrecked, dangerous, and it sends a thrill straight through you.
By the time you reach your dorm, he’s already reaching for the door handle, barely keeping himself together, and the second it clicks shut behind you—
You know he’s about to make good on every single word you just whispered.
That, by any metric, was statistically significant indeed.
Ridiculous things I've manifested in the past years ‧₊˚⋅♡
lucid dreaming (in a week, jan '26)
a thousand euros out of nowhere (dec '25)
getting in my dream university overseas and graduating with a 4.0 (june '25)
an award, after thinking it would look good on my resume (jan '25)
opportunity to present for an event, after not being able to apply for another one due to time constraints, message arrived on the SAME day (jan '26)
fast hair growth through visual board after it being slow for two years (nov '25)
lots of clothes from my pinterest board (oct '25)
being on national tv in China, where i sang in my native language (jan '25)
getting popular on social medias (+100k views on one of my first posts on rednote, where then i got management proposals from agencies and sponsors) (apr '25)
a university basketball team player from a rival school asking me out after seeing me one night having food (in front of his friend group of other players and my ex friend who was desperate to date one), (sept '24)
a boyfriend in 2025 then dating my crush, whom i've dated for a year (oct '24)
my boyfriend bringing me pinapple from the canteen when i was sick in my dorm, i wanted it so bad, i thought i'll ask for it tomorrow but he got it for me and it felt like telepathy (mar '25)
a new pair of headphones through vision board: my boyfriend won a korean calligraphy competition and got a model of expensive Beats too small for him which he then gifted me, the prize was supposed to be something else from the manifesto picture (jun '25)
beauty and glow up through subliminals, which got me the name of "campus beauty" and i got featured in a campaign as the face of my academy program (may '24)
charming and magnetic aura through subliminals, resulting in lots of people (boys and girls) confessing to me/asking me out/engaging on social medias (may '24)
a stalker (jun '24)
Y/N situations with boys by embracing my Y/N persona
guys from the university bodybuilding team blowing up the gc to know in which department i study (a friend is in the gc and said they sent my pics) then wanting to come see me in class (apr '25)
classmates taking pics of me in class (what can i say), (may '24)
three hundred euros to recover from an accident, the same amount i had to spend (apr '24)
a beautiful racing bicycle for free from a student who departed, i got mine stolen and i wanted a better one (sept '25)
I also honestly forgot about many other examples, these are some of my pics for proof (idk how to put everything into it like clothes cause i don't have them here sorry).
♡ Initially I used visual boards on Pinterest and subliminals (for beauty while i was doing my beauty routine or makeup, my rommates immediately having reaction on how good i look over those days). On the other hand when I am in need for something serious I always always believe and assume it will work out and the help will come at the right moment, without doubts (everything i have doubts or obsession on, hasn't manifested in the 3D yet so i'm not perfect at all). Don't fixate on the outcome, just know it's going to happen and it's inevitable. Think about it, detach, forget.
♡ I have a subtle trust and positivity ingrained in my subconscious and it helps me to let go of many desires. I am a normal girl, I suffered for depression for years and I still battle OCD which gets unbearable with anxiety. This is to say you don't have to be perfect, have a perfect mind, a perfect outlook. Working on confidence is a good first step. I also manifest good things for others a lot from genuine love.
♡ When I want something too bad and I'm desperate I honestly don't get it, and I noticed people also sense desperate energy. This is the key on how I developed attraction, I wasn't desperate in the mindset of getting anyone, I knew I had the attention and I didn't fixate on it, unlike my boy-crazy ex friend who was chasing instead of attracting, and she never got anyone to like her. Believe it or not, we are very similar looking! I'd also suggest to not manifest a specific person like your crush cause it's not said they're perfect for you, manifest qualities and such things that would work for you and be specific, I haven't done this and I regret it.
♡ Last but not least, i ditched inst4 and posting online on old platforms full of people from the past. Some people haven't seen for me in years. I have a few trusted friends and I rarely talk about my plans. I believe into protecting my energy and cutting people and situations off quickly.
