five people meredith never rebounded with {meredith/various}
Title: Five People Meredith Never Rebounded With
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Meredith. Meredith/Alex, Meredith/Sadie, Meredith/Mark, Meredith/Lexie, Meredith/Owen
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,230
Prompt: #23 - Lovers for fanfic100
Author's Note: These are basically five seperate drabbles; if you have issues with femslash just read around them.
Summary: Post 5.17 - I Will Follow You Into The Dark. She's punching the self-destruct button, and who knows who she'll take down with her.
alex
She’s going to take advantage of things like half-conscious decisions and cold sides of the bed.
The comforter on this bed has always been heavier than the others, she remembers from the whole two nights she’s spent in that room since she’s owned that house, and tonight it falls down around her like a cocoon, confined yet safe. Alex stirs next to her, arms reaching out for her, sliding over her hip and pulling her closer, colliding with thin cotton and bare skin.
“Alex,” she whispers, because she might sleep with him but she won’t lie to him. She watches his eyes open; he doesn’t pull away.
“What are you…?” He starts to ask but she presses a finger to his lips, a mumbled ‘shh’, and then replaces it with her lips, hand falling down to rest on his arm. They’re grownups; if he doesn’t want to then he knows how to stop.
(He doesn’t: both know how to or actually. His hands still shake a little against her skin).
---
sadie
“Remember Amsterdam?” It’ll be the second time Sadie’s brought that up, though this time it isn’t the argument she’s talking about. The tone of her voice has changed too, dropping an octave, breathier, and her lips are stained pink-red, either from lipstick or the red wine formerly in her glass. It sits empty on the counter in the tiny kitchen that happens to be in this suite she’s staying in, the second fanciest hotel in Seattle, chosen most likely because it’s farther away from Seattle Grace than the first one.
They’ve relocated to the bed now, sprawled out on white sheets, and Sadie certainly isn’t acting like she’s wearing a terrycloth bathrobe that only hits mid-thigh, but she is, and every time she moves it moves up a few more precious centimeters. It’s deliberate. Everything with Sadie is deliberate.
“Rembrandt Square and too much champagne,” she continues, a little drunken laugh as she asks, “What was that boy’s name? The one we met on the train? Penn?”
“Peter,” Meredith supplies, a smile pulling at her lips. “He looked like it was Christmas morning when we dragged him back with us.”
“It’s not every day two hot college girls pull you off a train and proposition you for a…” Sadie trails then, the rest of the sentence getting lost in a moment of nostalgia turning quickly to one of regret. These are tales of other lives they no longer lead - well, a life Meredith no longer leads. The jury is still out on Sadie, and frankly Meredith’s surprised she didn’t go from Seattle Grace straight to a plane bound from Europe. But she’s still here, and Meredith’s glad for that, somehow, surprisingly.
“Things weren’t ever the same,” Meredith exhales, telling a story they both already know, and she reaches out a hand, twirling one single blond curl around her finger. It’s smooth between her fingers and when she lets go, it lies against Sadie’s shoulder, limp. “It never is,” she says, decisively.
When Sadie kisses her it’s almost exactly like Amsterdam. Exactly like all those other times, European countries and cities she can’t even try to remember the names of, before that, when they were still in school. She still kisses the same, moves the same, tastes the same.
It reminds Meredith of the simpler, carefree times that she wishes she could get back to.
---
mark
If she’s to believe what she’s heard, it’s as much of a rite of passage to sleep with Mark as it is to sleep with her. So they have that in common.
Derek will berate her if he ever finds out (not that she cares, not that she’s thinking of him, because she can’t, not now, maybe not ever), and her already strained relationship with Lexie will probably be pretty much non-existent, but it’s her price to pay and she’ll deal with that when the time comes. If the time comes.
For now, she’s three sheets to the wind and giggly on top of that, a happy drunk for once, and Mark smells of leather and scotch, something comforting about that. He grunts every time she touches his right hand, the one covered in swirls of purple and yellow, a palette that’s almost pretty in this light, at this stage of the game, and a few times she bumps into it just because she can. She’s not doing any damage, it’s healed enough by now, but it’s mildly painful.
She takes it as a reminder that she can still make people feel something.
“You were always going to break her heart,” she says, like an ‘I told you so’, defiant against the feel of his fingers against her inner thigh, spreading her wider. The Sloan method, she’s heard it called, and now she’s about to find out if it lives up to its reputation.
