#Oh did you know you can separate out a handful of grapes or cherries instead of buying a whole bag? (At least at my store.)

[artificialqueens]

Like You Mean It (Taywhora) - Holtzmanns

read on ao3 | word count: 2930

Tayce is not sure when A’whora put her number down as her emergency contact, but if she’s still kicking, she’s gonna kill her for it.

It’s just appendicitis. That’s it. A’whora’s fine, the nurse on the phone had even said that they got to it before it burst, and now the only issue that A’whora still has left is her penchant for cheesy jokes. She’s okay. So why are Tayce’s palms feeling this clammy as she pushes past the crowds milling about in the hospital reception?

In which anaesthesia makes A'whora brave enough for the both of them.

A/N: Well hello! Haven’t ventured past my branjie bubble for a long while, though these two have absolutely captured my heart. Figured a nice little one shot would be a good place to start. Thank you Writ for being the best and betaing, and Pop for helping my Canadian ass with lingo. Title is from Mean It by Cash Cash & Wrabel. Enjoy and definitely let me know what you think!

Tayce is not sure when A’whora put her number down as her emergency contact, but if she’s still kicking, she’s gonna kill her for it.

It’s just appendicitis. That’s it. A’whora’s fine, the nurse on the phone had even said that they got to it before it burst, and now the only issue that A’whora has left is her penchant for cheesy jokes. She’s okay. So why are Tayce’s palms feeling this clammy as she pushes past the crowds milling about in the hospital reception?

The day surgery floor is a little run down, the No Phones, Please sign on the wall straight out of the 1990s with pictures of old brick phones with antennas sticking out of the top. The beds are separated with curtains rather than rooms, and Tayce is about to ask a nurse with glasses balanced on the tip of her nose about A’whora, before a piping voice at the far end of the ward answers the question for her.

“James. Jimmy. Jimbo. Is orange juice really the only option? You haven’t got blackcurrant or grape or anything like that? Are you sure this is room service?”

“This isn’t room service, ma’am.”

Tayce has to hold back a laugh at the sight of a truly stricken A’whora and her thoroughly bemused nurse with a capri sun in hand. A’whora looks as if she’s trying to come up with a response, her mouth open and her eyes slightly squinted, and Tayce can almost see the cogs turning in her brain. Tayce pushes the curtain around her back, the sound causing A’whora’s head to turn towards her almost sluggishly, her face lighting up in a loopy grin.

“Tayce! What are you doing here? You got a room at this hotel, too?”

Tayce snorts, coming around the side of the bed. Admittedly, the sight of the wires and IVs makes her heart beat a bit faster, a reminder that a few hours ago A’whora was knocked out in surgery with her side cut open.

But she’s okay now. That’s what matters.

“S’not a hotel, you idiot. You went and blew your guts up,” Tayce grins, one that turns into a snicker when A’whora’s brow furrows and her mouth drops open.

“What’d I do that for?”

Tayce pulls up a chair beside the bed. “You were saying last week that you were bored. Decided to go rogue and make something exciting happen, did you?”

“Doesn’t feel too exciting. Jiminy over here only has a capri sun, and we both know it tastes like piss,” A’whora pouts, leaning her head back against her pillow, and Tayce can’t help but shoot an apologetic look towards the nurse.

“Be nice to the man, Rory, he’s taking care of you. I’ll grab a coke from the concourse for you later.”

A’whora’s nose wrinkles, her lips pursing together. “Can’t you get me a beer instead?”

“Quite picky for someone stuck in a hospital bed in a backless gown with your arse out,” Tayce says, raising an eyebrow, but A’whora looks like she hasn’t even heard her, from the way her eyes are scanning Tayce’s features.

“Tayce?”

“Yes?”

“You’re pretty.”

A’whora lets out a giggle, and the dopey grin on her face lets Tayce know that it’s all the pain meds, really, making her say something like that. She pushes down the way her heart flips over in her chest a little bit, because A’whora really doesn’t need to know how she has her wrapped around her finger without being aware of it.

Maybe flat-sharing with her mate that she’d hooked up with as a fresher hasn’t been the smartest of Tayce’s decisions. She’s good at compartmentalising, she knows it, having stayed friends with a few of her exes because she’s good at letting go, at leaving no hard feelings behind.

But there’s something about A’whora that’s kept Tayce from being able to do the same thing with her. Maybe it’s because Tayce knows what she looks like in comfy pyjamas and a top knot on her head, maybe it’s because A’whora loves making pancakes on the weekend and always makes a stack for Tayce, too. A’whora always knows when she’s annoyed by something, and isn’t afraid of prodding her until she opens up. Yeah, it’s a bit much to have someone insistently poking at her shoulder until she talks about her feelings instead of sulking about it quietly, but it’s A’whora. It means A’whora cares.

She always has.

But Tayce has perfected the art of hiding her feelings behind a mask of cool indifference and her sense of humour. She’s always the one sitting on A’whora’s bed and giving her opinions on her outfit ideas before a date, always the one ready with ice cream and a bottle of wine when A’whora comes home grumbling about how she’s never going to find the right one. Tayce is there, always there, even when A’whora laments about how she wants someone who cares for her, someone who loves her for who she is, someone who really sees her, and she has to stop herself from giving in and telling A’whora to see who’s right in front of her.