♡ If you want to know more about my journey, you can refer to THIS POST ♡
summary: you've always been partners in crime. his ride or die. his best friend that just so happens to be in love with him. so when he admits that he has a crush on some you know really well, your heart sinkings knowing it's not you. still, you do anything for him. even if it means setting him up with someone else.
pairing: bestfriend!nicholas x female!reader
warnings/tags: idiots to lovers, slight angst??, alcohol consumption (nothing excessive), smut, oral (f recieving), unprotected sex, reader is a little bit of a brat, like one spank, slight choking
word count: 6k
notes: requested! hope you enjoy! likes and reblogs appreciated!
➽─────────❥
if there was one thing that was always certain between you and nicholas, it was that you both have always been there for each other. it's been that way since high school.
he was a transfer student. you had heard multiple girls talk about him the day he arrived, but you haven't seen him. it wasn't until he walked into the cafeteria. he took one glance around the room, locking eyes on you while you were reading a book, and the rest was history. he sat down at your side, and he never left. sure, he brought other people into your group, people you now call close friends, but none of them had what the two of you had.
you were there when he got accepted into the college program he had been dreaming of since he was a kid. you were there when he had his first love and first breakup. he was there for you when you fell and broke your leg. he was there when your parents split up.
he was your ride or die which is what your friends always called you two. platonic soulmates, though you didn't want to be platonic.
you didn't mean to catch feelings for him. you've read enough books to know that it's never a good idea for you to develop feelings for your best friend. you had done so good, until the last 6 months. him and maki were having a competition on who had the most 'rizz', and you were the unlucky judge. maki went first before nicholas pulled you onto his lap and rested his chin on your shoulder and turned your world upside down with just a few words.
"we already know who she belongs to, maki. no need to keep trying."
safe to say nicholas won, but he won a lot more than just bragging rights. not that he realized what he managed to do. the worst part was that you couldn't pull away to try to fix things because he was pulling you right back in. you tried, and each time he would say the same thing.
"i can't have you finding another best friend. you're mine."
the only person who knew of your feelings was one of your mutual friends yuma, and that was only because he walked in on you freaking out about him. he's kept your secret, though he never shut up about making you confess to him. he's named himself the unofficial matchmaker for the two of you, but he's failed every time so far.
you had all but given up at this point, which led you to where you were now, suffering in silence. you were at nicholas' place with his other friends for your weekly movie night. the two of you were in the kitchen setting every thing up when the topic of crushes came up.
"do you remember liking brian in high school?" you let out a snort at nicholas' question. "you were obsessed with the guy until he cut his hair."
"i'm telling you. it was the long hair. it just does something to me." your back was turned, so you couldn't see nicholas turning to look at you.
"so are you obsessed with me?" you finally turn at his question, watching as he dramatically runs his hand through his long blonde hair.
you cover up a cough with a laugh. "you wish. you wouldn't know how to handle me."
"babe, if anyone knows how to handle you, it's me." you roll your eyes, quickly turning away to hide the blush on your face. "back to the topic. do you have any crushes right now?"
you were glad your back was to him because your jaw dropped. you quickly thought of a small white lie to tell him. "i don't think so. though me and jamie went to get coffee last week, and the barista was cute."
"that's not a crush." you turn around when he scoffed. this time his back was towards you while he typed something on his phone.
"then what is? do you have one?"
"of course i do." you swear you felt your heart crack at his words. "you know them too."
you swallow harshly. "i do?"
"you know them very well." he answered. that made you conclude they're in the friend group. besides jamie, who had a raging crush on maki, everyone else was a guy. you didn't think he like guys, but who were you to judge? you would support him nonetheless, even if it wasn't you.
"do i get a hint?"
"they chew on their tongue when they're concentrating. and they have a scar on their right hand." you felt stumped at the oddly specific hints. "i was thinking of convincing them to wear a matching halloween costume with me to maki's party. do you think you can get them to agree?"
before you could respond, you heard knocking on the door. "i got it."
you slipped away, almost running out of the kitchen before moving to open the door. not everyone could join tonight so it was just you, nicholas, yuma, harua, jo, and maki. everyone piled into his apartment before making their way to the living room where nicholas was setting everything down on the table.
"have you confessed yet?" you turn at the sound of yuma's voice. he stood right behind you with a teasing smile. one that dropped when he saw the look on your face. "what's wrong?"
