The Harrington house is always like this—too big, too quiet, the kind of quiet that presses in on you until you make your own noise just to push back. Tonight the only sounds are the low hum of the refrigerator, the occasional creak of floorboards, and the soft, rhythmic creak of the pool lounge chair under the two of you.
Steve’s mouth is warm against the side of your neck, lazy and sure the way only he can be when he knows his parents won’t be back for another week. His hand slides under the hem of your shirt, palm broad and calloused from basketball, pressing flat against the small of your back like he’s anchoring you there.
“You’re gonna get us caught one of these days,” you murmur, even as you tilt your head to give him more room.
He laughs against your skin, the sound low and cocky. “Caught by who?” His teeth graze your pulse point. “House is empty. Whole damn town could burn down and no one would notice we’re here.”
You should argue. You’re supposed to be the careful one—the one who still has a reputation to protect, even if it’s already fraying at the edges. But Steve Harrington has always been good at making careful feel boring. His fingers trace slow circles on your skin and your breath catches.
It started as something reckless.
A party.
A stupid bet.
King Steve and the girl who sat three rows behind him in history class, the one who wasn’t part of his crowd but somehow ended up in his passenger seat after too many drinks and not enough good decisions.
Now it’s stolen nights in his empty mansion, heated kisses that turn into more, bodies learning each other in the dark while the rest of Hawkins pretends the world isn’t cracking open at the seams.
You don’t know about the monsters yet.
Not really.
You’ve heard the rumors— A missing kid, weird shit in the woods, Barbara Holland vanishing into thin air—but Steve never talks about it. Not when his hands are under your clothes and his mouth is saying things that make your stomach flip.
“Stay tonight,” he says against your collarbone, voice rougher now. His hips shift, pressing you down against him, and you feel exactly how much he wants you to say yes.
You hesitate for half a second.
Then you nod.
Steve’s smile is bright and boyish in the dim pool lights, the kind of smile that makes you forget he used to be an asshole to half the school.
He sits up, pulling you with him, and kisses you properly—deep, unhurried, the kind of kiss that says he’s got all night and he plans to use every minute.
Later, when you’re tangled in his sheets upstairs, the big empty house creaking around you like it’s breathing, Steve traces lazy patterns over your bare stomach with his fingertips.
“You’re different,” he says quietly, almost to himself.
You turn your head on the pillow to look at him. “Different how?”
He shrugs one shoulder, hair mussed and falling into his eyes.
“Just, better. Makes all the other shit feel smaller.”
You don’t ask what the other shit is. Not yet.
Instead you pull him down and kiss him again, letting the heat between you burn away the questions.
His body is solid and warm over yours, hands gentle even when they’re desperate, and for a little while the world outside the Harrington house doesn’t exist.
You fall asleep with his arm heavy across your waist, the distant sound of wind in the trees the only thing keeping you company.
You don’t find out you’re pregnant until three weeks later.
The test is cheap plastic and the two pink lines stare back at you like an accusation.
Your hands shake so badly you almost drop it in the sink.
The bathroom at school feels too bright, too loud, the distant chatter of girls in the hallway suddenly unbearable.
You’re eighteen.
Senior year.
And Steve Harrington—King Steve, the guy who still sometimes acts like the world revolves around him—is the father.
You tell him that night, back at the empty house, sitting on the edge of his perfectly made bed while he paces in front of you in his gray jacket.
Steve stops when you say the words.
For a long moment he just stares at you, brown eyes wide, mouth slightly open like he’s waiting for the punchline.
Then his face does something complicated. Fear, shock, and something softer that makes your chest ache.
“Shit,” he breathes.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
He crosses the room in two strides and drops to his knees in front of you, hands hovering like he’s afraid to touch you now. “You sure?”
You nod, throat tight. “Three tests. All the same.”
Steve swallows hard.
His hands finally settle on your thighs, thumbs brushing nervous circles.
“Okay. Okay. We’re doing this. Together.”
His voice cracks on the last word, but he doesn’t look away.
You start crying then, quiet and overwhelmed, and Steve pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he can shield you from everything that’s about to come crashing down.
He doesn’t know yet how bad it will get.
Neither do you.
The fight with your parents is worse than you imagined.
Your father’s face goes stony when you tell them.
Your mother’s hand flies to her mouth, eyes filling with disappointed tears.
“A whore,” she spits, the word landing like a slap.
“After everything we’ve done for you—getting pregnant like some cheap girl from the trailer park. Out of wedlock. You’ve ruined yourself.”
They don’t yell for long. They don’t have to.
By the end of the hour you’re standing on the front porch with a duffel bag and the echo of your father’s final words ringing in your ears:
“Don’t come back until you’ve fixed this mess.”
You don’t remember the drive to Steve’s house.
You just remember knocking on the big wooden door with shaking hands, tears still drying on your cheeks.
Steve opens it in sweatpants and a Hawkins Tigers t-shirt, hair still damp from a shower. One look at your face and he’s pulling you inside, closing the door behind you like he can lock the rest of the world out.
“They kicked you out?” he asks, voice low.
You nod.
Steve doesn’t hesitate. He takes the bag from your hand, sets it down, and wraps you up in his arms again—strong, steady, smelling like soap and that stupid hair spray he swears by.
“You’re staying here,” he says against your hair.
“As long as you need. Forever, if you want. This house is too fucking empty anyway.”
You laugh wetly into his chest. “Your parents—”
“Won’t even notice,” he finishes. “They never do.”
That night he makes up the guest room for you, but you end up in his bed anyway, curled against his side with his hand resting protectively over your still-flat stomach.
Outside, somewhere in the woods beyond Loch Nora, things with too many teeth are moving through the dark.
You don’t know about them yet.
Steve does.
And for now, he keeps that part of the world far away from you and the tiny life growing inside you.
He holds you a little tighter before you both fall asleep, whispering into the quiet, “I’ve got you. Both of you.”
And for the first time since those two pink lines appeared, you almost believe him.
Summary: Headcanons about Clark Kent caring for his wife during pregnancy.
Pairing: husband!Clark Kent x wife!reader.
Warnings: pregnancy, birth, fluff.
A/n: this is more focused on the pregnancy than parenthood. I’ll do a second part fully focused on parenthood and motherhood. The baby is a girl.
-Part two.
· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·
Dad!Clark Kent who notices way earlier than you because he heard the heartbeat of your future child, but decided not to tell you anything and letting you find yourself.
Dad!Clark Kent who acts surprised when you gift him a t-shirt that reads “Best super dad in the world”. He hugs you so tight that you can’t even breathe.
“Oh my gosh, baby” he says crying “I can’t believe this is happening for real.” He kisses your lips until you run out of breath.
“Me neither. I’m scared.”
“I know, it’s okay. I’ll be there with you, we’ll do this together, alright?”
Dad!Clark Kent who is super worried about your pregnancy because of his genes. He is worried that carrying a half-human half-meta human is a lot for your body.
