“We’re sitting with Adrien Dupain-Cheng, author of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.
M. Dupain-Cheng, please tell us what made you write this memoir and reveal the
decades-long secret you and your late wife shared?”
The old man smiled at the reporter across from him and
folded his wrinkled hands on his lap.
“After Marinette passed away last year, it felt like my
world had lost all colour,” said Adrien. “Until I read the diaries she willed
to me…well. After that, I wanted to reconstruct our story and tell it to
everyone. I want to keep Marinette’s legacy alive.”
Author’s Note: Hi! :) This is my first Omelia fanfic though I’m not too sure about it so lots of love or thoughts in general would be appreciated! :) It takes place after the scene in 12x20 (last episode) :) It seems to me that a serious conversation between these two either means a breakup, sex, or friendship-turned sex :P So, fair warning, this is a combination of smut, fluff, and angst. :) It’s called “I Won’tLet You Leave Me.” I hope you like it! :)
“I did it. That was
the last thing I ever said to her.”
You didn’t mean to.“
Her arms were soft around his shoulders, a comforting weight
upon his body which he welcomed gratefully, putting his hands there, wanting it
to stay, wanting her to stay, to
never leave him.
When he felt her lips along the skin of his neck, in
translation of the gentlest kiss, a sigh left his mouth; and then she spoke,
quietly, a pale whisper to accompany the tactility of her affection, leaving
behind the ghost of a breath, making his hairs stand. “You didn’t mean to.”
Turning around, he made contact with her gaze, solemn and
kind, staring, waiting, never wavering. A blink and she was kissing him,
wholly, deeply, but careful, gripping his cheek, so close she was breathing in
his air, their air.
“Amelia,” he gasped, fingers combing her hair, mildly
fighting the pressure she applied to his mouth, though not hard enough to force
them apart, because, truthfully, that was the last thing he wanted.
“Square one,” he reminded reluctantly, breaking apart from
her, his mouth against the shell of her ear now.
Her hands travelled across his shoulders, clutching them,
turning the chair around, and pulling him up off of it. When her head tilted
upwards so she could better look at him, he was reminded of something, a memory
so fleeting, a moment so far away in time, so quickly gone, like a butterfly
wing caressing his cheek.
He’d told her that he never found tall people attractive,
and he was right to have said that, he was now realizing as he watched her
stare up at him, her tiny stature screaming the need for protection. However,
that in itself was a walking contradiction, because if anybody needed
safe-guarding, it wasn’t her. Amelia was brave, independent, having overcome so
much with the help of her own self-will, and not a lot else. He admired her for
such, as in this moment, when she told him the same thing she told that little
boy, Peter, not long before.
“You didn’t mean to, Owen. Say it for me. Believe it for me,
Taking in a sharp breath of air, he shut his eyes and opened
them again, finding her there in the same place she was, and holding his arms
now, her fingers indenting his skin through his dress shirt. He leaned forward,
his forehead touching hers, their noses slightly off-base, but still, he could
feel every movement she made, could feel her hair tickling his face, could see
even the tiniest freckle upon her nose, the ones makeup wouldn’t cover.
Her voice had a raspy timbre, always has, for as long as
he’d known her, probably due to something he’d rather not think about, the
abuse she’d put herself through for however long, and he wondered briefly, if
she thought about it on her worse days, on those during which it was harder to
resist, resist whatever was being offered to her if she had the flu, or in the
case of alcohol, as a gesture of social compliancy; he wondered if she thought
about how many times she came close to death, or if it were a larger number
than he’d feared, and suddenly, it wasn’t his sister he was thinking about, but
Amelia, and how, if she’d been gone
before he got a chance to ever know her, for her to be that support for him,
for her to hold him at the brink of sanity as she was now, it would be an
That thought is what started the tears, and they came slowly
at first, trailing down his cheeks with lethargy, as if the heaviness of these
impending moments, and those before, were too real for his baring of emotion, as it was a rarity usually, never
mind the circumstance.