"he just told me he had a crush on someone." you whispered in a panic.
yuma laughed, causing you to glare at him. "yn, that's the oldest trick in the book."
"you're talking to a literal literary major. you don't think i know that?" you question. "i asked him to give me a hint, and he said it was someone who chews the tongue when they're concentrating. and they apparently have a scar on their hand."
once again, his smile fell as he listened to you. "oh no."
"what?"
"look at harua." you did what yuma said. he was sitting on the couch, playing a game on his phone. you opened your mouth to question why when you saw it. he was very clearly doing exactly what nicholas said to you. "everyone knows he does that. i always tease him for it."
"what about a scar?" you ask.
you see yuma nod out of the corner of your eye. "he has on one his right hand. fell as a kid."
"so he really doesn't like me?" you couldn't help but feel upset over the news. you knew the chance was slim, but it still stung.
"i'm sorry." yuma apologized. he took your arm, dragging you to the end of the couch. he made you sit before sitting right beside you, blocking anyone else from sitting by you. "i really though you two were endgame."
"he asked me to get whoever it was to agree to wear a matching costume with him to maki's party." you voiced out, voice cracking at the end. "i don't want to."
"just tell him yes, and i'll handle everything. i'll get jamie to help pick out costumes."
you nod, leaning your head back and closing your eyes to avoid possibly crying in front of everyone. "thanks yuma. can you bring me home after this?"
"of course. i've got your back."
➽─────────❥
in the two weeks after nicholas' confession, you did what you couldn't do before and pulled away from nicholas. you made the excuse that you were working extra hours at work for more money, but you could tell he didn't believe you. it was then that yuma stepped in because of your cry for help that he told nicholas that you had the costumes picked out and would spoil it. you had a bad streak of doing that, so nicholas believed him and gave you some space.
you texted him the bare minimum over the 2 weeks, ignoring every time he asked if you were okay. you were fine. completely fine. definitely not heart broken that your best friend didn't reciprocate the feelings that you had for him.
he asked you if you were riding with him, taki, and jamie to the party. you told him no because yuma was picking you up. you fixed your outfit in the mirror before applying the finished touches of makeup.
you went with a classic, a witch. you had on a puffy black off shoulder dress that went to your calf. you did have part of the dress tied up, so your thigh was exposed. on top of the dress, you had on a black corset that you felt was worth the not being able to breath due to the wonders it did to your figure. you paired it with some black heeled boots and a black hat.
yuma joined you with the all black assemble. he had on a pair of cat ears because he didn't want to dress up, but you knew that everyone would say something if not. so you made him be your cat familiar. once you gave him the cat ears he laughed, but he wouldn't tell you why.
"so what did you and jamie end up dressing them as?" you asked as you and yuma walked up maki's driveway. you could already hear the music pouring out of the house. cars lined the streets as people piled into the house.
"woody and buzz." you chuckled at the answer.
"i'm assuming haura is woody?"
"actually no." yuma answered. "we made nicho woody. it was jamie's idea."
you wanted to laugh, but couldn't as you walked up the steps. "i wonder how that's going to play out."
"not good from what jamie texted me. said they both laughed, but she could tell something was wrong with nicho." yuma explained.
"what does that mean?"
yuma shrugged, opening the door for the two of you before you slipped into the kitchen. "hell if i know."
you probably shouldn't have, but you let yuma fix you a very strong drink. you knew you were going to need something thought to get through the night. you also just wanted to stay in the kitchen because neither nicholas or haura were there. you felt like you could breath, but of course it didn't last long. you had just gotten your second drink when you heard someone call your name.
"yn, you look so good!" you turn, faking a smile when harua compliments you. even though you were upset, you had to admit he looked great.
"thanks. so do you." you risk a glance behind him, but don't see any sign of nicholas. "where's your cowboy?"
"right here." you jump when his breath runs over your skin. you turn to see him standing right behind you, cowboy hat tilted forward so only you could see his face. his flannel and jeans fit him a little too perfectly. "a witch, huh?"
you glance down, fluffing out your dress, trying to ignore the tone in his voice. "yeah. you got a problem with that?"