Tayce may like her best friend, but her best friend doesn’t need to know that.

But right now, A’whora’s higher than a kite and gazing at her with a sense of awe in her eyes and it’s a bit disconcerting, really, because Tayce isn’t used to having that look directed at her. It’s unfiltered, as if A’whora is pushing past the curtains that Tayce likes to keep closed to see what she’s truly feeling.

A’whora’s dreamy laugh is enough to let Tayce know that she really doesn’t have much to worry about, in terms of A’whora noticing anything. “Really pretty. A princess. Princess Tayce.”  

Good lord.

“Does that make you a knight, then?” Tayce asks, even though she’s usually the one to make sure they get home safely on nights out when they’re drunk off their tits, the one who scowls at men who won’t leave A’whora alone.

“I’ll protect ya.” A’whora points at her and her movements are sluggish, her eyes slipping closed as she yawns, and Tayce has to ignore the way it makes her heart clench.

Her flatmate’s too damn cute for her own good.

Tayce’s chair creaks as she leans back, watching the way A’whora’s breaths even out and her movements begin to still. She pulls out her phone, and the flurry of texts coming through the group chat is not a surprise in the least.

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: bet they’re shagging in the on-call rooms by now

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: grey’s anatomy style

Ellie no Diamonds: not when a’whora’s sides are split in two ‘cause of surgery  

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: tayce already split her in two

Tayce snorts, shaking her head. Lawrence never fails to take any opportunity to rip the piss out of them.

Tayce-lor Swift: I can read, u ghoul

Bim Bons Bouls: didn’t u once say u got held back in reception

Bim Bons Bouls: all at 4 years old

Tayce-lor Swift: someone had to bully the little demons in my class

Tayce-lor Swift: they deserved it so I did a good deed really

Ellie no Diamonds: that’s nice and all but is a’whora still alive or

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: we interrupted their sweet reunion ells, have a little respect

Tayce-lor Swift: oh piss off

Tayce-lor Swift: she’s high off her tits and fast asleep

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: was the strap that good

Tayce-lor Swift: lawrence next time it’s on sight

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: u wish

Ellie no Diamonds: oh thank goodness she’s ok

Bims Bons Bouls: facetime us later when she wakes up I want to see drugged up a’whora

Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: as if we don’t witness that every saturday night

Bims Bons Bouls: u have a point  

Tayce shuts her phone when the conversation lulls, shoving it back in her pocket in favour of glancing at A’whora again. She looks smaller when she’s asleep like this, surrounded by wires and a monitor hanging above them in the corner. The sight makes Tayce swallow hard, because, theoretically, she knows A’whora is okay. She’ll be fine with some ice lollies and some bed rest, but if she hadn’t had surgery in time? Things could have ended very differently.

Tayce doesn’t want to think about that.

It’s a lot easier to protect A’whora when Tayce is in control of the situations around them. Times like where she watches A’whora’s drink from the corner of her eye, to make sure no one around them has the audacity to try anything stupid, or when she gets A’whora into pyjamas and wipes off her makeup after nights out before they’re out cold in one of their beds. A’whora’s more than capable of holding her own, Tayce knows that. She’s not small or weak and she’s ready to shout at whoever even tries to look at her the wrong way, but it just means that Tayce has to keep an eye out for her so that it stays like that.

Times like this, though, Tayce feels helpless. She’s not Cherry, out there saving lives with the NHS and she can’t do anything for A’whora at a time like this, either, not when A’whora needs time and healing and sleep. She wishes that bundling up A’whora in a blanket would be enough to fix her, the way that it is when A’whora’s nursing yet another ruined Tinder date over some ice cream with her at three in the morning.

“Tayce?”

A’whora’s stirring beside her, a little furrow between her brows that Tayce wants to smooth out for her.

“Yes, baby?”

“Why don’t you like me?” A’whora’s bottom lip is pushing out just a smidge, but enough that Tayce wants to run a hand through her hair, calm her down from what her anesthesia addled brain is making her experience.

“What are you on about? ‘Course I like you, you’re my best mate, you goon,” Tayce murmurs, reaching for A’whora’s hand and rubbing her thumb along the crease of her palm, as if it’ll calm the sudden hitch in A’whora’s breath.

“No, no, I…you know what I mean,” A’whora’s gaze drops, a sigh on her lips. “Forget it.”

Maybe there’s a chance that A’whora won’t remember this anyway, when she’s properly woken up and out of the hospital. Maybe whatever Tayce lets herself say right now won’t matter at all, because the consequences of her actions will be wiped clean when A’whora’s anaesthesia has worn off.

Maybe the risk of falling off the cliff that they’re dangling from is a little bit smaller than it normally is.

So Tayce steels herself, pushes the soles of her feet into the ground. “Not ‘forget it’. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You should have kissed me that next morning. I was waiting for it.” For someone on painkillers, A’whora looks surprisingly lucid, her gaze enough to lock Tayce in, keep her from looking away.

“When?” It’s a useless question, because Tayce already knows the answer.