“Honey, I’m okay, you don’t have to worry that much.”
“But you don’t know how it’s going to affect you.” He looks at you with awe but also with a hint of worry.
“But I’m okay, and you don’t have to be glued to my shoulder all the time.” Always so stubborn.
Dad!Clark Kent who is always spoiling you. If you want something you just have to ask and he’ll bring it to you in no time. He is always cooking for you and buying your weird cravings, even if he has to fly to another continent to get them.
Dad!Clark Kent who has read all the parenting books that exist in the world and has already started putting together the nursery.
“Clark, you don’t even know the sex of the baby yet, you can’t paint the nursery already.” You say observing your husband crouching down on the floor, sleeves rolled up and with a paintbrush on his hand, two cans of paint opened, one pink and one blue.
“I can paint half and half so that when we know the gender we only have to paint the other half of the room.” He says focused on deciding which color to use first.
“You’re insane.”
Dad!Clark Kent who regularly calls his Ma to ask her the recipes of your favorite plates of her and asks her about the better products for newborns.
Dad!Clark Kent who when it’s time to know the sex and you very excitedly tell him it’s finally time, he tells you he could use his x-ray to find out the gender of the baby. That leads you to both of you sitting at the edge of the bed, Clark using his x-ray vision on your rounded belly and you grabbing his hand.
“It’s a girl.” He says with almost no expression, wanting to see how you react at the news first.
“Are you sure?” You say lowly.
“A hundred percent.” He says and you throw yourself at his arms.
“Oh my god. Clark we’re having a little girl!” You say crying.
“We are ,sweetheart.” He says also crying.
Dad!Clark Kent who tries to soothe your worries about having a half-kryptonian baby.
“What if she uses laser vision and does a hole in my belly?!”
“That’s impossible, baby.”
“You sure, Clark? If she does I’m killing you, just so you know.”
…
“What if she goes away flying. I don’t want my baby girl to fly.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t fly until I was six. And I’m sorry, but I think it’s going to be difficult for her to not fly.”
“Why did a procreate with a fucking alien?”
“Hey!”
…
“Clark.”
“Mhm?”
“What if she’s stronger and heavier than me? I won’t be able to carry or hold her.”
“Baby, she’s not going to come out of the womb with all those abilities. She’s going to be a normal baby.”
“Really?”
“Really. She will get the abilities as years pass. You have nothing to worry about, love. Besides, I will be there in every step and I’ll help her figure out her abilities.”
“Alright.”
Dad!Clark Kent who once you know it’s a girl, finish painting the nursery pink while you decorate it with cute little dolls, clothes and books.
Dad!Clark Kent who excitedly tells everyone he’s having a little girl and buys every cute little thing he finds, he just can’t resist.
Dad!Clark Kent who is always talking to your growing belly and is more than ready for when she decides to come to the world, having read everything about giving birth and having the hospital bag packed and prepared beside the bed ever since you found out about your pregnancy.
Dad!Clark Kent who doesn’t let go of your hand until you hear the broken cries of your newborn baby. He cuts the umbilical cord and lets you hold your baby first until you pass her to him. He holds your daughter like the most precious thing in the world, caressing her little head gently.
“She’s precious.” He says tearing up a bit and looking at her.
“She is. She looks a lot like you, has your eyes.” You say looking at them with adoration.
“No, she looks like you. You have the same face.” He responds looking at you in the eye.
Dad!Clark Kent who keeps a hand on your knee the whole drive from the hospital to your apartment. And who doesn’t let you do anything because “you need to rest” while he takes care of the house, the baby, and you.
You couldn’t have asked for a better husband and father of your daughter.
a/n: Because I’m in a wedding type of mood, plus I missed Steve! Seriously this isn’t that good, but I tried!
Steve has been planning this for weeks–no, months. It’s felt like he’s been planning for months, to him at least.
Actual planning, this time–like, official planning. Lists in his head. Timelines. Backup plans for the backup plans. He even asked Nancy—Nancy, who definitely noticed how weird he was being but, to her credit, didn’t push too hard. Robin, on the other hand, figured it out in approximately twelve seconds and immediately became unbearable. But Steve stuck with it, because this actually mattered.
Enzo’s was the centerpiece of the plan. It had to be. Nice but not pretentious. Romantic without being weird about it. Steve had rehearsed the phone call three times before actually dialing, pacing his bedroom with his free hand pressed to his chest like he was about to ask someone’s dad for permission to marry them in 1952. “Hi, yeah, um—Steve Harrington. Reservation for two? Friday night? Uh—yeah, like… seven?” He nearly dropped the phone when the host said yes. He’d hung up, stared at the wall for a full minute, then whispered, “Holy shit,” to no one.
If calling for a simple reservation hadn’t been hard, the ring had been even harder. Not because he didn’t know what he wanted—he knew instantly what wasn’t right. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screamed King Steve, former asshole. He wanted something that felt like you. Something steady. Something that said I’m here to stay without needing to shout. He carried it around for days before tonight, checking his jacket pocket every ten minutes like it might vanish if he didn’t keep an eye on it. He barely slept the night before. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain flooded him with worst-case scenarios.
What if he tripped?
What if his posture wasn’t right?
What if he couldn’t open the small velvet box right?
What if he said something stupid?
What if you laughed—not mean, just surprised?
What if he wasn’t enough?
Though, of course, you don’t know any of this. All you know is that Steve asked you, somewhat abruptly, if you wanted to go out to dinner tonight. No occasion. No warning. Just a casual, “Hey, wanna get dressed up and go out?” while you were halfway through folding laundry. It threw you off. You’d agreed, of course—you always like going out with him—but the suddenness lingered in your mind as you got ready. You stand in front of the mirror longer than usual, tugging at the fabric of a dress you rarely wear, turning slightly to see if it looks right. Why am I nervous? you think. It’s not a date-night anniversary. Not a birthday. Just a Friday. The urge to dress nicer than usual feels oddly intense, like you don’t want to disappoint him, even though he didn’t say anything about expectations.
Steve doesn’t like thinking about being afraid. Sure, he’s faced monsters with teeth and claws and glowing red eyes. He knows how to swing a bat. Fear like this—quiet, personal, tied directly to his heart—feels worse somehow. Tonight is supposed to be perfect. Except it’s already not. You’re late. Not late late, but late enough that Steve keeps checking his watch, then the door, then his watch again. He told himself he wouldn’t rush you. He doesn’t want this to feel pressured. But the reservation is sitting there in his head, ticking down, and his palms wouldn’t stop sweating.