"no problem. just didn't think you'd pick something so basic."
you nearly flinch at his words. basic. is that what he thought of you? you had spent the whole month talking about how excited you were when you found this dress, and he hyped you up. now he calls you basic. did he think that the whole time and just didn't tell you?
"basic." you hear a scoff. yuma not so subtly moved between you and nicholas, putting his arm on your shoulder. "you're literally one of the most basic characters there is."
nicholas looks over at yuma, eyes locking with the black cat ears on his head. "oh. i didn't realize we were all doing couple costumes this year."
"well, i didn't want to dress up, and the person yn wanted to match with didn't want to. so it all worked out i guess." yuma answered, looking over at you with a smirk. now you get why he laughed when you gave him the cat ears.
"who'd you want to match with?" harua asked, leaning on the counter.
you shook your head. "doesn't matter. i don't think they would've like my costume idea anyway. apparently, they're not a fan of classics."
before anyone could respond, you heard the music stop from the living room, and you knew what that meant. maki had chosen a winner for the costumes. you wanted to stay in the kitchen, but yuma dragged you out to see the winner. maki was standing on the table wearing a joker costume.
"alright, it's time for me to announce the winners of this years costume contest, though i think we all know who the winners are." he paused for dramatic effect, letting the people surrounding you to cheer. "the winners are... buzz and woody!"
you force yourself to smile and clap as nicholas and harua move to the front to grab the medals. nicholas throws his arm over harua's shoulder as he smiles wide. he moves his gaze to you, almost knocking the air out of you.
"i'd like to thank my best friend for putting together the costumes."
the emphasis he put on the word best stings harder than you liked. maybe he was reminding you of what you were to him. nothing but his best friend. nothing more.
"that's what i'm here for." you respond, a smile that he could clearly tell was fake. you turned, handing yuma your drink. "i'm going to the bathroom."
you slip though the crowded room, ignoring everyone around you as you climb up the stairs. you walk right past the bathroom when you heard your name being called.
"yn!"
your stomach tightens, anger coursing though you at the sound of his voice. you don't make any attempt to answer, reaching the room where you normally slept in when you stayed here. you quickly opened and closed the door, locking it right as nicholas got there. your head falls back against the door as you let out a breath as your vision becomes blurred with tears.
"yn, open the door." nicholas pleads. you hear him try the door, cursing when he realizes it's locked.
"don't you have a partner to get back to."
"don't do this."
"i'm not doing anything." you tell him. "go away."
"come on, babe." he tries to coax you, and if you weren't so mad, you would probably open the door. "be the good girl i know you are and open the door, so i don't have to track maki down at get the keys."
your jaw drops at the words. good girl? that was something you didn't mean to tell him. the two of you were drinking when you said that what you liked in the bedroom. he laughed but never brought it up again, and now he's using it against you?
"go fuck yourself!" you snap, voice almost trembling with anger. you move away from the door with shaky legs as you sit on the edge of the bed.
"you're really enjoying this, aren't you?" you look at the door at nicholas' question. you could hear the amusement coming from him like this was some game to him. "hiding behind some door like some little brat?"
you scoff. "i am not a brat!"
"not a brat, huh. then how do you explain this?" he asks. "locking me out, cursing at me, and i know your cheeks are flushed how the normally are when you're mad."
he was right. you didn't normally curse at anyone, especially not him. you knew he was enjoying this too. "you do realize you being an asshole isn't going to make me open the door, right?"
"i know." he answers. the door creaks when he leans against it. "i'm not going anywhere though. not when you're like this. sitting in there all mad and stubborn. maybe a little turned on too."
your jaw drops as your face flushes. "nicholas!"
"come on, babe." he laughs. "i know your thighs are clenched as you sit on the bed. your hands are gripping the sheets while you debate if you want to hit me or kiss me."
you look down, shocked to see how right he is. your thighs were clenched and your hands were in fact gripping the sheets beneath you. you don't answer him, now too wrapped up in what he was making you feel to keep yelling.
"you know." you glance over to the door at the sound of his voice. "i keep thinking about this little habit of yours. chewing your tongue when you're deep in thought. it's so distracting, and i don't even know you do it. i bet you're doing it right now."
you freeze when you realize that you were in fact chewing on your tongue. was this a coincidence that you had the same habit as harua?