When they’d hooked up during freshers week, Tayce had left A’whora’s flat as soon as she woke up, because she’d just been another one night stand. Back when Tayce had no idea that A’whora would become one of her friends just a few weeks later, her closest friend a few months after that.

They’ve never really talked about it, keeping it an elephant in the room - or rather, in the flat that they share now - because they’ve had other hookups and girlfriends and they’re just mates, nothing more. Mates who have stuck around for much longer than any other partners.

It’s all hearsay at this point, unspoken words between them that Tayce has been thinking and she knows A’whora has been, too. It’s been easier not to, and to just let things play out because even though the sense of longing has coated Tayce’s heart for years at this point, talking is too much. Talking takes the coating and hardens it, making it impossible to free herself from if she needs to.

“Do y’know why none of my dates ever work out?” A’whora’s let her earlier question go, and Tayce wants to thank her for it.

“Why’s that?”

“They’re not you.”

Shit.

“Could’ve saved yourself some time and asked me out instead, then,” Tayce keeps her voice light, as if her stomach isn’t turning, as if her feet aren’t tapping on the ground because of the electric current running through her veins.

A’whora’s face doesn’t break into a smile, despite Tayce’s lighthearted tone. “Would you have said yes, though? Or brushed it off and taken it as a joke?”

“Who’s to say, really?”

“You’re an idiot,” A’whora rolls her eyes, and really, Tayce can’t fault her for it.

She’s not wrong. Not when A’whora’s capable of tying Tayce’s words into a knot of terribly worded explanations and attempts at jokes to hide the fact that her heart is pounding in her chest, that they’re walking on a tightrope so thin they could fall off any moment.

But Tayce still has reassurance of one fact, the most important of them all, and she clings to it as she says it out loud.

“And yet, you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“For what it’s worth, I do love you, too.” Tayce mumbles under her breath, because she’s dug herself into enough of a hole at this point.

May as well bury herself in it.

“Christ, take me out to dinner first, at least,” A’whora scoffs, but she’s smiling, the kind that reaches her eyes and is filled with mischief.

“Oh, so now you’re finding it funny?” Tayce grins, shaking her head, and sure, she’s still a little sweaty and she’s aged approximately ten years from the conversation, but part of her feels a bit lighter too.

A bit more hopeful.

Because maybe, just maybe, the two of them can have a chance at something. That is, if A’whora wakes up and remembers everything.

“Tayce! Get in here!”

Tayce pops her head into A’whora’s room, frowns when she sees her standing in front of her wardrobe. “Aren’t you supposed to be on bedrest for another day? What’re you doing up?”

A’whora scoffs, waving a hand. “I’m fine. You need to help me with picking out a dress, c’mere.”

“A dress for what? You’re not leaving the house ‘til that incision is healed, young lady,” Tayce tuts, and she has to ignore the fact that she sounds just like her own mum.

A’whora shoots her a look. “Are you daft? Have you forgotten already? You’re taking me out this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Tayce can’t help the fact that her voice comes out in a bit of a squeak, because she doesn’t remember deciding on a date and time but…

It means A’whora hasn’t forgotten.

Tayce hasn’t pushed her since coming home from the hospital, focusing on giving her the chance to heal and feel a little better rather than approaching the issue. Yeah, maybe she’s guilty of falling back into the same pattern that’s gotten the two of them here in the first place, but she’s wanted to give A’whora the chance to broach the subject before pushing it onto her.

A’whora shrugs. “Work something out. I’m expecting my socks to be knocked right off with you.”

“Kinky,” Tayce gets out, but she can feel the way her face is breaking out into a smile, threads of excitement and promise and the chance to maybe not fuck it up again.

“I’ll help you pick something out once I’ve decided where we’re going. For now, it’s back to bed with you,” Tayce grins, pointing at A’whora’s rumpled sheets.

They can work this out. They can go through the shams of going on a date like normal people and as if they’re not already half in love with each other. Maybe Tayce can kiss her again.

Christ. It’s as if she’s a fifteen year old again with absolutely no game to speak of. Frankly embarrassing.

But A’whora doesn’t seem to mind, from the way her eyes are gleaming. “I’ll climb in if you join me.”

Tayce snorts but walks around to the other side of the bed nonetheless, the side that’s become hers from all the Netflix and late night chats and so called platonic snuggles. “No funny business, though. You have to heal first.”

A’whora climbs under the covers, and her slight wince as she lays down makes Tayce’s chest tighten. Despite her big talk, she’s still not fully better just yet.

“Serious business only, got it. Now come and snuggle me, isn’t that supposed to speed up recovery?”

“I don’t think medical advice from Grey’s Anatomy is exactly sound.”

“And yet, you’re under the covers, too,” Awhora mumbles, letting out a yawn.

She snuggles into Tayce’s side and Tayce lets her, running her fingers up and down A’whora’s back in the way she knows never fails to lull her to sleep when she’s tired.

They’ll work it out. Whatever this is. They will, because the other option is letting the words hang in the air unspoken and Tayce isn’t sure she can go back to that.

So she’ll kiss A’whora good morning, or evening, rather, once she wakes up from her nap. She’ll take her out this weekend, something not too strenuous because she still needs to rest. They can have another go at their freshers one night stand with years and years of friendship and context and caring for each other.