He heard her gasp, but it was barely a sound to him, his
auditory sense becoming submerged within that of his heightened sense of touch;
her thumbs upon her cheeks, wiping those tears that fell, her arms around his
neck, softly pulling the tufts of hair at the base, and then her lips.
began to forge faster down his face and when she kissed them away, it was warm,
like sunshine wishing away the rain, falling from the bright blue of the sky,
and the crystalized orbs of his eyes.
“Oh, Owen…Owen…please…please don’t cry.”
He tried to respond, tried to tell her that it wasn’t
anything to do with what she thought, but the words became caught in his
throat, became a grittiness there that he choked on, sputtering, feeling a
shamefulness regarding his exposure of a secret vulnerability, affectively
ruining her vision of perfect.
“I – I – Amelia - “
“God, Owen, you’re gonna make me cry too. And I hate being
sad, you know that. I can’t deal with sad. At least no more than I have right
now, so please, stop.”
Her pleading only made his anguish intensify, and when the
passionate heat of her mouth kept coming in contact with the dewy warmth of his
continuous tears, he moaned with a faint feeling of pleasure, because this was
Amelia, and he could never deny the attraction he had towards her, lustful or
He’d been drawn
towards her from, quite honestly, the moment he first really saw her.
with the worlds most shocked expression taking over her features: her blue eyes
wide, her skin, like that of the princess who ate poison apples, paler than
what was natural, and in those seconds when he held her gaze, he fought to
banish the thought of repeatedly running his hands through her hair, a dark
color, battling with flyaway pieces, when he kissed away the surprise that was
shaping her mouth.
When he took her head in his hands and initiated a kiss now,
this, that day, was what he thought of, and it helped a little in alleviating
his earlier sorrow, calming the flow of his tears. His hands went directly into
her hair, his fingers becoming tangled in the gossamer strands, his palms
pressing against the sides of her skull, supporting her.
Her hands now cupped his face, fingers going up and over his
ears, her body pushing closer into his.
This was nothing like the teenaged kiss
they shared on Meredith’s porch weeks ago, or like the one in the elevator
that, if it hadn’t opened, would have led to potential charges of public and
workplace fornication, this was something much more adult, much less abandoned;
it was something of a kiss that made him light-headed, weak in the knees like a
pathetic schoolgirl, and he was forced to sit down again in the chair, pulling
her on top of him.
As her head moved in an effort to allow advantageous access
to his mouth on her neck, he caught his breath, breathing in and letting out
that same pocket of oxygen again and again, infused with the scent of her
perfume and antiseptic, an intoxicating blend that made him love-drunk past the
point of no return.
He began to suck on the spot he’d known to drive her crazy,
and when her sounds became too loud, and her curses too obvious, he slammed his
lips over hers.
“Owen,” she whined, “Screw square one. Let’s just…keep
Her mouth moved atop his when she talked, and though it
wasn’t friction in its purest form, he craved more of it, and of something much
more intense, rougher, harder, but tender just the same.
“Okay,” he allowed, breathless, as they separated for a
“Okay,” he said again, though his intonation was more of a
question, a higher inflection, and when she nodded, barely perceptible, he held
onto her hips to help her rise so she could wiggle out of her pants. At the
same time, she undid the knot on his scrubs, and pulled them off as he completely
removed her pants. They were both bare in a matter of seconds, and, instead of
moving, they were frozen in this moment, not touching, aside from his calloused
hands supporting her hips and holding her weight.
Biting her lip, she stared at him and he reciprocated, reminded
of the day she once looked at him like that, from under her lashes, a peaked
innocence that didn’t seem to fade even as she asked the question. “A rule – no co-workers?”