You feel a flicker of guilt as you realize how long you’ve been in here in front of the bedroom mirror, readjusting the strap of your dress for the millionth time tonight. You look at yourself again and sigh. Why am I like this tonight? It feels silly, this sudden pressure you put on yourself, like you’re trying to live up to a moment you can’t quite name. Dragging on a breath, you already felt guilty for taking long and just trying to choose a simple dress. When you finally step out, you offer a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I don’t know why I suddenly felt the need to get all fancy. It was kind of random.” Steve looks up from the couch a little too fast—and for half a second, everything in his brain short-circuits, he forces a smile so fast it almost hurts. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says, way too quickly. “We’re fine. No rush.” That’s a lie. There is a rush. There is always a rush inside Steve’s head when he cares this much. You’re not angry. Not even close. Steve’s rushed tone doesn’t bother you; it’s familiar. He’s always been a little blunt when he’s nervous, a little too straightforward without meaning to be. You just feel bad for taking so long.
The drive starts tense and more amplified, not because of you—never because of you—but because Steve can’t stop thinking. Traffic is worse than he expected. A red light lasts too long. Another car cuts him off and he grips the wheel harder than necessary, jaw tight. You glance over. “Steve?” “Yeah,” he says immediately. “Sorry. Just—Friday drivers.” You’re quiet for a second, then you reach over and rest your hand on his arm. That almost breaks him. Because this—this small, casual touch—is exactly why he’s doing this. Because you ground him without trying. Because you make the noise in his head quiet down just by being there. He exhales slowly. Another glance at his watch. They’re going to be late. Not fashionably late. Reservation-canceled late.
Steve swallows. He could still push it. Still rush you inside, still force the plan to happen exactly how he imagined it. But the idea suddenly feels wrong. Rigid. Like he’s trying to control something that shouldn’t be controlled. You deserve better than him being stressed and distracted all night. “Hey,” he says, tentative. “We could…just not do Enzo’s.” You blink. “What?” “I mean—we can reschedule,” he rushes on. “Or go another night. Or—we could just go home? Order takeout? You said you were tired earlier.” You study him, something soft and knowing in your eyes. “Steve,” you say gently, “are you okay?” There it is again. That question. You always ask it when he’s spiraling. He nods, then shakes his head, then laughs quietly. “Yeah. I just… think I’d rather be with you than worry about a reservation.” You smile. “Home sounds perfect.” Relief hits him so hard he almost feels dizzy.
At home, everything is quieter. Familiar. You kick off your shoes. He hangs up his jacket—carefully, because the ring is still in the pocket, heavy as a secret. You change into something comfortable. He orders food he barely remembers choosing. And then there’s nothing to hide behind. No waiter. No public distraction. No carefully timed moment. Just the two of you, sitting together, the air warm and safe.
Steve’s nerves don’t go away even in the comfort of being back home. If anything, they sharpen. His heart pounds louder with every passing minute. He keeps thinking, Do it now. No, wait. Not yet. Don’t rush. Don’t mess it up. He watches you laugh at something on TV, watches the way you tuck your legs beneath you, the way you exist so naturally in his space. His chest aches with it. You’re sitting on the couch pretending not to notice, though you notice everything–particularly when it came to Steve. The way he keeps glancing at you like he’s checking to make sure you’re still real. The way his knee bounces when he finally sits down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. “You’re gonna overwhelm your eyes and brain,” you teased gently. “Everything okay?” Steve lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Totally. Great. Fantastic.” He swallows, then adds, quieter, “Actually, uh… maybe not fantastic. But not bad. Just—important.” That gets your full attention. You turn toward him, knees tucking under you. “Steve.” He looks at you then. Really looks. His expression softens, that familiar mix of fondness and awe like he still can’t believe you chose him. It’s the same look he gets when he watches the kids laugh, or when he thinks no one’s looking and reaches for your hand in the car. “Okay,” he says, nodding to himself. “Okay. I had this whole plan, and it was way smoother in my head. Starting with Enzo’s but that’s besides the point.” He stands again, then seems to think better of it and drops to one knee instead. Your breath catches.
This is it, he realizes. This is the moment. Not the fancy dinner. Not the perfect timing. This. And suddenly, he’s more scared than he’s ever been—and more sure. Because if you say yes here, in this quiet, ordinary moment, it means you’re choosing him the same way he’s choosing you. And Steve Harrington has never wanted anything more. He was never good at speeches, especially the heartfelt emotional ones. He’s good in a fight, good at stepping in front of danger without thinking, good at handing out advice he pretends he doesn’t care about. But words—the kind that actually mattered, the kind that stays—have always made his palms sweat.
Steve winces. “See? That’s—yeah. That reaction right there. This is why I’m freaking out.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, fingers trembling just a little. “I know I’m not… you know. A genius. Or a poet. I say dumb stuff when I’m nervous, and I still don’t really know what I’m doing half the time.” He pulls out a small velvet box but doesn’t open it yet. “But somehow,” he continues, voice steadier now, “every time things go bad—like, really bad—you’re there. And you don’t look at me like I’m the guy who peaked in high school, or the screw-up, or the babysitter with the bad track record.” Your eyes burn. “You look at me like I’m enough,” Steve says. “Like I can be better. And I want to be. For you.” He huffs out a laugh. “I used to think I wanted all this big stuff. Fancy house, six kids, a perfect life where nothing ever goes wrong. Then I realized, I didn’t want that–reminds me too much of my parents. I don’t want that. Not for me. Not for you.” He shakes his head. “Turns out, I just want to come home to you. I want movie nights where we argue about what to watch. I want you stealing my clothes and pretending they don’t smell like my shampoo. I want to bicker about whose turn it is to check the mail and take out the trash.” You laugh softly through the tears. “I want to grow old knowing that no matter how weird things get, we’re a team,” he says. “You’re my best friend. And the person I trust most in the world. Which is saying something, considering the world we live in.” He finally opens the box. The ring inside is simple and beautiful—chosen carefully, you can tell. Steve’s voice drops, raw and honest. “I love you. Not in a big, dramatic way. In the everyday way. In the ‘I’ll fight monsters and also do the dishes’ way.” He clears his throat. “So. Uh. Yeah. I want this with you. I want to fight with you, I want to fight for you. Because you’re worth more than everything else good that has happened in my life.” A crooked smile appears, nervous and hopeful paired with his puppy-dog doe dark-brown eyes. “Will you marry me?”