After this long, Tayce is ready for it.

#rpdr fanfiction #a'whora #tayce #taywhora #rpdr uk #uk2 #lesbian au #sick fic #holtzmanns

[pandabearlikes]

Temporary Affairs II

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Chapter o9.  His True Love

  With your head buried in Jongin’s chest, you sniffed his scent that always had the ability to calm you through your most trying times.  If anyone asked you to describe the scent, you’d simply describe it as the fragrance of the most perfect man in this entire world – unique and special, limited edition, just for you. 

  Yoona tumbled in your tummy – really, her way of saying, “Good Morning, Omma!”

  “Good Morning too, Sweetpea,” you chimed.

  The male sleeping next to you stirred so you quieted down to not disrupt his sleep. 

  The baby continued to create different shapes and formations inside your stomach.  You watched parts of your belly raise then fall.  Taking your hand, you followed the pattern, guessing where she’d kick next by lightly tapping on different areas as if playing whack-a-mole.  When the theatrical movements ended, you sighed contently.

  “Yoona, thank you so much for staying,” you’d been vocally saying on a daily basis to remind yourself of your blessing. 

  A light peck landed on cheeks.  You turned to your side to see that Jongin had already woken up.  He gazed at you with those dark dreamy eyes again.  Internally melts.  Even the baby is melting, I swear Oppa.  So staph.  Staph.  But he continued and you don’t turn away, already captured way too deep to escape. 

  “I love you,” he said and you winced.  I know…I know you do.   

  But you don’t say a word.

  Suddenly an agonizing ache radiated from your lower back to your stomach.  You groaned, clutching your abdomen in panic. 

  “Jagiya??  What’s wrong?!” Jongin anxiously questioned, sitting upright.   

  “Oppa…Oppa…it hurts,” you bit your lip and clawed his arm. 

  “I’ll go get the doctor,” he said, jumping off the bed. 

  “Noo, can…can you help me to the bathroom?” you asked shyly. 

  He blinked, confused then mouthed a “oh”.  Supporting your back, Jongin slowly walked you over to a small cubicle in your hospital room, IV drip and all.  As he waited outside the bathroom, you massaged your cramping legs and throbbing back.  You mentally laughed at the thirteen-year-old you who thought having her period was the most painful thing in the world.  Well, she sure didn’t know the feeling of having a six-pound baby sleeping on her bladder and her bladder shifting to another region of her body, in turn causing all your intestines to reorganize like some tetris game.  What did that mean?  That meant constipation.  YES, CONSTIPATION.  You groaned willing for your body to release the toxic parts of you. 

  “Jagiya, are you okay?” your husband asked for the fifth time, getting impatient. 

  You looked at your watch and realized twenty minutes had passed.

  “I’m…fine,” you answered, weakly. 

  “…Jagiya, can you let me in?” he asked.

  No…nnoo…why would you want to come in?  No, of course I won’t let the love of my life smell the odor of my waste…

  “I’m really fine,” you tried to convince, but you ended up groaning again when you strained.

  “Please?” Jongin pleaded, trying to turn the doorknob but you kept it locked. 

  “Oppa, I’m fine,” you repeated.

  “I’m going to break the door,” he said sternly and you could almost imagine him backing up to gather momentum to slam into the door. 

  “NOOOOOOO!” you shouted then twisted the lock, “It’s open!” 

  Immediately, your husband opened the door and walked in.  You hung your head, expecting him to either complain about the smell or laugh at your pain, but instead he squatted down in front of you and stroked your hair. 

  “Can you let me stay with you until you’re done?” he questioned.  Omg, why are you so dumb you handsome man?  Can you not smell the scent of rotten eggs and onion? 

  You opened your mouth to answer but a loud splitting wet fart echoed in the cubicle.  Omg.  Out of humiliation, you buried your face in your legs. 

  “Aww,” Jongin hummed, and stood up, bringing your head against his stomach. 

  Squirming you begged, “Oppa, can you go out?” 

  “Why?”

  “Because this is embarrassing!” you confessed.

  “What is?” he questioned, chuckling at your shyness. 

  You parted your lips to answer but another unappealing noise sounded.  Flushing bright red, you hid your face in his abdomen.  He curled his arms around your head and you looped yours around his hip.    

  “What’s so embarrassing about pooping?  We all do it. Just let me stay with you so I’m not driving myself insane with worry,” he soothed. 

  Pouting, you reasoned, “But it smells so bad in here”.        

  “Smells like rainbows and cherry blossoms to me,” he joked, sniffing in the scent to demonstrate.  Omg, you Pabo.  I love you so much. 

  You whimpered and slapped his arm playfully. 

  “I love you, Jagiya,” he said. 

  “I know, you Pabo,” you responded and he bent over to peck your pouting lips.  Omg, I swear I’m going to die in the hands of Kim Jongin. 

  “I love you,” he repeated, standing up again to massage your back.  I know, Pabo.  You just told me that ten seconds ago. 

  “Why do you love me?” you asked, more to deter his attention away from another incoming windy noise than actually waiting for an answer. 