"and that little scar on your right hand. just below your thumb." he continues. you lift up your hand to see that you had a scar you didn't even realize you had. "i swear i noticed it ages ago. funny how no one, not even you, noticed it but me."
everything suddenly clicks. the hints. it was never about harua. it was always about you. you were the one he had a crush on, and you ruined it by thinking it was someone else.
you hear him call your name again, tone teasing. you could imagine the smirk on his face now that he's said that. now that you know he never like harua, only you.
you let out a shaky sigh as his words fully hit you. "you are such an asshole."
you hear him laugh through the door. "you love it though."
you stand up, feeling all of the anger you has towards him disappear. though you hesitate to open the door. once you open it, all your feelings were going to be out in the open, not like they already were with the way you stormed off.
you unlock the door and open it, seeing him leaning in the door frame with a smirk. "took you long enough."
"you're lucky i even unlocked it, woody." you mock his costume. you hear his deep chuckle as he steps into the room, brushing against you as he moves to shut the door. once he locked it, he turned to look at you.
"now that i've got you alone, my little witch, want to tell me why you're matching with yuma?"
you roll your eyes. "he didn't want to dress up, and i had the extra costume because i was going to ask you to match with me."
"and why didn't you ask me?"
"because you wanted to match with your crush." you answered, watching as he raised his brows. "don't look at me like that. it's not my fault you give horrible hints."
he shrugs. "i think they were great hints. shows you how much i pay attention to my little witch."
"oh, would you stop with the nickname." you groaned. "and they were terrible hints because they matched someone else."
"maybe, but he's not you." your breath hitches when he steps closer, hand under your chin as he guides you to look up at him. "why could i have him with i could have you? even though you are a brat."
even though you blush at his words, you push him back, stepping away from him. he follows you, reaching you in a few steps before pulling you into his arms. he pulls you flush against his chest as he pushes you against the door, completely blocking any escapes.
"nic-" you whisper, stopping when he leans down.
"yes?" you open your mouth to respond, but you stop when his hand ghosts up your side. you jerk when he just barely grazes your breast before his hands cup your jaw, thumb trailing over your lip. "didn't i tell you you were mine?"
"yes, but-"
"no buts baby. unless it's this one." you gasp when his other hand grabs your ass giving it a squeeze as he chuckles at your reaction. "I told you you were mine, and you matched with someone else. be honest. were you trying to make me jealous?"
you shake your head. "honestly, it didn't cross my mind. though i'm not upset that it did."
"you really are a brat." you yelp when his hand comes down on your ass enough for it to sting through your dress. "tell me who you belong to."
you shake your head, smiling when you hear him groan. "make me."
he pushes you harder into the door as his lips latch to yours. you gasp into his mouth at the feeling of his soft lips against yours, them feeling nothing like you could've imagined. there was a faint taste of alcohol as his tongue mingled with yours.
his hands moved to your thighs, gripping them as he pulled you into his arms. you whimper into his mouth when his jeans brush against your core- the thin material of your underwear allowing you to feel everything.
he smiles against your lips before moving, trailing his lips down your jaw and neck. his teeth nip at your skin, leaving red marks for everyone to see. you let out a soft moan as his hips roll into yours. his hands tighten on you as he pulled away to look at you, eyes dark and swollen lips.
"it sounds like my little witch needs some relief." your lips brush against his as you nod. "then tell me who you belong to."
"you, nicho."
"good girl." his lips find yours as he pulls away from the door and moving towards the bed. he sits on the end of the bed, keeping you in his lap. "but first we need to fix something."
his hand reaches up, taking off the hat that you were shocked stayed on your head. he throws it on the floor before reaching for his. he smirks as he sits the cowboy hat on your head before looking at you.
"much better."
"is this because i was matching with yuma?" you ask, confused to why he put it on your head.