For a moment, all you can do is stare at him—the boy who became a hero without meaning to, the man who loves you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yes,” you whisper, then louder, laughing, “Yes, Steve.” Relief crashes over his face so hard he almost laughs and cries at the same time. “Yeah? Yeah?” He slips the ring onto your finger with shaking hands, then stands and pulls you into his arms like he’s afraid you might disappear. You cling to him, heart pounding. “Okay,” he murmurs into your hair, voice thick. “Cool. Cool. So we’re doing this. Awesome. I’m gonna be the best fiancé. I swear.” You pull back just enough to kiss him, and Steve smiles into it—warm, real, yours.
pairing: dr. parker ellis x reader
warnings: ~2k. smut, porn w plot, pansexual!reader shhhh , the pitt betting, nosy coworkers, canon divergence, mild privacy invasion, fwb w/ a coworker, car sex, pls pretend scrubs aren’t disgusting, fingering (f!receiving), soft!dom parker, praise, indecent exposure on hospital grounds, veteran!reader, no y/n, army mentions + probably inaccuracies, ella is an o/c
summary: reader is the new, quiet dr. on night shift who keeps everyone at arm’s length. one convo turns into a coffee run that becomes something much more heated in the pitt parking lot.
a/n: happy turkey day. my first pitt fic :) ahhhhh
The fluorescent lights of the Pitt hummed with their familiar electric buzz, casting everything in that particular shade of institutional white that made 3 AM feel like it existed outside of time itself. A week into night shift, and you were finally starting to remember everyone's names without having to glance at their ID badges.
"Incoming!" someone called out, and your head snapped up, your body already moving before your brain fully processed the words. Years in the Army had trained that response into your bones. The immediate shift from stillness to action, the way your mind cleared and sharpened like a blade being drawn from its sheath. A gurney burst through the ambulance bay doors, paramedics rattling off vitals as they wheeled in a middle aged man clutching his chest.
"52 year-old male, crushing chest pain radiating to left arm, diaphoretic, BP 190 over 110—"
"Trauma 2," you called out, already pulling on gloves as you moved alongside the gurney. "Let's get an EKG, CBC, and get cardiology on the phone. Someone page Dr. Shen."
The organized chaos that followed was the kind of thing that made you feel most alive. Your hands moved with practiced precision—starting an IV line, ordering medications, interpreting the EKG strips as they printed out in real-time. Around you, the night shift team moved like a well-oiled machine, and you had to admit, they were good. Really good. Especially Dr. Parker Ellis.
Dr. Shen appeared at your elbow, his black hair slightly mussed from whatever he'd been doing before the page. "What've we got?"
"STEMI” you said, pointing to the EKG. "ST elevation in leads II, III, and aVF. Inferior wall MI. He needs the cath lab."
"Good catch," Shen said, already pulling out his phone. "I'll get them prepped."
The patient was stabilizing, his irregular rhythm gradually evening out under your expert guidance. What youu didn't know was that in the break room , a very different kind of conversation was taking place.
Dr. Walsh leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching through the window as you and Parker worked in perfect synchronization. "Okay, I'm calling it. She's definitely into women."
"You can't know that," said Yolanda, though she didn't sound convinced. "She could be straight. Some military women just have that... vibe."
"That vibe?" Ella, one of the physician assistants, raised an eyebrow. "You mean the competent, doesn't-take-shit-from-anyone, looks good in tactical boots vibe?"
"I'm just saying, we can't assume—"
"We know she's queer," Walsh interrupted. "The question is where she lands on the spectrum. My money's on lesbian."
"I'm betting bi," said one of the medical assistants from the back. "Or maybe pan. She's got that energy."
"I'm going with poly," another voice chimed in. "She seems like someone who doesn't believe in conventional relationship structures."
Dr. Jack Abbot, who'd been quietly eating a turkey sandwich in the corner, looked up with a confused expression. "I don't know what any of that means. I'm not woke enough for this conversation." He paused, then added hopefully, "Which one means I have a chance with her?"
The room erupted in laughter, and Walsh patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, Jack. Sweet, delusional Jack."
"What? She smiled at me yesterday!"
"She smiles at everyone, you idiot. She's nice."
"But it was a special smile—"
"It wasn't."
Ella pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, smoothing it out on the counter. "Okay, we need to make this official. Current pot is at... Jesus, $347? Who put in a hundred bucks?"
"That was me," Shen said, appearing in the doorway. "I'm confident in my assessment."
"Which is?"
"Bisexual, currently single, not looking for anything serious." He paused. "Also, this is deeply unprofessional and we should all be ashamed of ourselves."
"And yet here you are, a hundred dollars deep in the pot," Walsh pointed out.
"I contain multitudes," Shen said with a shrug. "Don't judge me."
Ella started writing down names and bets. "Okay, so we've got Walsh on lesbian, Yolanda on straight, I'm going with bi, Donahue is betting poly, Shen's also on bi but single, Jack thinks he has a chance which isn't technically a sexuality but I'm writing it down anyway—"
"This is ridiculous," Parker said from the doorway, and everyone jumped. None of them had heard her come in. "You're all acting like children."
"Says the woman who's been making eyes at her for the past week," Walsh shot back.
Parker's visibly jaw tightened. "I haven't been—"
"Please. You practically trip over yourself whenever she walks into a room." Ella said.
"That's not—" Parker stopped, took a breath. "Look, even if I was interested, which I'm not saying I am, this whole betting pool thing is gross. She's our colleague. She deserves respect."
"It's harmless fun," Yolanda protested.
"Is it? How would you feel if you found out everyone was speculatting about your personal life and taking bets on it?"
The room fell silent, and several people had the grace to look uncomfortable.
"I'm out," Parker said firmly. "And you should all be too."
But as she walked away, Ella quietly added Parker's name to the list anyway, with a question mark and “$50” next to it. Because the thing about Parker Ellis was that she was a terrible liar, and everyone in that room had seen the way she looked at you when she thought no one was watching.
The rest of the shift passed in the usual blur of traumas, heart attacks, strokes, and the occasional person who'd decided that 4 AM was the perfect time to come to the ED for a cough they'd had for three weeks. Even in the blur, you were aware of the way people kept looking at you. Little glances when they thought you weren't paying attention, conversations that stopped abruptly when you walked into a room, the way Jack Abbot kept finding excuses to work on cases with you.
"Am I growing a second head or something??" you finally asked Shen as you stood at the nurses' station, both of you charting.
"What? No, why?"
"Everyone keeps staring at me." you said.
Shen's fingers froze on his keyboard for just a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, but you'd been trained to notice everything. "You're imagining things," he said, his tone just a little too squeaky. "You're the new person. People are still getting used to you."
"I've been here a week…," you said watching him.
"Night shift moves slow. We're still sizing you up."
You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could press further, a nurse called out that they had a patient in respiratory distress in Trauma 4, and the conversation was forgotten in the rush to intubate and stabilize.
⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.
Later, as you were grabbing your bag from your locker at the end of shift, Parker appeared beside you.
"Hey," Parker said, and there was something nervous in her voice that you hadn't heard before. "You did good work tonight. That STEMI save was impressive."
"Thanks," you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "You too. That intubation in Trauma 4 was tricky."
"Yeah, well, I've had practice." Parker hesitated, then said, "Look, I know you're private about your personal life, and I respect that. But if you ever want to grab coffee or something, I'd be up for it."
You studied her for a moment, taking in the way Parker was trying very hard to look casual and failing spectacularly. There was something sweet about it, something that made you want to say yes even though every instinct you had told you to maintain your boundaries.