  “Because my wife is so lovable,” he started.

  You cut him off, “No, I’m not.  I’m so childish and crude.  I swear a lot and I have a child’s diet.  I’m picky and I annoy you all the time”.

  “But you’re passionate and hardworking, honest and bubbly, always puts other’s before yourself…” he countered. 

  You rolled your eyes and cut him off again, “You’re exaggerating”.

  “I’m not!” he sounded offended.

  “Am I really that good?” you asked.

  “I’m not even done listing.  Jagiya, stop cutting me off,” he laughed then continued, “You can be so cute, yet sexy, yet elegant all at the same time.  Your eyes are the biggest, most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life,” he lifted your chin so he could gaze into them, “they’re so innocent like a baby’s but curl outwards like sexy cat eyes”.

  You looked at him skeptically. 

  “And best of all, when you smile, they twinkle like stars and curve into arches,” he detailed.

  “So you fell in love with my eyes?” you jokingly questioned, wrapping your arms tighter around his hip. 

  “I’m not done yet.  There was this defining moment when we dated that I knew I was falling in love,” he started again.

  You raised your brow at him.  

  “Remember when you got super sick that one time?” he questioned, his eyes smiling down at you. 

  “…Uh…no?” you admitted and he pouted like a lost puppy so you tried your hardest to dig through your memory, “…you mean the first time you let me use your jacket?”  But that was so long ago…that’s impossible that he liked me that early on…

  His face instantly lit up and he nodded happily that you remembered, “I was so upset…no disappointed?...no more like confused why this girl kept pretending like she wasn’t sick.  All the other girls I dated always whined and complained for me to baby them.  Pftt…one even pretended to be sick to force me to ditch an important basketball tournament.  But anyway, the fact that this silly girl hid her own suffering so that others wouldn’t worry was just so beautiful to me…”

  The whole time as he was talking, you were gazing at his expression…the gentle curl on the corners of his lips…the batting of his lashes when he described your eyes…the twitch of his brow when he talked about the time you were ill…

  And every time you cut him off thinking he was done, he always still had something to add.  It made you wonder how all these qualities you thought were flaws…to this Pabo were strengths. 

  By the time he got to describing the little cute noises you made right before you fell asleep, you had actually been done doing your business for almost twenty minutes but you just let him continue rambling on and on because he looked absolutely delighted and cheerful.  I love you so much, Kim Jongin. 

  A knock on the door disrupted you two from your little world. 

  “________, are you in there?” Minah’s voice asked. 

  “Y-yeahh!” you replied, a bit flustered at the situation. 

  Jongin pouted that his little story of why he loved you got interrupted.

  “You can tell me tonight?” you whispered to comfort the tall, dark, and handsome man.  He nodded so you cleaned up and walked out with him to greet your intruder. 

  Upon seeing you, Minah immediately broke down into tears, apologizing over and over again about the tiny, ridiculous argument you guys had that almost cost you and your child’s life.  And even though you were expecting for her to comfort you, you ended up comforting her instead so she’d stop feeling so guilty. 

  -----

  A few days later, when you were healthy enough to get out of bed, Jongin and you took a stroll around the hospital to loosen up your leg muscles since you’d been lying in bed for so many days.  In your hospital gown and slippers, you waddled down the hall with your husband sturdily supporting your back.  When you passed the nursery, your lips parted in awe. 

  “Oppa!  Look at the babies!” you gasped. 

  Your fingers unraveled and grazed against the window that separated you and the little creatures.  Most of them were asleep but a few were awake, kicking their feet and wiggling their baby grape toes.    

  “They’re so cute!!” you continued to cheer. 

  Beside you, with an arm over your shoulder, Jongin peered into the nursery as well.

  “Hehe,” you giggled when one of the babies responded to your tapping with one of his own. 

  Jongin kissed you on the cheek and stayed still for a little longer than usual.  I’m going to melt. 

  Ecstatic and re-energized from your stroll, your hubby and you began walking back to your room so you could rest your throbbing back.  Jongin stroked your hand with his thumb. 

  As you rubbed your gigantic stomach, you stated, “I can’t believe we still have over three months to go.  I feel like I’m a whale already”.

  “A whale?  Maybe a panda, but not a whale,” Jongin joked. 

  “What does—” you started but something took you by surprise.

  A nurse lost control of her cart and it was sent zooming across the hall toward you.  You just stood there stunned out of your mind, internally screaming for your legs to move but they were rooted onto the tiled floors.  Sensing the dangerous situation, Jongin quickly pulled you over before the cart crashed just centimeters from where you had been standing.  You covered your mouth, wheezing from shock. 

  “Jagiya, are you okay?” Jongin asked but you’re so rattled by the sudden event, you were speechless.

  “Don’t scare me!” your husband said desperately.        

  You looked at him but you couldn’t muster any energy to talk at all.  Instead, your legs grew weak and they caved in.  Jongin instantly sensed your fall, allowing you to rest your entire weight against him.  In his chest, tears started flowing from your eyes. 

  “Jagiya, are you hurt?  Does it hurt anywhere?” he asked fearfully, holding onto you so tightly you thought you were suffocating.