He’d known, of course, what she had been wondering then, the
implication as clear as a 3D MRI, and he’d stuttered a response, entirely
caught off guard, but was blessed, as she left the room, with images left
Without a word, he gently lowered her, and it only took
seconds for a moan to escape as she enveloped him completely, without
abruption, and the empyreal feeling of her so damned close to him, was more
satisfying than anything else he’d ever experienced; when her head came forward
to rest on his shoulder, and a whimper expelled from her closed mouth, he
leaned down to press his face to her hair, inhaling, and the smell of her
shampoo mingling gregariously with the unnameable hospital aroma made him
crazy, but the mild taste of his cologne on her skin had him nearly losing it
then and there.
“Amelia…” he sighed, saying nothing else, too hyped up on
sexualized adrenaline to form proper words, and the sound of his name
articulated by her voice, in a pleading and raspy accent, wasn’t helping.
“Owen…I…I just…I need you to…”
“What? What do you need?”
Asking this question however, was probably the stupidest
thing, as the vigorous up-and-down rocking of her hips was as good an
indication as if she’d answered outright.
He moved with her, joining her in
synchrony, being fed by her incessant motivation, moans passing from her mouth
to his, and in each breath he took he could taste her pleasure, feel her quake
slightly beneath his touch, even though he knew she was nowhere close. They’d
done it enough times, after all.
“Maybe we should…move to the couch? This is kind of…not that
I’m not enjoying this because I am…I really…really am…but aren’t you
Her giggles made him smile, and with a delicate caress, his
fingers traced the chiasmic dimple in her left cheek, and in reactivity, she
lowered her head, shying away. “What? They’re nothing special, I’ve had them
“They’re beautiful,” he assured, “I love them.”
Owen moved his arms under her and stood, and she let out a
breathy ‘oh my god’ as the movement
caused a shift, and he too, shut his eyes for a few seconds, allowing it to
pass over them both before moving to the couch adjacent to the chair.
down first, he crawled quite gracefully over top of her, managing not to cause
any hurt. Now that she was below him, he could see more of her, could revel in
her rapturous beauty - the darkness of her hair splaying along the naked skin
of her shoulders, and her widened eyes, like the mouth of a river, showing to
him the reflection of herself.
“Keep going,” she pulled his face down to hers, relaxing as
his hand weaved gently through her hair. “Please.”
He surrendered to her wishes, beginning slow once again, but
it was obvious that she wasn’t used to the change from the frenetic pace they’d
usually lose themselves in, taken by a blunt desire, and never given up until
both were sweat-ridden and breathless, mouthing each other’s names in the
This was what he wanted, however; he needed to have her
there for longer, needed to love her senseless, in case he lost the privilege
too soon. The thought still haunted him now: she was so close to taking those
drugs, and had he not shown up…the very probable outcome was a pain he never
wanted to know.
Her lips were like fire upon his own, hot and pulsating in
the wind of their shared breaths, and her tongue palmed the damp flesh of his
mouth, seeking what, he didn’t know, but her motions were provocative.
The taste of her was saccharine, and he experienced a moment
of paranoia: that maybe the drink Nathan had bought her wasn’t her last, and
maybe she’d drank today, but when her mouth opened to take a haphazard breath
in, he realized how angry she’d be if she could read his mind, how upset she’d
be if she found out that he doubted her, irrational, if only for a split
second. It was crazy, he knew, but he had to be sure.
“Amelia?” Owen broke away from her reluctantly, sighing
heavily as she slowly opened her eyes, seeming barely lucid under her desirous
“What is it? Is everything okay?” She stroked his cheek, and
he could tell that she was worried, though expectant, maybe hoping he’d say
more about his sister, even though it would totally kill the mood.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he tried once more to
rationalize his runaway thoughts but to no avail, deciding to just say it, with
what comes next a forefront thought. “Was that drink…the one that Riggs bought
you that night…it was your last, right?”
Her reaction wasn’t what he had been anticipating, but there
wasn’t a negative connotation there. Instead of lashing out, she remained
silent, blinking, and unsure of his implication. “Owen, what exactly are you
He could sense her oncoming defenses, and rushed to explain
himself further as he moved closer, which was a natural instinct when talking
to her, but it caused the application of pressure and she shut her eyes tight,
failing to resist her body’s innate reaction, which was to arch into the
“Ah, I…Owen…if we’re gonna have this conversation…at least
the one I think we’re about to have…we can’t do it like this. Okay?”