"Coffee sounds good," you heard yourself say, and the smile that broke across Parker's face was worth the small flutter of anxiety in your chest.
"Yeah? Great. I mean, cool. I know a place that's open early, if you want to go now?"
"I need to sleep," you said with a laugh. "But maybe after our next shift?"
"It's a date," Parker said, then immediately looked horrified. "I mean, not a date date, just a... you know what, I'm going to stop talking now."
You smiled, genuinely amused. "After our next shift, Parker. I'll see you then."
As you walked out to your car, you found yourself looking forward to it more than you probably should. Parker was attractive, funny, competent—all things that you appreciated in a person. And if there was a small voice in the back of your head warning you about getting involved with a coworker, well, it was just coffee. What was the harm in that?
Three shifts later, you found yourself in the drivers seat of your car in the hospital parking lot... Parker's mouth hot against your neck, your hands tangled in Parker's hair.
"We shouldn't be doing this," Parker murmured against your skin, even as her hands slid under your scrub top.
"Probably not," you agreed, your breath hitching as Parker's teeth grazed your collarbone. "We should stop."
"We should definitely stop."
Neither of you stopped.
It had started innocently enough. Parker was walking you to your car. Which had turned into a kiss that was supposed to be brief and chaste but had quickly become anything but. You two barely made it inside your car before Parker's hands were in your hair and yours were fisted in her shirt, pulling her closer and closer.
You were straddling her lap in the reclined driver's seat. The space was tight, cramped, your knees pressed against the door and the console, but you didn't care. All you cared about was the way Parker's hands felt on your waist, the way she was looking at you like you were something precious.
"God, you're beautiful," Parker said, her voice rough with want. One hand came up to cup your face, her thumb tracing your swollen bottom lip. "I've wanted to do this since the moment I met you."
The kiss was different this time. You felt her tongue going deeper, hungrier almost. Parker's tongue swept into your mouth and you moaned, your hips rolling forward. Her hands tightened on your waist, holding you steady. You kissed her harder, your fingers threading through her hair, tugging just slightly.
She groaned, and the sound went straight through you, heat pooling low in your belly. Her hands slid under your scrub top, palms warm against your skin, and you gasped into her mouth. One of her hands slid up your back, the other stayed at your hip, thumb rubbing small circles through the fabric of your scrubs.
You broke the kiss to gasp for air, your forehead resting against hers. The windows were completely fogged now, the world outside reduced to blurred shapes and distant lights. It felt like you were the only two people in existence.
"Parker," you whispered, and she kissed you again, softer this time, almost tender.
"Tell me what you need," she said against your lips.
"You," you said simply. "I need you."
Her hand slid from your hip to your thigh, fingers tracing patterns that made you shiver.
"Please," you said, and the word came out more desperate than you'd intended.
Parker's hand moved slowly, deliberately, giving you time to change your mind. But you didn't want to change your mind. You wanted this, wanted her, had been wanting this since that first night in the break room when she'd smiled at you like you were worth knowing.
Her fingers found the waistband of your scrub pants, and she paused, looking up at you. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," you said, and rolled your hips forward to prove it.
She groaned, her free hand coming up to tangle in your hair, pulling you down into another kiss as her other hand slipped beneath your waistband, beneath your underwear. You gasped against her mouth when her fingers found you, already wet, already ready for her.
"Fuck," Parker breathed, her forehead pressed against yours. "You're so wet for me."
"Parker," you moaned, your hips moving of their own accord, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of her.
"I know," she said softly, her fingers moving in slow, teasing circles. "I know, baby. I've got you."
The endearment made something in your chest tighten even as your body loosened, opening for her. Her fingers explored you with careful precision, learning what made you gasp, what made you moan, and what made your thighs tremble.
"More," you gasped, your hands clutching at her shoulders. "Please, Parker, I need—"
"I know what you need," she said, and slid one finger inside you.
You cried out, your head falling back, and Parker's hand in your hair tightened, holding you steady. "Look at me," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "I want to see you."
You forced your eyes open, meeting her gaze. The intensity there nearly undid you—desire, yes, but also something softer, something that looked almost like reverence.
"There you are," she said, and added a second finger, curling them just right.
"Oh god," you moaned, your hips rocking against her hand. "Park–"
"That's it," she encouraged, her thumb finding your clit, circling it in time with the thrust of her fingers. "Take what you need. I want to watch you come apart for me."
"You're doing so good," she murmured, pressing kisses to your jaw, your neck, anywhere she could reach. "So beautiful like this. So perfect."
The praise, the permission, the way she was looking at you like you were the most incredible thing she'd ever seen. It was too much. Your movements became more frantic, chasing the pleasure building inside you, and Parker matched your rhythm, her fingers moving faster, harder, exactly how you needed.
"You're so close," she said, her voice rough. "I can feel you. You gonna come for me?”
Her fingers curled inside you again, her thumb pressed down on your clit, and you shattered. Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your body trembling, Parker's name falling from your lips like a prayer. She worked you through it, her movements gentling as you came down, her free hand stroking your back, your hair, murmuring soft words of praise that you couldn't quite make out over the rushing in your ears.
When you finally stilled, boneless and sated in her lap, she carefully withdrew her hand, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You okay?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah," you managed, your voice hoarse. "More than okay."
She smiled, that soft, genuine smile that had first caught your attention, and pulled you down into a slow, sweet kiss that tasted like promises neither of you were quite ready to make.
Later you sat in the reclined seats, both of you trying to catch your breath, the windows fogged up around you. Your head rested on Parker's shoulder, your fingers tracing idle patterns on Parker's arm.
"So," Parker said, her voice rough. "That was..."
"Yeah."
"We should probably talk about what this means."
You lifted your head to look at her. "Does it have to mean anything?"
Parker's expression was hard to read in the dim light of the parking lot. "I guess not. I just... I don't usually do casual."
"And I don't usually do coworkers," you said honestly. "So maybe we're both out of our depth here."
"Maybe." Parker was quiet for a moment, then said, "I like you. I want to be clear about that. This isn't just... I mean, it's not nothing to me."
You felt somethhing warm in your chest, something that might have been hope or might have been fear or might have been both. "It's not nothing to me either," you admitted. "But I also think we need to be smart about this. We work together. The night shift is small. If this goes wrong..."
"It won't go wrong." Parker said.
"You can't know that."
"No," Parker agreed. "But I can hope." She pressed a kiss to your forehead. "How about we keep this between us for now. No need to broadcast it to the whole ED. We take it slow, see where it goes, and if it doesn't work out, we're both adults who can handle it professionally."
It was exactly what you would have suggested if Parker hadn't said it first.
"Okay," you said. "Between us."
"Between us," Parker echoed, and sealed it with a kiss.
Over the next few weeks, you were careful. So careful. You didn't arrive or leave together. You didn't seek each other out more than normal. You kept your interactions professional, brief, and clinical.