  As you continued to panic and lose yourself in your sobs, your temples began to hurt and the room started to ripple. 

  “Ma’am!  I’m so, so sorry.  Are you okay?!” the nurse spoke but when it got to your eardrums, it sounded like loud thunderous bangs. 

  “Oppa…” you managed to murmur before you fainted into his arms. 

      Two days later, that almost catastrophic event was still bothering you.  Thankfully, Jongin was beside you and you had fainted from your emotions running too high and not because of any physical injury, but it was like a reality check.  What if Oppa wasn’t there?  You held your palm on your stomach protectively.  Yoona had given you a second chance already, you weren’t sure if she would be willing to give you another one.  But you had made a promise to do everything in your power to keep her safe…even if it meant keeping her away from you. 

  Beside you, Jongin held your hand and meticulously helped you cut your long nails.  Silently, you observed him as he cut millimeter by millimeter, making sure not to hurt you.  When he was done snipping, he took a pink filer to smooth out the edges before blowing the dust away.  He motioned you for your other hand and you obediently gave it to him. 

  “Let’s get a divorce,” you surprised yourself by saying. 

  Jongin paused what he was doing and looked up at you. 

  He chuckled and pinched you on the nose, “Stop joking around.  You scared me to death”.

  “I mean it,” you said firmly.  Omg, _______ah, what the heck are you saying.  What’s wrong with you?  Are you ill?  Are you being possessed?  What in the world are you doing??!?!?

  “No,” Jongin said firmly, then resumed giving you a manicure. 

  You harshly pulled your hand from him to catch his attention. 

  “Oppa…let’s get a divorce,” you almost begged.

  “WHY?  I DON’T UNDERSTAND!” Jongin was furious, his nose flaring and lips trembling. 

  “I…”

  “Did Lee Sohee say something to you again!?  I’ll go yell at her!” he shouted.

  “No…no…Oppa…I’m scared,” you said tearfully.

  “Of what?” he asked in a much softer tone. 

  “I’m not fit to be a mother.  Yoona is not safe with me.  I’ll give birth to her and you can keep her and marry another woman,” you said.  Omg, _______ah, what the hell.  Are you out of your mind?  You shook your subconscious away.

  “That’s ridiculous!” Jongin yelled, angry that you even had the guts to say something like that. 

  “No it isn’t!  Oppa, you saw.  I almost killed Yoona twice within one week!” you defended.

  “Jagiya, those are accidents!  It’s not your fault!” he reasoned. 

  Ignoring his rationale, you said, “But I’m scared I’ll hurt Yoona.  I’m so childish and clumsy.  I can’t even take care myself, how am I going to take care of a baby?” 

  “Shhh…it’s fine,” he tried to hush. 

  “No it isn’t, I’m not fit to be a mother,” you continued to argue.

  “Do you not want to be one?” he asked seriously. 

  What?  What do you mean?  You looked at him confused.

  “W-what –”

  “Then we don’t need to have children,” he concluded. 

  You stared at him in complete confusion and utter fear.  Did…he just suggest to get…rid…of…the…baby?

  “We don’t need to have children, if you don’t want them,” he repeated.

  You looked down to your hands and they were shaking. 

  “We’re having six children,” you recalled Jongin requesting when you first announced to him of your pregnancy. 

  “Wh-what…” you sniffled back tears.

  “I just want to be with you.  If you don’t want children then –“

  You slapped him across the face.  Electric currents ran through your hand.  Jongin stared blankly at the white wall of the hospital room.  His cheek turned pink from the blow.  You gasped when you realized what you did. 

  “Oppa, I’m sorry,” you apologized then crumpled into tears. 

  He loved you and that was why he said those things.  Just like how you loved him but for Yoona’s safety you would willingly leave. 

  “Jagiya, please.  Please don’t leave me,” he begged as you two hugged. 

  I don’t want to either.

  “I know…I know being a parent is scary.  I’m scare too but it’s okay because we’re new to this.  It will take time.  Just like how the first time you babysat Youngwoo, it was terrible, right?  But then you got the hang of things and it got better,” he prepped and you nodded, digesting his every word, “but I don’t want you thinking that if anything happens to our child, that it’s your fault, because it isn’t, okay?”

  You nodded into his shoulder. 

  “Jagiya, I love you,” he said.

  “Oppa, I love you too,” you replied. 

            a/n: ~melts into a puddle in front of Jongin~  though if my future hubby ever suggested to get rid of baby I’d punch him across the face xD.  But omg the bathroom scene is my favorite hehehe it’s so reality based.  Hehe you know when a guy’s a keeper if he doesn’t mind the smell of your poopoo tehehe.  ヽ( ´ ∇ ｀ )ノ 

  Sohee’s back next chapter uh oh.  Get your pens ready my unicorns!  We must protect Yoona at all cost!!!!!!!    

#kai scenario #kai scenarios #kai fanfic #kai fanfiction #exo scenario #exo scenarios #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #kai #kim jongin #jongin #exo #exo angst #exo fluff #Temporary Affairs

[storiesfromfpc]

REVISED taking what's his I

He looks up at the clock to see only a few minutes have passed, and that it's only 4:16pm. Fridays are the worst, it's like you spend the last hour of the day simply waiting for 5:00pm to hit.