"oh, baby. do you not know the rule?" he questions. you shake your head making him chuckle. "wear the hat. ride the cowboy."
your eyes widen, face flushing as you slap his shoulder. "nicholas!"
you try to take the hat off, but he stops you. "keep it on."
you roll your eyes but do what he says. he smiles as he pushes forward, locking his lips with yours. you groan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as his hands move along your body. they graze the corset that you were wearing, and you feel his fingers move along your bare back as he undoes it, leaving your lips just long enough to take it off.
now that the corset wasn't in the way, his hands found your breasts, squeezing them. you gasp in his mouth at the feeling of his hands on you. your mind was hazy, letting his hands and lips roam over your skin when his hands grabbed your wrists, leading them to his shirt.
your fingers were shaky as you unbutton his shirt. the break of his touch allowed you a moment where you got stuck in your head. he notices your slow speed, stopping you when you were halfway done. "are you okay, baby? we don't have to do anything if you're not comfortable."
"it's not that." you mumble, looking back up at him. "are you sure you want me? i feel like i'm not-"
you stop talking, a gasp falling past your lips when nicholas' hand wraps around your neck, silencing you. "i wouldn't finish that sentence if you want to be able to sit properly for the next week. do you want me?"
"i do."
"and i want you. you're all i've thought about, plaguing my every thought." your eyes widen at his confession. "seeing you in this outfit took my breath away even though you weren't matching with me. and then seeing you with yuma, i just lost it."
you look down at your outfit. "so it's not basic?"
"no, baby. nothing about you is basic. i was just upset. i'm sorry." nicholas apologized. "will you forgive me, my witch?"
you nod your head, letting him kiss you softly before you spoke. "i'm sorry i didn't realize you were talking about me. the last thing i wanted to do was hurt you."
"maybe i should've pick better hints." you chuckle at him. "at least i'm spending halloween in the perfect place."
you tilt your head. "and where is that?"
his hands grip your bare thighs. "between these luscious legs. and i'll be here all night if you let me."
"what are you waiting for then?"
nicholas groans at your answer as his lips find yours. his hands bunch up your dress before lifting it up, moving away from you as he lifted the dress over your head. it left you in a matching black set. it was one of your favorites, and you could tell it was one of his too. the thin lace barely covered anything- your hardened nipples apparent through the material.
"you could've warned me you looked this good in black." he licked his lips, letting his eyes slowly take in every inch of you. you blush under his stair, moving your arms to cover you when he stops you, pinning your arms behind your back with his hand. it had your breast popping out even more for him. "none of that, baby. let me admire my beautiful girl."
"nicho." his name left your lips in a breathy whisper. he smiled as he looked up to you.
"patience, my little witch. we have all night."
"i really hate that nickname." you grumbled. he laughed has his hand traveled down your neck, tracing along the lace of your bra.
"and i hate that i almost didn't see what you were hiding under your costume."
his hand let go of your wrists as his other hand undid the clasp to your bra, letting it slide down your arms before you tossed it behind you. his eyes take in your bare chest for a moment before he pulls you close to him. you let out a gasp when his lips wrap around your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud. you melted into his touch, back arching as his mouth continued to bruise your skin.
you could tell he was enjoying it too. his eyes were shut, soft sighs leaving his lips at the taste of you. his arms were wrapped tightly around you to try to keep you from squirming, but it didn't work. he could feel how soaked you were for him through his jeans, how much you wanted it. wanted him. it drove him to the point he couldn't take it anymore.
you let out a shocked yelp when your back hit the mattress. your legs were still wrapped around nicholas as he kneeled back to look at you. his eyes never left yours as he finished unbuttoning his shirt before discarding it. you barely had a chance to gaze at his body before he was back on top of you, lips pressed against yours.
his hands ghosted down your body, feeling as you jerk when his hand trails along your underwear. his touch was slow, teasing as his fingers ran along your heat, feeling the damp material. "god, baby. you're soaked for me, aren't you?"
you whimper against his lips when his fingers press down, finding your clit through your underwear. his strokes are slow, steady as he watches your reactions. your hips shift into his hands, desperate to find relief, making him chuckle against your lips.
"you sound like you need me, my little witch."
you nod your head at his words. "please, nicho. i need you."
his lips found yours one last time before he shifted. his hands pull down your underwear, leaving you bare beneath him. his hands held your legs open for him when you tried to shut them as he stared down at you. "do you know how many times i've dreamed of having you like this? beneath me, screaming my name? you're not leaving this room until the only thing you can think about is me."
he kissed the inside of your thigh as he settled between your legs, getting higher and higher until you could feel his warm breath on your heat. his dark eyes met yours, full of lust, for just a moment before his mouth was finally on you. he let out a groan as soon as he tasted you like he had been waiting forever to do so. you moan out his name, hands tangling in his hair, keeping him close to you.