But there were stolen moments in empty hallways, quick kisses in supply closets, heated glances across the ED that made your pulse race. It was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, and you found yourself thinking about Parker at odd moments. Like while you were driving home, while you were trying to sleep, while you were in the middle of treating a patient and really should have been focused on anything else.
You knew you were in trouble. But you couldn't seem to make yourself care. Neither of you knew that the betting pool was still going strong. That every shift, people were adding to the pot, changing their bets, speculating endlessly about your personal life.
And that very soon, everything was about to come crashing down.
Can I request smut headcanons for Sonar, Flambae, Waterboy, and Robert overstimulating his female s/o and making her squirt by eating her out and fingering her please?
Talk about reading my mind… ouh this is getting the brain worms some good food five star, four course.
CW: fingering, squirting, explicit language, Sex, etc. ‼️MDNI‼️
I really feel like with Flambae he’s aggressive and quick paced, wanting to make you squirt. Like it’s a prize of some kind for him. So he takes you back to his place, after talking up a big game of course. He pins you down kisses you with passion, and undresses you quick, and needy. Makes you comfortable and goes to town on your cunt. Long stride-full tongue lapping up every drop you leak out. Rubbing your clit in that sweet little way that gets you loud. you grip your sheets, and he can’t help but go faster, rub harder. Makes you scream. You can’t count how long he goes for your overstimulated and whiney beneath him. He smirks, a sick little evil grin. You can see it in his eyes when he starts eating you out like a starved man, your juices running down his chin until you can’t hold it anymore, you squirt. Shivering and squirming as you come down from the intense high.
with Sonar He tends to be more careful, he fears his nose will get in the way but, you don’t care as you stand over him, letting him grab your thighs, he’s so horny from all the dirty things you’ve already said to him, so he practically makes out with your cunt. Lapping at it like a mad man as he grips your thighs. You can’t explain the texture on his tongue but god does it feel like heaven on earth. After a while he has to hold you up from how bad your knees buckle, and when you look down you shiver as you watch him take a long blissful lick down your cunt. That’s when you snap and every move, every lick, every lap he makes, makes you quiver and moan. You can’t hold it anymore you know you can’t then he sucks that sweet spot and all you can do is release all over his face. You look down as your high wears off afraid he might be upset but all you see is the most jolly and blissful man alive.
Waterboy however is shy, doesn’t know much so of course you have to teach him. You lay him down and position yourself over his face sitting on it when he’s ready, slowly moving until he figures himself out, and when he does? fuck you can’t stop yourself. Practically smothering him with your cunt. If you could think clearly you’d think you were suffocating him, but the way he laps at your cunt so greedily tells you he’s fine. You stop holding back, practically grinding on his face, and when he starts moaning into your cunt? That’s when you lose it all. You grind til you can’t feel your legs. Moans so loud you can hear anything else you ride and ride and ride til a wave of pleasure hits you and you lose all sense of self squirting so hard you swear you’ve never felt that good in your life. When you finally get up to check on him the poor guy has came in his pants untouched. What a cutie.
Robert, likes to finger you, no not likes… LOVES. the way you look the way you sound. It drives him crazy. His favorite thing is when he’s got you on your back infront of a mirror, you watch his fingers, methodically they go in and out in and out as his thumb rubs that sweet spot on your clit. You mewl and whine, as you cum on his fingers but that’s not enough for him. So he gets down and kneels between your thighs kissing down them and smiling teasing you until he licks a long stripe down your folds, kissing your clit and then letting loose, face buried in your slick, licking every sweet spot, sucking your sensitive clit and fingering just that right spot that has you practically shaking from pleasure, as you grip his hair. He gives your clit one more kiss before he starts going faster and faster, every moan boosts his ego more and more, he can’t help himself but make you squirt all over him especially when you shake and moan so loud, he didn’t know he could ever get harder then he is now. But you’re full of surprises, he licks every bit of slick and juice that pours from your cunt. Practically encasing himself in the moment, wanting every second to last just a bit longer.
SUMMARY: Shin Ji-young is on the run. There has been a case of murder in South Fork School, and another case of murder of a teacher brought flashbacks to Hwa-jin. Similar signs were there; the student was shifty, often seen around older pupils from other colleges or even dropping out, trading drugs, and the teacher only confessed to her to not continue doing so. The result? 4 stab marks in his abdomen area, face scratched- a little too brutally as if they were claw marks of a wild animal. And now, Ji-young is nowhere to be found; the police and media are looking for her, even ERPB, especially Na-Hwajin.
(all the names, including school name is made up)
"보셨나요? Huh?" (Did you see?) Han-rim said pointing towards the TV, nudging Bong Geun-dae to show the news.
"Shin Ji-young, a 17-year-old high school girl from South Fork School of Busanjin district, has fled from the scene after committing the murder of her homeroom teacher the previous night. The police are on their search and will catch the murderer soon. Though a minor, she will be served as per her deed. And the reason is yet to be known."
"What kind of a student does that?" Shouted Han-rim, pressed her lips tightly as if she was about to throw curse words at the girl. Both the Minister and Hwa-jin exchanged looks, a knowing glance at what actions should be taken for this case. However, without a formal complaint being filed by that school or anyone related to her, they won't be able to take any action..yet.
This news spread like wildfire, as the teacher who was murdered was allegedly related to a congressman of the opposing party. They questioned Minister Choi as to why the investigation hasn't been started. It irked the poor minister and he refused to answer the media as of now. A few times passed until they received this mail, a very comprehensive one. Bong Geun-dae had informed them. It read-
[ Hello sir,
I am writing this mail in concern of my missing friend. Ji-young, has been missing for few days now. Usually, after such incidents with any of our teacher, she doesnt attend school for a day to 2 days maximum but it's been a long time and I even visited her house. She wasn't there either. I don't know exactly what had happened between these two that led to such gruesome act, I just happen to miss my friend. I hope you will find her. That's why I reached out to you.
-Kang Ha-eun ]
"Looks like she has a close friend, and we could get a lot of information about Ji-young from her," Hwa-jin commented. All of them nodded in agreement. Walking up to Han-rim, he patted her shoulder sharply and said, "So, let's begin".
The next day, they packed everything and headed for South Fork School. It was just another busy day at school, with students and teachers bustling around the school in the hallway. Han-rim observed them; nothing looked suspicious among the students, no such life-threatening bullies among them. Hwa-jin spoke to the headmaster about the incident and asked him for the security camera in that area. Weirdly, the head of the school looked a bit uncomfortable sharing the video, but he still shared it with him. "Uh, Sir, don't you have the raw footage?"
"No, sir, unfortunately, it was tampered with the next day. After the footage was saved, someone mishandled the actual footage."