The next few minutes are spent organizing papers and crap until his phone vibrates. He picks it up at the screen says, "Babe." He unlocks it and is greeted by a picture of him that makes his breath catch in his chest. He sucks in a breath and lets his gaze travel up and down her body in his screen.

"Holy hell... where did you get the lingerie?" he replies. His phone vibrates again a few seconds later, bringing him back from the day dream of all the wonderful things he wants to do to his girl.

"I bought it for you Daddy," she replies.

"Are you purposefully teasing me at work? Deliberately being at brat?"

"It has a slit in the bottoms so you don't even have to take them off to fuck me."

He leans back in his chair and smirks, knowing she's doing this on purpose -- but two can play this game. "I'm going to fuck you hard young lady. Your mouth, your cunt, your ass. I'm going to take them all before I'm done tonight. I'll text you when I'm leaving and when I get home I expect you to be waiting on your knees like the good little slut that you are."

"Yes Sir," is the only reply she knows he'll accept. And it's the one she gives.

An hour later he calls, surprising her because he said he would text. "Hello?" she answers. "I'm sorry baby, I gotta run to an event and fix someone else's mess. I'll be home late." The disappointment drips from her voice. "But... okay, try to get home quick." He grumbles something noncommittal into the phone and hangs up. He knows he should call back, but he doesn't.

By the time he gets home, it's been a long day. He hasn't been able to keep her off of his mind, and as much as he wanted to just leave and go home, he still ended up working later than he should.

It's already dark when he gets home but the porch light is on which is a good sign that she's not too pissed. He hops out of the truck and quietly slides his key in the door incase she's already fallen asleep. When he opens the door, he's greeted by the cutest sight -- her at the kitchen sink, music blasting, dancing around to the music while she does the dishes. He's so lucky to call her his.

Quietly he closes the door and steps behind her. With the music blasting, she still hasn't noticed that he's home, so he slides up behind her and roughly wraps his arms around her. She jumps, startled, and tries to spin around but he doesn't let her -- tightening his arm around her waist and letting the other hand slide up around her throat. He gently kisses her neck, causing her to settle into him.

He lets her go and she turns around, reaching up to touch his face. It's such a simple gesture, one of vague submission, but it causes something in him to click. Maybe it was the sweetness in her touch -- maybe it's the tension he's built up all night thinking about her text -- but either way, he knows he's still going to take her just like he said.

He wraps one arm around her waist and the other travels up, skimming her belly until he finds what he wants. Roughly he grabs her breast cause her to yelp. Even though the thin material separates them, he can feel her shiver in response. His arm continues to hold her in place as he reaches up to grab the collar of her cami, and surprisingly the matching lingerie bra, tearing them down to expose her in the process. He palms her breast, his thumb and forefinger twisting, pinching, pulling, and tweaking her nipple with building pressure until he hears her wince, and then moan -- pain bleeding into pleasure.

He presses forward in a sudden movement, roughly forcing her hips against the edge of the kitchen counter while his arm travels up and roughly snatches her head back by the her hair that she's conveniently left put up. He forcefully uses his hold to bend her over the counter until she gasps as her sensitive breasts are pressed against the cold counter top.

"You can either make this easy, or you can fight me. Either want, I am going to take what I want."

Never did he expect her to grind her ass into him in response. He knows that she's being a brat, adding fuel to the fire on purpose, and yet he's surprised she does it anyway.

"I bet you're enjoying this, aren't you? Me coming home, taking what's mine, treating you like the good little whore that you are." She says nothing, so he roughly snatches back on her hair, wordlessly demanding a response. "Yes sir," she finally chokes out. "And I bet that greedy little cunt of yours is already soaking wet, isn't it, girl?"

Before she can even reply, he uses his forearm to press down on the middle of her back, pinning her against the counter without ever releasing his grasp on her hair. Despite the pain he knows she's experiencing, she doesn't fight him -- instead she relinquishes control and submits.

He uses his other hand to tear her pants down around her thighs... a low growl rumbles from his chest as he notices the dark, wet spot surrounding the slit in her her cute lingerie panties covering her mound. He doesn't bother taking them off, he simply pulls them to the side, and roughly grabs her sex, coating his hand in the process.

"Oh my..." he coos condescendingly. "Look how wet you are. You're such a good slut, dripping for Daddy." He spreads her lips with his fingers -- never touching her clit or giving her the satisfaction of letting his fingers dip inside and tease her. "You're soaking wet for no reason other than the fact that you know I'm going to take you, use you, fuck you, fill you with my cum, and watch until it my seed trips down the inside of your thighs."

When he pulls his hand away to taste her, she cries out, "Nooooo!"

SMACK!

She yelps, his hand connecting with her ass before he even gets to enjoy the taste of her honey. "You are not in control here. I am. Any pleasure you receive tonight is purely secondary to my pleasure. You are my fuck toy and tonight, you are here simply to please me. Clearly though, you need a reminder of this."