Owen nodded softly, dropping a culmination of sweet kisses
into her hair and along the crown of her head, hoping to commit her scent and
everything else about her to memory in this one, precarious moment as he left
her body. Her eyes remained closed even after his mouth wasn’t there anymore, her
breathing slow, and slightly ragged, as she rolled over onto her side.
He faced her now, and when she opened her eyes, he noticed
the curiosity deep within. She placed a palm on his bare chest, wrapping her
legs around his own, so that they became a tangle of limbs, close, but not
close enough, in his opinion. They could never be close enough lately, at least
not in the way he yearned for them to be,
“I need you to…tell me. Was it the last?”
“Yes! I promise you. What do you take me for, Owen? I was…I
was stressed, I was upset and so…it just seemed like the closest option.”
Owen sighed emphatically, wavering on his next words. “You
know I’m always here for you, Amelia. Even when I’m upset, or you’re upset, or
whatever situation we’re in, we’re in it together. I want…”
Her hands travelled around his back and up into his hair,
her head tilting upwards as they weren’t exactly level in stature. “You want
what, Owen? Tell me.”
Cupping her face in his hands, another sigh left his lips
and he was certain that she could feel its physicality upon her flushed face,
the heat beginning to drain from her cheeks only now, making her appear as if
she’d been frostbitten in a winter’s snow, warmed gently by a fire, after
having come inside.
She looked more beautiful now, than she would in full makeup
and a slinky black dress, though if she ever were in such an outfit, he
wouldn’t be in a place to complain. Shaking his head to remove any licentious
thoughts he was having, there came a third sigh.
“I just…I need you to promise me that whenever you’re going
through something, no matter how difficult, or how much or how little it has to
do with me, I want to be there. Don’t shut me out, please. That’s how it
starts, isn’t it?”
“I can’t – I won’t – I won’t lose you, Amelia. Not to alcohol,
not to drugs…not to anything. I keep…when I learned that Riggs had bought you
that drink…I thought the worst. I don’t doubt for a second that you have the
strength to pull yourself back up, because you do.”
He paused, rubbing his thumbs gingerly along her cheeks,
noticing that the first sign of tears was beginning to build, “I just worry. I
worry that if you started again, I wouldn’t be able to stop you. Not until it
was too late.”
“Owen,” Amelia cooed, “I can promise you that it would never
be your fault…if anything were to happen…okay? I can’t fully promise that
nothing will…you have no idea how much I wish I could, honestly, but…with
addicts it’s never guaranteed. One injection, one drink, could be a
game-changer, and it sucks, it really does, but the difference between me and
others who relapse, is that I have people when things get hard. I have you. And you are the basic equivalent
of like a thousand people so, I think I’m covered.”
The right side of her mouth upturned slightly, and he
scoffed, smiling also. “The point is, Owen, is that you can’t be worried about
me breaking, or losing me, because I’m here now, and whole and sober. It may be
60 days for the fourth time in my life, but isn’t it fourth time’s a charm?”
“Third actually,” he interjected, chuckling at her apparent
disregard as she waved a hand.
”Well…please, just believe me okay? Believe in me when I say that I’ll be fine. And
that you shouldn’t worry. Because I can handle being in charge of my own
health. I love that you care about me enough to get angry on my behalf, but
that was my stupid decision, accepting the drink. It wasn’t Riggs’ fault. And
it most certainly wasn’t yours. It was mine and mine alone. So I won’t let you
bare any guilt, or let you worry yourself sick about me. It’s not your job.
“But I –“
“Owen,” she warned, her tone taking on a soft scolding as
she lightly kissed his lips. “Shush. Stop talking.”
