Fanfiction: Monster
Title: Monster
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Owen/Cristina
Rating: R/NC-17
Spoilers: All seasons to be safe.
Summary: He was the ex-Army badass attending who was really just an ass.
Word Count: 1,560
He ate my heart, he a-a-ate my heart
She had once called his hands hams, which he supposed was appropriate since Mark still considered him a meatballer and nothing else as a surgeon.
Ironically, she didn't seem to have any complaints about his hands when they were off of the job and roaming her body...or as of right now, working their way inside of her body.
"Fuck me." Cristina's words melted into his skin, her own 'little geniuses' very creative in the way they were reaching for and stroking his cock.
His only response was to twist his hand inside of her, causing her to gasp sharply and arch into him desperately. "You don't tell me when I get to fuck you."
Bitch I’m a monster no good blood sucker
He was the ex-Army badass attending who was really just an ass, who wasn't capable of empathy or gentleness.
And yet she seemed to revel in Major Hunt when he surfaced to give her orders and to have them followed to the letter and to crave the moments when they took that particular roleplay for a spin.
"Please...please...Owen..." Her eyes were fluttering and her voice high pitched with need as he dove into her with the hands she loved, with his mouth, with his teeth, with his tongue. "I'll do anything..."
"I know you will." His breath was on her neck as he turned her around and shoved her onto the bed, her back hitting the headboard and her thighs hitting the mattress. "And you're going to beg for it. You're going to beg for me." He could barely contain himself as her pussy was right there, glistening temptingly and primed for him to enter her, but her little mews and breathy pleas were enough to stave him off for now, to watch her writhe for him.
He ate my heart, he ate my heart/Instead, he's a monster in my bed
His relationships are a series of power plays, from overruling his colleagues in the ER to shouting down his residents to stop operating, to breaking up with his former fiancée in a two line email to leading on a friend who had wanted to be more.
But then she loved when he yelled back, when he challenged her, when he fought back in the bedroom and proved himself right in the workplace, when he was passionate and when he was pissed off, and when he whispered into her ear exactly what she was going to do to earn the privilege of him splitting her open and fucking her raw.
The flash of defiance in her eyes was in sharp contrast to her increased needful moans, her shaking body and her open mouth, slack with desire and slowly losing all measure of coherence. "Baby...please...I...you need to...I need..." Her cry was aborted as he flipped her over, settled himself between her legs and tugged sharply at her hair. "Now. I need your cock inside of me now..."
"My wife has a fucking dirty mouth." He rubbed his length against her, nearly spasming himself at the feel of her slick folds encasing him, and marked her neck with his teeth. "My wife." He tasted blood as he pinned her arm behind her and worked his mouth to the curve of her breast. "You're mine."
My eyes more red than the devil is
His entire relationship with Cristina was one that should have ended before it started, before he put his problems and his PTSD on her, before he wrapped his hands around her neck and nearly choked the life out of her.
"You're mine." Her voice was a desperate gasp now as he grabbed her pussy and ground against her ass. "Owen..."
He could have feasted on just her skin and he could have kept her on this edge, near sobbing, for forever and afterwards, but he didn't have to wait and there would always be the next time when he could hold out a little longer and drive her even further to the brink, to make her fall apart underneath him. She was his, after all. "Scream. Scream for me, Cristina."
But I can't stop staring in those evil eyes
Before he was the guy who clearly didn't see who his own girlfriend was after bringing her a cardio god to learn from, before he was the guy who took pieces of her because he asked her, for once, to stay, who was the abusive asshole because he slammed a fucking dish in a sink, before he was the guy that Meredith Grey didn't think would do right by Cristina.
Before he supposedly forced her to get married when she wasn't ready, when she was a basket case, even when she had said yes of her own accord, when she almost walked away only to come back and put the down payment on their first house together, when she had come back to herself and could have walked away again then.
I smell a massacre
Her moans lengthened into screams, into praises to the ceiling and curses of past generations of his family members as he impaled her, using the rhythm that she loved and hated because it was exactly what her body needed and it was almost too much for her tiny, petite little body that could handle whatever he threw at her. "Owen!"
Uh oh, there was a monster in my bed
He knew she liked when he manhandled her during times like this and took the lead and drilled her into the mattress, and yet she felt too damn good to stave off his rapidly deteriorating facade of control and the desire only she could evoke in him. "Come for me." His voice was nothing but a growl and his rhythm was everything he could pour into it before he took her entirely for his own pleasure.
Maybe he was what they all thought.
Maybe he was that guy.