"Sabotaging the crime scene? Looks like someone tried to hide something." He reasoned. For a moment, Hwa-jin thought he saw a flicker of guilt hiding behind the headmaster's eyes. Then he quickly said, " Inspector Na, it's obvious that the insolent girl did this." Hwa-jin didn't say much and simply nodded, leaving his office. 'It's not just a case of murder' He thought out loud.
Meanwhile, the other two tracked down information about the girl and spoke to two or three of her teachers, one of whom was her homeroom teacher. Things didn't quite add up well, although there was one specific piece of information that struck with Han-rim was that she was a violent kid from a very young age, maybe because her father was abusive. Her mother had died, quite truthfully, she had seen her mother die. She was not necessarily violent towards her friend or surroundings, but more towards herself. She usually showed an aggressive, agitated nature while talking to her peers, but never quite harmed them. This was her first time doing so, but it mostly felt like a pent-up anger toward her mathematics teacher, Park Seo-Joon. Her homeroom teacher had mentioned all this information about her. Han-rim and Bong Geun-Dae took the file containing her report card, medical certificate, and other information to Hwa-jin. He was quietly loitering outside, in the hallway, looking at students studying and other activities being done by others.
"So, anything special?" The senior inspector questions. "Sir, this case looks a bit weird, as in, why would a girl of high grades suddenly start scoring less, and that too in the maths subject. One particular subject. The teachers gave us all the information yet, their expression said otherwise."
Hwa-jin stayed quiet; he didn't say anything until Bong Geun-Dae shrieked out. Both of them got scared and jumped up, "씨발 (fuck)- Han-rim exclaimed, "What's wrong with you?"
With trembling hands, he said, "Look, another murder, same type." All of them hovered over the phone to check the news; it was true. Just a few kilometres from here, at a pub, the murder occurred. The scratch marks, stab all the same. Hwa-jin straightened up and said, "Well, we don't have any time to waste. We need to catch her, or she might as well eat up a few more people."
All of them left for the club. They looked around for any clue, the CCTV footage to check her whereabouts, and the man she killed. They asked the owner if he knew the man. "Yes, he was a regular and was there just like another night. Our bartender did see him enter our private room, upstairs with a girl, but he thought it was his date. We didn't expect him to end up like this."
They questioned whether any worker saw him as a threat to that girl or was harassing her. One of the waiters there replied, "No, it looked quite the contrary; she was smiling and had her arms wrapped around his."
All three of them, dead tired, returned to the headquarters with little to no clue. She has again vanished and can't be traced. They even looked around her neighbour; no one had seen her.
At night, looking through her files, Han-rim suddenly stood up from her seat. "We might know where she would be, day after tomorrow?"
Hwa-jin yawned, already deprived of sleep, "How?"
"In her middle school diary, she has written that on 22nd June is her Dog's mango birthday. And every year, she brings him his favourite flower to his kennel. So, she will visit that."
"How can you be so sure? She knows everyone is looking for her." Bong-Geun Dae questioned. "Yes, you are correct, she might be cautious, but she will be there, even for a while. It's her pet, and people are really attached to their pet, and people like her who have no one to rely on, they consider their pet as their best friend. She wouldn't miss it for the world. She is still a child afterall."
"Are you sympathizing with a killer?" Hwa-jin chipped up, his tone a bit sharper than usual. Han-rim saw that stern look lingering in his eyes, despite being tired, she straightened up and said," NO, I just feel whatever she did, there was a reason. A reason that can be judged upon, properly."
"So, I kind of found something-" Bong Geun Dae spoke up, "so this Congressman Mr. Park Dong-Ho is Seo-joon's Uncle. He has a list of sexual assault cases charged. But he got bail every time. And coincidentally, the guy at the pub was his driver. There are paparazzi photos of him in the car with that guy in the driver's seat."
Han-rim and Hwa-jin exchanged a knowing look," Well, we will pay Mr. Park a visit tomorrow then."
Next Day
"this Motherfucker bitch, how did she escape again. What are you guys doing? 6 armed men and you can't find her?" Dong-Ho spat out, his pale face now red with anger as he cussed out the police officers in charge of duty. He dismissed them quickly, "Fuck, this bitch, shouldn't have let her out for that test. Should have kept her caged in the box, that bitch should have died like her mom." He angrily mumbled, sitting down in the chair in his office. Suddenly, the door opened, revealing the three officers in his office. Dong-Ho looked up and gave them a smug smile, "What brings you here, Officer Na, unless you caught that bi-, girl. I am not hearing from any of you. She murdered my nephew," Spoke the old man.
"We are trying to catch her, sir," Hwa-jin spoke, his voice dripping with extra sweetness and with sincerity. Sometimes, it made Han-rim wonder if he took acting classes besides military training to help him mask his emotions so perfectly. Hwa-jin paused, then continued," In fact, we were wondering if you could assist us in catching her tomorrow. It will be a great, satisfactory job; it may help you gain some publicity."
Congressman, being the dumb guy he was, quickly agreed to it, without thinking of the consequences. He agreed, and it made all three of them grin in satisfaction. Yesterday, the entire night, they looked for the names of the victims who charged him with sexual assault. Sadly, most of them were either missing or killed themselves. Only two of them were alive and decided to pay a visit, later today.
The final day - Justice is served?
Ji-young's pov
It is raining heavily today, and it is Mango's birthday too. My mango turned 15 today, but I am too scared to pay him a visit. What if the police are there? Or those guys? Did they destroy my Mango's house, too? I'd kill them if they touched it. I opened my phone, which is my other phone, so that they wouldn't track it. I saw the area around my house; it looked empty, no police around. No one is around, Mango's kennel is the same and a little bit dusty. Maybe I can pay him a quick visit. The sharp drop of rain on my skin hurt my cut marks; it still looked so sore and bad. I used to be so pretty, but they ruined me. My face, my body. These meds help me reduce the pain, but it makes me so angry, too.
I shouldn't be too late, or someone might just catch me. I grabbed the Jasmine flowers from the nearby lake, and carefully walked towards my house, it was a quiet neighbourhood, and mostly during early mornings, it's empty and quiet, so I can access my place early. I saw his kennel and sat down quietly, "Hi, Mango, Happy Birthday, Baby. I miss you so much. You were the best thing in this whole world, well, you still are. I am sorry I can't be here for a long time. I am on a run, but when I find a place to stay, I will take you with me."
I am usually quite strong, but I caught myself crying today, right now. It didn't matter; I was alone, so I could cry. "I hoped for a better world and a better life than what my parents lived. But it's just worse than them, I wish I could approach the ERPB regarding this-
"Who said you couldn't?"
-
Third Person POV
"Are you sure, Han-rim, she will be there right now?" Hwa-jin commented as he drove the SUV with Bong Geun Dae and Mr. Park in the back seat. "Yes, it's early morning, and it would be quiet in the neighbourhood so she can access her place right now. Although midnight could have been a more decent choice, it wouldn't be her dog's birthday when midnight strikes."