“Amelia I won’t stop – “
“Owen,” she said again, touching the side of his face, her
fingers shaping his stubble, the softness of her eyes showing him just how
serious she really was.
“I won’t let you be in charge of me. I know you care, I do,
and I really can’t thank you enough for that. And having you in my life makes
me better, sure, but ever since I was five years old, I had people – well,
Derek, interrogating me about every single decision I ever made. Whether or not
it was a good idea, what the consequences of my actions would be, what trouble
it could cause…my decisions always seemed like bad ones. He didn’t believe in
me as much as he didn’t trust my judgement, he never let me live, and I just…I
wanted to live my life, so bad, to not be trapped in bubble wrap for the rest of
my life…but he never let me.”
“And the drugs…” she took a deep breath, feeling his hand
rubbing soothing circles on her arm, “were they my escape? Maybe. I don’t know.
But soon enough, I got clean. I found a way to live my life the way I wanted,
without that help. And when Derek died…I lost that way…my way…again. And I
thought, drugs are easy, they numb the pain, and they give temporary thrills…I
relied on them for so long…but – “
“Amelia,” Owen whispered, so gently, it was as though he
were speaking to a child who had just lost a parent, and not a fully-grown
woman. “You don’t have to talk about this. I get it.”
She sighed, biting her bottom lip and down-casting her gaze,
unable to look at the pity within his own any longer.
“No, I do, because you
don’t. Not really. I had interventions. A few of them. Addison was there…my dad
– “her voice cracked on the last word and a red-hot shame coursed through her
veins as she felt her composure slipping away, into the abyss of a grief that
was so bottomless, she had been sure, at the time, that it would kill her.
“My dad –“ she gasped, not allowing the heavy sob to emit
itself from her mouth, so she covered it as she felt his lips on her forehead
and in her hair. He didn’t have to say anything, not right now, and she was so
glad that he didn’t.
“My dad was there. I could feel him there. But I didn’t
listen then. To anybody. And I should have. And so, when you showed up that
night, and I had that Oxy in my hand…I saw the look on your face when you saw
me. And I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do to you what I did to the others
that tried until they couldn’t anymore to help me. I care…I care so much, I
care way too much…about you…it’s terrifying, sometimes.”
“So, I didn’t do it. I knew I wouldn’t even before you
started talking. Because I couldn’t do that to you. But your words…you have
this way with your words that’s so…you’re not perfect, I know, but honestly, it
is perfect. You just knew what to say to get me to listen, and that’s special,
Owen. Not many people do. Derek did, but he’s gone. He’s…really gone…but you,
you’re still here. The fact that you saw me just about to jump and you stuck by
me to make sure I didn’t…you must really care about me. So thank you.”
There, naked bodies tangled up in one another on the couch,
they just stared at each other. He could see the dim light of the lamp playing
upon her facial features, highlighting the dried tears upon her skin and the shining
relief behind her eyes; he could feel her heart beats on his chest, the
eurythmic property so melodious it was almost peaceful, and it would be entirely,
had it not been for the hesitancy of his next words, something he prayed only
he could notice.
The two of them were dancing around the word ‘love’ and substituting it with ‘care,’ and it was obvious, well, to him
it was, anyway.
He could hear it in her voice, the reverent way in which she
spoke to or about him, and it was written all over her face, the way she would
just barely bite her lip when they’d exchange conversation, if only in passing
amongst the busy hospital halls, or when she would let out a light gasp at his touch
when they were in the work environment, always careful.
He loved her. He showed it in the way he pleasured her,
delaying gratification to himself to give her everything she needed and more.
He showed it in the way he protected her, coming to her defense when she
couldn’t see a reason to herself, or in the way he held her when she grieved,
allowing her to completely come undone, to drop her guard and just cry.