He eases off of her, letting his grapes her hair go and allows her to relax. "Put your hands behind your back young lady." She complies, but he's still behind her. She doesn't dare move, and he lets the tension build for what seems like forever. Just when her mind starts to wonder, she's brought back to reality as his left hand shoves her against the counter and he abruptly tears her cami off of her body.

He gently slides his hands up and down her now bare skin, massaging her back and shoulders until he senses that she's let her guard down again. The second she does, he roughly grasps her by the wrists. The back and forth between gentle and rough makes her head spin, but not nearly as much as it does when she realizes that he's tying her wrists together with the scraps of what used to be her cami.

"Fuck me. There's nothing better than the sight of you bent over our kitchen counter, bound, leggings around your knees, and fully exposed for me."

He steps away, his words leaving her feeling more exposed than the reality of the acts. She cant see what he's doing but she can hear the drawers opening and closing, and then something connecting with the palm of his hand. He comes to her, presenting her with his find, a wooden mixing spoon. "This is why I love kitchens, so many useful tools to improvise with."

The first strike startles her, stinging more than usual, causing her to let out a brief exclamation. "You get one more now girl, you know that you're supposed to count."

He rubs his hand over her ass and then the next stroke comes, harder than the last, but not in the same place.

"One." She chokes out.

"Very good," he whispers in her ear, letting his mouth linger knowing it will over serve to drive her that much more over the edge.

He sooths the area with the palm of his hand, and then lets the next strike land on a different part of her ass. Nearly forgetting to count, she rushes to say, "two" before he tacks on another.

Three. Four. Five. By the time she gets to a dozen, her breath is short and her ass is cherry red. Squirming all over the counter, his hand soothingly rubs her ass between each strike, a hard contrast to the blow of the spoon. And yet, he never strikes her too hard. He uses just enough bite to drive her to the edge, and by number sixteen, she begs for more, for harder.

He can see that her ass is on fire, but the burn is beautiful. Intensely pleasurable. He can tell how close to orgasm that she is, and that she's starving it off.

"You have two more girl."

"Nineteen," she says so breathlessly that it comes out as a whisper.

He smiles knowing twenty will never come as he deliberately strikes her sex, causing he to scream and arch off of the counter as she cums for the first time, simply from a spanking. He rubs her ass in soothing circles as she comes down, relaxing back onto the counter.

"Dylan!" His name comes out in a needy wail that has him grinning. Oh yeah, she was hot and worked up. Her body flushed with heat.

"Get on your knees," he orders roughly.

He holds onto her as she slides down to her knees. He stays a moment, making sure she wouldn't pitch over with her wrist still tied together behind her back, and then he steps back, unzipping his fly.

His cock surged into his hand, protesting the fact that his hand was wrapped around it and not her mouth. He pushed his freehand into her hair, pulling her roughly forward as he pressed his dick to her lips.

She opened around him with a breathy sign that sent tingles racing down his spine. His balls drew up tight, aching as his erection slid over her hot tongue. She closed her mouth around him, sucking him deep. He let out a harsh groan, thrusting all the way to the back of her throat.

"This is what you're good for. Pleasing me," he rasped out.

The wet sucking sounds she made were loud and erotic in his ears. Each time he pulled back, he met resistance as she attempted to suck him back. Her cheeks hollowed with each pull and then puffed out when he thrust forward, fucking her mouth.

He loved the sight of his cock sliding through her lips and then retreating wet with her saliva. She made a smacking sound that damn near had him cumming on the spot. For several long moments, he enjoyed the feel of her tongue sliding over the underside of his cock. The she circled the tip, teasing the sensitive head when he pulled out.

Reluctant to leave the sweetness of her mouth, he withdrew his cock from her mouth and she had barely looked up when his hand shot out, slapping her across the face. "Stand up slut," he exclaimed, roughly pulling her to her feet. Her eyes were glazed, a mixture of shock and intense desire. They glowed warn and bright

He helped her to the bed, and laid her on her back, wanting to feed on her breasts -- knowing full well how uncomfortable it would be with her wrist still tied behind her back. He leaned over her splayed thighs and ran his tongue over the swell before capturing her nipple and sucking it strongly between his teeth, biting and enjoying her writhing in pain under him. Then he nibbled a path up to her neck, devouring the supple flesh before tugging at her earlobe, nipping it with just enough bite to make her cry out. He licked the shell, sliding his tongue over the contours of her ear before dropping down to suck a the lobe.

"Daddy!" she wailed, drawling the name into two syllables. "You're killing me!"

He chuckled. "That's the idea, girl. This is for me, not for you. Next time I'll ensure you can't talk back."

She shivered uncontrollable, her body arching helplessly into his.

He took his time, licking and devouring her nipples until they were red and straining into rigid peeks. The he let his mouth roam lower, kissing the softness of her belly, and then lower still nuzzling through the slit of her panties into her velvety, plush folds. He licked over her clit, making sure he didn't spend too much time there or she'd cum. He sucked, and kissed his way lower until his tongue found her entrance, sliding inside just like his dick would soon do.

He continued his sensual assault on her most intimate flesh, until she was shameless begging him to end it. She was bucking upward, her motions frantic and need. He grasped her hips, holding her into place as he continued fucking her with his tongue.

"Daddy! I'm going to cum!"