"fuck, you taste so good." he said, tongue flicking your clit causing you to moan. "you're never getting rid of me."
"my god-" you groan, back leaving the bed as his lips wrap around your clit. his hand held you open for him as his other fingers trailed along your slick, coating his fingers before slipping inside of you. "nicho!"
"that's right, baby. scream my fucking name." he feels you tighten around his fingers, stretching to fit them. "i'm going to ruin you. no one will ever make you feel like this. only me."
his fingers gained pace, moving deep inside of you until you were squirming against his hold. you felt him curl his fingers inside of you right as he started sucking your clit, nearly making you see stars as you cry out his name. his tongue and fingers working in perfect unison, thighs trembling around his head. "look at you. so perfect. so mine."
you felt dizzy, the pleasure of his lips and fingers almost too much for you. you shifted, trying to pull away from him when his hand pushed on your lower stomach. "you're not going anywhere until you come all over my face and fingers. so come on, my good girl. i know you're close."
you almost scream his name as you unravel for him. your thighs tighten around his head, almost cutting off circulation, but he didn't care. he kept moving, licking until you were trembling in his hold. you collapsed back against the bed as nicholas pulled away from you, cleaning his mouth and hand before sliding up your body, trailing kisses along your skin as he went.
"you're unreal, baby." he mumbled against your lips, stopping when you pulled him to you. he groaned as he kissed you with everything he's got. your hands trailed along his shoulders, feeling ever dip and grove of his muscles before stopping at his jeans, almost hesitating. "please tell me you want me too, baby."
"i do." your response was instant, almost pleading. "i want you so bad."
he kissed you before sitting up, resting on his knees as he unbuckled his jeans. he slide out of them with ease before slipping out of his boxers, leaving him bare in front of you. this time he was unhurried, letting your eyes roam every inch of his body as you tried to memorize it. your mouth parted as your eyes landed on his cock, thick and red, begging for release. you sat up just a little, and that sent nicholas moving, kissing you before resting his head against yours.
"i believe i owe you something." you tell him, watching as his brows furrow in confusion. "lay down."
it took him a second to understand you, but he smirked when he did, laying down on the bed before dragging you on top of him. he bites back a groan when he feels you grind down on him. "fuck, baby. i guess i really should thank you for the costume."
"i would take credit, but it wasn't my idea."
"who's was it?" he asked.
"jamie's." you answer. "i was too upset by the fact you didn't like me, so yuma told jamie to pick outfits for you."
he raised a brow. "and how did that work out?"
"considering where i am right now, pretty good." he chuckles at your words.
"brat." he grumbles, groaning when you grind against him again. this time, you lift your hips up, and he gets the message, sliding into you slowly. "fuck."
his hands grip your waist tightly, holding on while you stretch around him. you whimper at the feeling of him inside of you, moving until there wasn't any space between you two. he fit inside of you perfectly, like he was made for you.
"you're so perfect." he groaned, trying to be patient as you adjusted to his size.
you rested your hands on his chest as you roll your hips. you started out slow, almost torturously slow as you grind against him. his hands dug into your skin, moving to squeeze your ass before he moves you, helping you speed up. you get the message, speeding up until you were bouncing, moaning his name at the feeling.
"fuck, nicho."
"just like that, my girl." his hips jerked, meeting yours halfway, listening to a moan fall past your lips. "let me hear how much you want me. how much you need me."
he continued his movements, meeting yours with a devastating speed. your head was spinning, only thinking about how good nicholas was making you feel, and why did it take so long for you two to get here. your hips stuttered, lost in pleasure though he could feel your thighs shaking. you threw your head back, feeling your stomach tighten when nicholas bucked up into you. you lot your balance, falling forward onto his chest. his lips latched onto yours, grabbing your hips as he bucked up into you.
"nicho- please." you beg, nails digging into his shoulders.