He knew he loved her then, that night on Meredith’s balcony,
when he was being physically torn apart by the loud, startling, sound of the
relentless sobs that wracked her body, causing her to shake violently in his
arms, when he was genuinely afraid that she may never catch a proper breath. He
knew he loved her as he stroked her hair in a way he perceived as soothing, as
he left his lips to linger on the burning skin of her forehead, when she
finally gave some distance between them, though he still could feel her haggard
breaths, could still taste the bitterness of her sorrow, and so the space was
futile, but it was also in that moment when he realized he needed her to be as
close as she was. He loved her.
It was ironic really, and had he expected anything else, he’d
be branded a fool. She had explained that the all of the men she loved always
died, and the outcome wasn’t all that rosy with the women he loved either. It
As he clutched the bag containing the drugs – they weren’t hers anymore – in his pocket, he prayed.
Despite the fact that religion had never been a dictating part of his life, he
prayed, to any higher power that would listen to his pleas, right there on the
deck, silently, lest she hear him, surrounded by her fragile being and the
He prayed that this love of his would be different, that he and
Amelia would work, that they would make it, and that he wouldn’t ever lose her
in some, stupid way like he did the others.
“Owen,” she scoffed, like he was being silly, drawing out
his words for so long. “Just tell me. For crying out loud, I just spewed my
shortcomings all over this ugly carpet, the least you can do is tell me what’s
on your mind.”
She giggled, though it was not a humorful sound, more like
any sound at all to fill the suspense with something other than silence and
He took a sharp breath in, tightening his legs around hers
and grabbing both of her hands, palm to palm. They weren’t in an ideal
position, haven’t been for a few hours now, and he was certain their backs
would be sore in the morning; however that was tolerable, because what he was
about to say couldn’t wait anymore. He knew that now.
“I love you, Amelia. God, I love you. I do. I don’t just care about you. I care about you
so much that even the mere thought of
losing you is hell. It’s a type of grief, a type of torture that I’ll never,
ever recover from, because that’s how much I love you.”
“I can’t possibly put it into words that you can understand
because I don’t even understand it. I thought I would never love again, not
after…not after Christina…but then there was you, Amelia. The women I’ve loved
before, they’ve always left me. I won’t let you leave me. I’m never going to
let you get so high that you don’t remember my name, or so drunk that you pass
out in a bar and get taken advantage of by some sleaze who thought buying you a
drink or two was how he was going to get into your pants.”
Owen steadied his breathing and loosened his grip around her
back, for his fingers were suddenly digging into her skin so hard, he was
afraid it was going to leave bruising. “Sorry,” he apologized gruffly, taking
her hands again instead.
“Oh…Owen…” He saw the water pooling around her sclera,
leaving her eyes with a certain delicacy that made wiping away her tears that
“I love you too. I’ve been denying it for a while, because
allowing myself to fall is what allows vulnerability, which is the breeding
ground for…but I know you won’t jeopardize my sobriety, I trust you. I trust
you more than I’ve trusted anybody in a very, very, long time.”
She smiled a tiny smile, which stretched her facial contours
to maximum attractiveness, putting the natural rouge back into her cheeks and
the endearing sparkle back into her eyes, an oceanic blue that he would love to
get lost in and never find his way back from.
“So this is real?”
“So real,” she affirmed, squeezing his hands and
intertwining their fingers.
He grinned, leaning forward only slightly to place a
feathery kiss onto her nose, then her forehead. He watched her as she opened
her eyes again, as they shut reflexively at his touch, and saw the same concupiscence
that had made home in her eyes before, back when they’d decided starting over
could wait. His gaze found her lips, still kiss-swollen, and she moved their
hands higher up the couch.
“Are you going to lock the door? Or are we taking a walk on
the wild side tonight?” she mumbled, kissing his cheek, once, twice, three
times, moving suavely to his neck as he fought their hands, wanting desperately
to run his own through her hair, but settled for rolling over and lavishing the
crevice between her shoulder and neck with his mouth, intending to leave one
hell of a hickey there.
“We never locked the door before…” he groaned, speaking
solely into the hotness of her skin and the tenseness of her muscles, her pulse
crashing against his lips with the force of one thousand hummingbirds.