I crossed the line
Her cries were bouncing off of the walls and though he cracked his hand across her ass when she was too incoherent to form his name, he was too busy drilling into her and reaching between them to coax another orgasm from his wife’s body, feeling his own dam break as he felt the pleasure course through her and make her fall beneath him and strip away everything but the two of them; the scratches making the skin of his back burn and the sweat dripping from both of their brows, the bruises forming around her collarbone and her toes digging into his hip, her hair an explosion of curls on the pillow, her eyes boring into his and the feel of her skin on his.
He tore my clothes right off, he ate my heart and then he ate my brain
He was barely down from his high before he was taking in the bruises he had caused to form on her delicate skin and his lips were gently roving over them in apology and to soothe them before her hands were clawing at his and instead bringing his mouth to her own for one of her patented kisses, the ones that blew his mind and caused him to forget to breathe, the messy ones that used teeth and tongue and didn’t give a fuck whether it was pretty or not, the ones that made him connect with her in such a way as to feel it in his bones, that undeniable rush of love, of passion, of…the pure, unadulterated, uniqueness that was Cristina Yang, in such a way to stake her claim on him, on them and to show the world that it was the two of them, against the world or not.
Everyone wants to know what my Achilles heel is/Love/I don't get enough of it
Hams. Meatballer. Ass. Unfeeling. Controlling. Oblivious. User. Selfish. Abuser.
Lying here in between Cristina’s legs where she liked him and where he enjoyed his right to be as her husband and as the man she loved…all of that didn’t mean a fucking thing to him.
Cristina certainly didn’t seem to be thinking along those lines either as she recovered underneath him, that defiant, wickedly playful expression already beginning to surface on her seemingly delicate features.
She was the one who mattered, her thoughts the ones he cared about, and who he had come through everything with so that they could have nights like these, where they could play and play rough if they so chose, and so that they could screw each other and everything and everyone else in the process.
Could I love him?
“We’re going to beg tonight, huh?” She sounded out of breath but her voice was ever lowering in octaves as she spoke into his ear. “You’re going to be the one screaming my name by the time I’m done with you.”
Without warning and with an abrupt display of the strength that so many didn’t see or want to see coming from this woman, she was astride him and ripping the pillow from under his head so she could use the pillowcase to bind his hands firmly above his head, squeezing his hand with her tiny one briefly before that delectable evil glint appeared again in her eyes and she sought to use her hands for other, more pleasurable endeavors.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Owen/Cristina
Rating: R/NC-17
Spoilers: All seasons to be safe.
Summary: He was the ex-Army badass attending who was really just an ass.
Word Count: 1,560
He ate my heart, he a-a-ate my heart
She had once called his hands hams, which he supposed was appropriate since Mark still considered him a meatballer and nothing else as a surgeon.
Ironically, she didn't seem to have any complaints about his hands when they were off of the job and roaming her body...or as of right now, working their way inside of her body.
"Fuck me." Cristina's words melted into his skin, her own 'little geniuses' very creative in the way they were reaching for and stroking his cock.
His only response was to twist his hand inside of her, causing her to gasp sharply and arch into him desperately. "You don't tell me when I get to fuck you."
Bitch I’m a monster no good blood sucker
He was the ex-Army badass attending who was really just an ass, who wasn't capable of empathy or gentleness.
And yet she seemed to revel in Major Hunt when he surfaced to give her orders and to have them followed to the letter and to crave the moments when they took that particular roleplay for a spin.
"Please...please...Owen..." Her eyes were fluttering and her voice high pitched with need as he dove into her with the hands she loved, with his mouth, with his teeth, with his tongue. "I'll do anything..."
"I know you will." His breath was on her neck as he turned her around and shoved her onto the bed, her back hitting the headboard and her thighs hitting the mattress. "And you're going to beg for it. You're going to beg for me." He could barely contain himself as her pussy was right there, glistening temptingly and primed for him to enter her, but her little mews and breathy pleas were enough to stave him off for now, to watch her writhe for him.
He ate my heart, he ate my heart/Instead, he's a monster in my bed
His relationships are a series of power plays, from overruling his colleagues in the ER to shouting down his residents to stop operating, to breaking up with his former fiancée in a two line email to leading on a friend who had wanted to be more.
But then she loved when he yelled back, when he challenged her, when he fought back in the bedroom and proved himself right in the workplace, when he was passionate and when he was pissed off, and when he whispered into her ear exactly what she was going to do to earn the privilege of him splitting her open and fucking her raw.
The flash of defiance in her eyes was in sharp contrast to her increased needful moans, her shaking body and her open mouth, slack with desire and slowly losing all measure of coherence. "Baby...please...I...you need to...I need..." Her cry was aborted as he flipped her over, settled himself between her legs and tugged sharply at her hair. "Now. I need your cock inside of me now..."