"i've got you, sweet girl." you cry out when his hand finds your clit, feeling as you tighten around him as he picks up his speed. "fall apart on my cock. show me how bad you need it."
your body went rigid above him, eyes rolling back as you fell apart again. he held you through it, whispering compliments into your ear before rolling over, towering over you once again. he slipped himself back into you, watching as you cry out his name. your legs were jelly, but you were still able to wrap them around nicholas as he thrusted into you.
"look at you. exhausted but still wanting more." he almost growled against your lips, snapping his hips to yours and watching you fall apart again for him. "what am i going to do with you?"
his lips pushed to yours, drowning out all of your sounds as his hips drive into yours, harder with every passing second. he groaned as he pulled away from you, lips latching to your neck, biting and sucking every inch of skin his lips could reach.
"fuck. are you going to let me make you mine? that way you'll never doubt how much i want you. how much i need you." he panted, thrusts becoming erratic as his high nears.
you nod your head, desperate for another release. "yes, nicho. please. make me yours."
he moaned into your neck, hips stuttering as you felt him spill inside of you. the feeling made you fall over the edge again, gripping him tightly, a groan falling from his lips at the action. his body collapsed onto yours, sweaty and spent. his breathing hits your neck as he recovers, lips finding yours as soon as he does.
he gets up, sliding off of you before cleaning you up. he pulls back the covers and helps you before getting in next to you, smiling when you cuddle into his warm body. his hand finds your cheek, tilting your head up before kissing you.
"you did so perfect for me, baby." you smile against his lips. "you're so fucking perfect."
"i-" your voice trembles with both need and feelings. he's patient running his hand through your hair as he waits. "i've spent so long wanting this. wanting you. i just never thought you felt the same. and i was too scared to say anything."
"you have no idea how long i've wanted to hear you say that. what it does to me to hear you say that." his voice soft, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "i was scared too. i didn't want to mess anything up."
"guess we're both stupid then." nicholas pinches your side at your words, feeling as you jerk in his hold. "that was mean."
"so was making me match with someone else. next halloween, you're matching with me. no more woody and buzz nonsense." you laugh at his words, tilting your head up to look at him.
"okay. but i get to pick out the costumes." he nods his head, kissing your forehead as you lay your head back down.
Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #37
Oct 4-11 2024
President Biden announced a new EPA rule that will require all lead pipes in America's drinking water systems to be replace with-in 10 years. This builds on the $15 billion the Biden-Harris Administration has already invested in replacing lead pipes nation wide. The administration's focus on this issue has allowed local governments to greatly execrate their lead pipe replacement plans, before Biden took office the city of Milwaukee's timeline for replacing its lead pipes was 60 years, they're now on track to do it in 10. The EPA says there's no safe level of lead in the human body.
Vice President Harris announced she plans to expand Medicare to cover home health care. Currently those who need long term care, are covered by Medicaid, the health program for the poor so have to spend all their savings before they can qualify. This change would allow more seniors to stay in their homes and offer support to caregiving family members. Medicare also covers the disabled thus proving a game changer for the disabled Americans and their families. The Vice President also endorsed expanding Medicare to cover the costs of hearing and vision care.
Medicare released a preliminary list of 101 generic drugs which it would cover that would cost no more than $2 for a month for enrollees. People have long lobbied to allow Medicare to pay for generic drugs which has been resisted by drug companies. Thanks to President Biden's Inflation Reduction Act, and in line with a Biden Executive Order Medicare is now working on bring low cost generic drugs to seniors. The list targets some of the most common prescriptions thus will bring savings to the most people.
Domestic Policy Advisor Neera Tanden announced that the Biden-Harris Administration had blown past its goal of hiring 250,000 student support staff for 2024. The joint effort by the Department of Education, AmeriCorps and Everyone Graduates Center managed to hire 320,000 tutors, mentors, student success coaches, postsecondary transition coaches, and student support coordinators nationwide, its goal for the end of 2025.
The Department of Housing and Urban Development announced $420 million to help get rid of lead paint and other lead hazards from homes. HUD estimates that over 3 million households that have children under the age of 6 live with lead hazards. HUDs grants will go to all 50 states, DC, and Puerto Rico with particular focus on low income housing.