She laughed. “Because we didn’t know that it was going to
happen before. It seems to be a running theme for us, doesn’t it?”
He nodded against her chest, chuckling. “It sure does.
“I think maybe we should get some sleep. We both have early
She raised her head from his neck, an expression he couldn’t
read taking refuge on her face.
He was tired,
he had a long day and so did she, but it wasn’t the real reason he couldn’t do
this with her now. He didn’t want to taint the moment they’d had, when they’d
told of their feelings, with some…definitely not meaningless, as it would mean
more now than it ever has in the past, but their sex would be different, less
of a lusty act and more of a sentiment. He wanted it to be that way, for it to
last longer, and he knew if they had sex now, that wouldn’t be the case.
“Okay,” she relented, moving to get up.
“No, no, no.” he chastised jokingly, pulling her back down
on top of him. “Where are you going?”
“To get dressed and find an on-call room,” she replied,
bemused. “Where are you going?”
“I’m staying here. And so are you. I’m comfy like this.”
“As if,” she laughed, smacking his head lightly and
threading her fingers through the curls on the nape of his neck. “But okay.
Just pass me my clothes. I’m freezing.”
Owen did as he was told, and they both got dressed, curling
around one another again like grapevines reaching towards the sun, on the
He stayed awake until she fell asleep, watching her let go
of the last shred of consciousness, and as it slipped through her lithe
fingers, her breathing became more labored, and her face become placid, showing
no signs of worry. It was the way he wished she could stay for the rest of her
life: painless and free of her demons.
As he too lost himself to a sleep as deep as his nature
would allow, he kissed her forehead, not wanting to rouse her by kissing her
lips instead, and whispered his love to her unconscious, to the woman who was
cuddled against his chest, her face nuzzled into the fabric of his scrub top,
faraway dreaming yet as close to him as she’d ever been.
“I love you, Amelia.”
It was the next morning, and Meredith Grey had come in
exceptionally early for rounds and wondering where her sister had stayed last
night. She had spoken to Meredith on the phone, saying that she’d be home soon,
claiming exhaustion but the need of her own bed. So, it made sense that
Meredith was left confused upon Amelia’s no-showing, and she resolved to check
all of the on-call rooms after making a cup of coffee, not wanting to wake
Maggie or the kids with the noise of making some at home.
Opening the door to the Attending’s lounge, she was greeted
by the surprise of two people having already gotten there, or more accurately,
having never left. Owen Hunt and Amelia Shepherd were sound asleep, their grip
on one another almost death-like. His hands were buried in her hair, his head
resting not on a pillow but on her shoulder. Her face was so close to his chest
it was a wonder that she hadn’t suffocated at some point during the night, but
the little moans expelling from her mouth every so often said that she was
Looking at them now, so peaceful, and at the little cheesy smiles that
emerged on their lips at her change of position, Meredith saw what she hadn’t
wanted herself to before. She saw two people who were very obviously in love,
and was left wondering if they’d admitted it to each other yet. Then came a
whisper, so faint it was a miracle she’d ever heard it in the first place.
“I love you, Amelia…so much…I’m not going to let you leave
me, ever. You hear me?” It was Owen’s voice and to Meredith that didn’t come as
much of a surprise. Christina had mentioned that he frequently talked in his
sleep. She smiled. Last night was obviously a big night for her sister and
Owen, and she was glad for them both.
Owen deserved happiness. He deserved a family and babies and
all Christina couldn’t give him. He deserved
her. He deserved Amelia.
Amelia too, deserved happiness, happiness after Derek,
happiness after all that has happened to her. Meredith could tell she wanted
children, by the way she interacted with her own, and she deserved them. She
deserved him. She deserved Owen.
“Amelia? Doctor Hunt?” Meredith coughed, then held in her
laughter when the both of them shot up straight and just about seriously
injured each other in the process.
“Grey, uh, hey…” Owen spoke first, as Amelia bit her lip and
shook her head, now facing her sister head-on.