"you're so smart..." Bong Geun-Dae commented, which led to Hwa-Jin rolling his eyes. He sped up the car and parked at a distance from the neighbour. Hwa-jin got out and asked them to stay back, "You, sure you will be alright?" Han-rim mocked.
He simply ignored and went towards her house. Rest three of them watched through the camera they had placed yesterday in her backyard. Hwa-jin quietly saw her, praying and talking to herself. He heard her say about ERPB and couldn't help but speak up.
This alerted Ji-young, she sprinted up and took out the blades from her pocket. Hwa-jin wouldn't admit it loudly, but her self defence tactic, impressed him a bit. He now could see her properly, her face looked nothing like the passport size photo the school had of her. One of her eyes looked damaged, her lips cut, one of the cheek slashed, marks all over her hand and parts of her neck. She looked so bruised. Before saying anything, he started to walk towards her. "Don't- I will kill you." She warned, with her cracked voice and, her hands trembling.
"Look, she is trying to hurt Hwa-jin," Exclaimed the old man from the car as he sipped his juice casually. "He knows what he is doing," Commented Han-rim with a stern and disgusted voice.
Hwa-jin raised his hands in surrender, "I am only here to talk and know about your situation. You said you wanted help. We are here to help. We want to hear your side of the story, too." She lowered her blades a bit, still holding them firmly. Can she trust him? she thought. She knew him. She followed him for months and saw videos of him on Zeetube and learned a few moves during a fight from that. She knew what he did with other kids was for their betterment, but this time, is he really going to? When the entire city is against her.
Watching her doubtful face, he said, " You can't run; the area is surrounded by ERPB. You will only end up hurting yourself, so you should come with us, and we can talk." This time, she lowered her blades and followed him outside the house. All three of them got out of the car, too. Looking at Ji-young, Dong-ho shouted, "Catch that bitch, you insolent girl-" Han-rim slapped him to be quiet.
The moment Ji-young heard his voice, she let out a shriek, "YOU CALLED HIM?!- She shouted at Hwa-jin, "HOW DARE YOU?! YOU SAID WE WILL TALK. BUT YOU ARE SENDING ME BACK TO HIM! HOW DARE YOU, FUCK!!! She shouted so loudly that at 6am most of the neighbours would have now woken up by the noise. Ji-young, out of nowhere, leaped towards Hwa-jin to hit him. Quickly, Han-rim ran and held Ji-young tightly. Ji-young quickly kicked her thigh from the front and stood afar. It angered Han-rim; she leaped forward to throw a punch at Ji-young, but she dodged it.
Amidst that, the congressman walked hurriedly towards ji young and tried to hold her by her wrist. But failed, as Hwa-jin held his arm so tightly that it might just twist his muscle, "Don't Touch." He warned, staring dead into his eyes. Meanwhile, Ji-young searched for her weapons. She caught hold of the dagger and leaped forward at Dong-ho, but Han-rim caught her. "Don't, not now."
Helplessly, Ji-young fell to the ground, now fully sobbing in front of them. She held onto Han-rim's pants tightly and whispered, "Help me, please," as she gasped for air. Han-rim kneeled down and held her sides, her eyes teary too as she said, "We are going to help you, you just have to come with us and talk. We won't send you away anywhere."
They drove in silence and took her to a hospital. Outside the hospital, there was a swarm of people from media. While she was getting treated, they took statements from her. They searched her house for any clue but didn't find any as all of it was in her 2nd phone. Going through her phones, they saw, recording of her saying how they worked together (the teacher, congressman, and the driver.) . Apparently, they had sent other people from Congressman's group to different school to kidnap girls from middle school, highschool and even universities students. They had coaxed the girls into thinking they would get a job as a model or air hostess if they did some simple task, since Park Dong-Ho owned a few percentage of shares of the Airline.
All were lie, they kidnapped them and made them an escort for other rich people from various countries to get paid a significant amount.
"I only became a target because my mother had some issues with them for a very long time. She used to work for Dong-Ho, and when I was 5, he wanted me to be sold to him, and in return, my parents would get a certain sum of money. But my mom refused, so in return, my dad used to beat her every day, and even one day Dong-Ho's men broke into our house and raped her and took photos to threaten her." Ji-young took a deep breath and continued. "Unable to take such a huge load on herself, she hung herself." She stated that the room went quiet, and Han-rim quietly patted her back.
" I was sent to my grandparents' place for years, until I had to come back for my high school. Everything was fine until they showed up again."
"Ji-young." Hwa-jin called out, "You are very brave."
She smiled, after months, she gave out a genuine smile. "Thank you sir."
"and quite strong too," he said while touching his nose, where it looked a bit bruised from that day when she threw him a punch. She gave out a sheepish smile.
-
Weeks went by, and all the subordinates working under Park Dong-ho were arrested, including the old man himself. His house was under search, including the Clubs he owned. Many hidden rooms were found in the clubs and his house, including photos that were too dark to be released to the media. As for Ji-young, she was in a juvenile reformatory facility, and she would be treated by a psychologist to help her. She looked better in the facility as she was put under a rehabilitation centre to help her control her mind and be physically well, too. All of them visited her once a week, and it encouraged her to be better and live better.
"Inspector, thank you." Hwa-jin looked up from the seat they were both sitting. "For what?" "For hearing me out, and not letting me die."
Hwa-jin simply nodded, giving her a warm smile.
-
[a/n : I love this series so much. I used to read this manhwa, years ago, before it discontinued, and when they made a series out of it, I was over the moon. So I had to write one fic. I will continue writing on this and on different characters, but it might take time to post because of demanding schedule:') I hope you like it. I have written a fic after years. So I kinda got out of practice, hah.]
The country club is the last thing the reader wants to inherit.
But as the summer starts winding down, she realizes she might not have a choice. Putting her own artistic passions aside, she starts preparing for the life that's already been planned for her, convincing herself that some dreams are meant to stay hobbies while others become obligations.
That is, until she meets Christina, the woman who runs the country club's surfing program.
Determined to squeeze every last drop of freedom out of what she knows may be her final summer before stepping into this new role, the reader signs up for a surfing lesson. She fully expects to spend more time falling off the board than standing on it. What she doesn't expect, is to fall just as hard for the woman teaching her how to ride the waves.
----
at the beach, in every life:
christina koch:
the reader:
----
a message from me:
hi everyone!! i hope you missed me...
but i just wanted to let you all know that my new fic is in the works and the first chapter should be out sometime in the near future!! i came up with this idea on a random day at work, and i just knew i needed to start writing! this one is a little bit heavier than my last one, but don't worry, i'll include all the warnings and tags once the first chapter gets posted!
the title is from the song "at the beach, in every life" by gigi perez, and i took some themes from the song and worked them into the story (i recommend giving the song a listen, it's AMAZING)
more details are on the way i promise, but until then, i hope you enjoy the summary and some moodboards <3