"My wife has a fucking dirty mouth." He rubbed his length against her, nearly spasming himself at the feel of her slick folds encasing him, and marked her neck with his teeth. "My wife." He tasted blood as he pinned her arm behind her and worked his mouth to the curve of her breast. "You're mine."
My eyes more red than the devil is
His entire relationship with Cristina was one that should have ended before it started, before he put his problems and his PTSD on her, before he wrapped his hands around her neck and nearly choked the life out of her.
"You're mine." Her voice was a desperate gasp now as he grabbed her pussy and ground against her ass. "Owen..."
He could have feasted on just her skin and he could have kept her on this edge, near sobbing, for forever and afterwards, but he didn't have to wait and there would always be the next time when he could hold out a little longer and drive her even further to the brink, to make her fall apart underneath him. She was his, after all. "Scream. Scream for me, Cristina."
But I can't stop staring in those evil eyes
Before he was the guy who clearly didn't see who his own girlfriend was after bringing her a cardio god to learn from, before he was the guy who took pieces of her because he asked her, for once, to stay, who was the abusive asshole because he slammed a fucking dish in a sink, before he was the guy that Meredith Grey didn't think would do right by Cristina.
Before he supposedly forced her to get married when she wasn't ready, when she was a basket case, even when she had said yes of her own accord, when she almost walked away only to come back and put the down payment on their first house together, when she had come back to herself and could have walked away again then.
I smell a massacre
Her moans lengthened into screams, into praises to the ceiling and curses of past generations of his family members as he impaled her, using the rhythm that she loved and hated because it was exactly what her body needed and it was almost too much for her tiny, petite little body that could handle whatever he threw at her. "Owen!"
Uh oh, there was a monster in my bed
He knew she liked when he manhandled her during times like this and took the lead and drilled her into the mattress, and yet she felt too damn good to stave off his rapidly deteriorating facade of control and the desire only she could evoke in him. "Come for me." His voice was nothing but a growl and his rhythm was everything he could pour into it before he took her entirely for his own pleasure.
Maybe he was what they all thought.
Maybe he was that guy.
I crossed the line
Her cries were bouncing off of the walls and though he cracked his hand across her ass when she was too incoherent to form his name, he was too busy drilling into her and reaching between them to coax another orgasm from his wife’s body, feeling his own dam break as he felt the pleasure course through her and make her fall beneath him and strip away everything but the two of them; the scratches making the skin of his back burn and the sweat dripping from both of their brows, the bruises forming around her collarbone and her toes digging into his hip, her hair an explosion of curls on the pillow, her eyes boring into his and the feel of her skin on his.
He tore my clothes right off, he ate my heart and then he ate my brain
He was barely down from his high before he was taking in the bruises he had caused to form on her delicate skin and his lips were gently roving over them in apology and to soothe them before her hands were clawing at his and instead bringing his mouth to her own for one of her patented kisses, the ones that blew his mind and caused him to forget to breathe, the messy ones that used teeth and tongue and didn’t give a fuck whether it was pretty or not, the ones that made him connect with her in such a way as to feel it in his bones, that undeniable rush of love, of passion, of…the pure, unadulterated, uniqueness that was Cristina Yang, in such a way to stake her claim on him, on them and to show the world that it was the two of them, against the world or not.
Everyone wants to know what my Achilles heel is/Love/I don't get enough of it
Hams. Meatballer. Ass. Unfeeling. Controlling. Oblivious. User. Selfish. Abuser.
Lying here in between Cristina’s legs where she liked him and where he enjoyed his right to be as her husband and as the man she loved…all of that didn’t mean a fucking thing to him.
Cristina certainly didn’t seem to be thinking along those lines either as she recovered underneath him, that defiant, wickedly playful expression already beginning to surface on her seemingly delicate features.
She was the one who mattered, her thoughts the ones he cared about, and who he had come through everything with so that they could have nights like these, where they could play and play rough if they so chose, and so that they could screw each other and everything and everyone else in the process.
Could I love him?
“We’re going to beg tonight, huh?” She sounded out of breath but her voice was ever lowering in octaves as she spoke into his ear. “You’re going to be the one screaming my name by the time I’m done with you.”
Without warning and with an abrupt display of the strength that so many didn’t see or want to see coming from this woman, she was astride him and ripping the pillow from under his head so she could use the pillowcase to bind his hands firmly above his head, squeezing his hand with her tiny one briefly before that delectable evil glint appeared again in her eyes and she sought to use her hands for other, more pleasurable endeavors.