“Hey Mer…I’m sorry…this isn’t…at all professional…we…I told
him we should find an on-call room.”
Meredith giggled, narrowing her eyes slightly in
realization. “You two didn’t have sex on this couch, did you? Because it’s
literally the only comfy piece of furniture in this entire hospital.”
“Whoops?” Amelia offered feebly, bashfully hiding her face
in Owen’s chest as he awkwardly cleared his throat, carding his fingers through
“Well, you’re buying a new one,” was all Meredith said,
turning towards the door.
“Oh please,” Amelia interjected boldly, “as if you and Derek
didn’t do it all over this place. You’re no saint, Meredith Grey. I’m onto
Owen almost choked on his shock, and Meredith whipped around
to see a smug expression on her sister’s face, like, ‘I was right. You’ve been caught.’
“Mhm. So be quiet. And if you’re leaving, kindly lock the
door on your way out. We have rounds in an hour.”
Owen laughed at Meredith’s balked expression as she remained
silent, shutting the door with a dulcet slam as the lock clicked over.
He raised his eyebrows at Amelia, her eyes dancing in a coquettish
rhythm, as she began to remove her top. “We have an hour, Dr. Hunt.”
“One. Hour,” she emphasized, taking off her pants next as he
remained fully clothed, watching her. “How many times can we go in an hour? You
up for the challenge?”
He smirked at the honeyed seduction that dripped from her
mouth, and he lost every bit of clothing at her accord a second later. “I never
back down from a good old-fashioned challenge, Amelia Shepherd. Don’t you know
me at all?”
She giggled, squealing as he gave her no choice but to
straddle his hips and lock her ankles, when he lifted her up and all but
slammed her against the opposite wall.
“You’re gonna be sore Owen…standing like this.”
He chuckled, finding the point on her neck that made her
tick and began sucking, darkening the hickey from the night before.
“Who said we would be here for long, huh?” he grumbled
huskily, grabbing greedily at her ass and forcefully pushing her into him.
The action caused her to scream – really scream – and he’d known it to be a combination of shock and
finding the exact spot on the first try, something he prided himself on with
“Holy shit…Owen Hunt…you are…dammit…you are so – “
Another gleeful scream punctuated her profanity laden words
as he picked up his pace, never giving her the time to recover from his harsh
entering, and the luxury of recovery wasn’t something she was missing, not
right now; not when she was being so brutally taken, like she was a whore from
the rougher side of town and not a renowned neurosurgeon at a prestigious
“I know…I know…fuck…you’re so…come on…let it all go for me,
Amelia. I know you want to. I can feel
that you want to. Don’t torture yourself.”
She was so stubborn sometimes with him, because coming first
met a loss of control, and such a loss was so familiar to her and it was hard
to relive, but she needed to know that she was safe with him and always would be; he would always be there to
bring her back onto the ground.
To show this, he slowed his thrusts, and gently rubbed her
cheek, forcing her to open her eyes, previously clamped shut so tight he was
afraid the vessels would burst, and really
see him, in this moment, through the blurriness of her euphoric haze.
“Hey…you know that I’ll be there to pull you back down,
right? You won’t be stuck there forever. I’m here. And I’ll always be here.
Don’t resist, Amelia. Let your body take control. You have me.”
“Okay,” she whispered mutely, in a way that was befogged
with exhaustion, raspy and defeated.
She bucked her hips forward, and he almost stopped
completely, giving her the upper hand, only helping her along in the last few
seconds, using his fingers to encourage her finishing.
“Owen?” she gasped heavily afterwards, after she had
reciprocated his favor in her own way, after only a minute or so, as he rode
out his orgasm.
“I love you. Last night was so…I just want to make sure you
know that. And we’re real.”
“So real,” he chuckled, echoing what she had said the
previous night. “And I love you too, Amelia.”
She leaned in to kiss him and it was like she had put the
entire weight of her body into the kiss, long and slow-burning, like the embers
of a fire, not the flames.