“And you were always going to break his,” he breathes out, and she shudders.
---
lexie
“I was never cut out to be a big sister.” Meredith can’t believe she’s confessing things like this at the same time as she’s tugging up on the hem of Lexie’s shirt. There’s something wrong with that, discussing complicated family trees in between discarded clothing and some rather aggressive kisses. But Meredith never claimed to be anything but messed up anyway. “I’m sorry,” she adds, not specifically for this, maybe, but for everything.
This isn’t a road she should be leading her down. Poor self-destructive Meredith, bringing others into the fray, damaging everything she can get her hands on until they resemble something like her.
Lexie doesn’t pull back, shake her head, give some convincing speech about how, yes, she really is, or maybe she’s just trying. Instead she slips her tongue into Meredith’s mouth, and Meredith gives up on removing Lexie’s shirt, settling for getting her hands as far up it as she can, fingers tracing something random into the skin of her back.
So maybe Lexie’s not much better at this than she is.
---
owen
She’s going to call this one ‘shaking things up’, for lack of anything else to call it (because ‘fucking my best friend’s almost-boyfriend sounds tacky).
Surprisingly, Owen goes along with it. Meredith can’t say she isn’t just a little surprised. She never pictured him as one for infidelities, but then again Cristina said they never slept together, so she doesn’t quite know where the line is. They don’t really know him anyway - he’s a mystery, and maybe that intrigues her a little.
“I throw people into walls,” he admits, maybe warns, and she’s already heard this story from Cristina, already heard all about how sorry he is, and how she doesn’t think it’s a big deal. It doesn’t intimidate her, all of his problems, because no matter what they’re doing right now, no matter how quickly she’s working the drawstring on his scrub bottoms loose, she’s still not going to be the one who’s there to deal with the aftermath in the morning.
“I build walls,” she decides to share, if they’re going to play show and tell with their flaws.
Later, she starts to realize that he was only really trying to protect Cristina here, in some sick and twisted way that she understands purely for that fact. To protect her from himself.
Meredith thinks she sees far too many similarities there.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Meredith. Meredith/Alex, Meredith/Sadie, Meredith/Mark, Meredith/Lexie, Meredith/Owen
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,230
Prompt: #23 - Lovers for fanfic100
Author's Note: These are basically five seperate drabbles; if you have issues with femslash just read around them.
Summary: Post 5.17 - I Will Follow You Into The Dark. She's punching the self-destruct button, and who knows who she'll take down with her.
alex
She’s going to take advantage of things like half-conscious decisions and cold sides of the bed.
The comforter on this bed has always been heavier than the others, she remembers from the whole two nights she’s spent in that room since she’s owned that house, and tonight it falls down around her like a cocoon, confined yet safe. Alex stirs next to her, arms reaching out for her, sliding over her hip and pulling her closer, colliding with thin cotton and bare skin.
“Alex,” she whispers, because she might sleep with him but she won’t lie to him. She watches his eyes open; he doesn’t pull away.
“What are you…?” He starts to ask but she presses a finger to his lips, a mumbled ‘shh’, and then replaces it with her lips, hand falling down to rest on his arm. They’re grownups; if he doesn’t want to then he knows how to stop.
(He doesn’t: both know how to or actually. His hands still shake a little against her skin).
---
sadie
“Remember Amsterdam?” It’ll be the second time Sadie’s brought that up, though this time it isn’t the argument she’s talking about. The tone of her voice has changed too, dropping an octave, breathier, and her lips are stained pink-red, either from lipstick or the red wine formerly in her glass. It sits empty on the counter in the tiny kitchen that happens to be in this suite she’s staying in, the second fanciest hotel in Seattle, chosen most likely because it’s farther away from Seattle Grace than the first one.
They’ve relocated to the bed now, sprawled out on white sheets, and Sadie certainly isn’t acting like she’s wearing a terrycloth bathrobe that only hits mid-thigh, but she is, and every time she moves it moves up a few more precious centimeters. It’s deliberate. Everything with Sadie is deliberate.
“Rembrandt Square and too much champagne,” she continues, a little drunken laugh as she asks, “What was that boy’s name? The one we met on the train? Penn?”
“Peter,” Meredith supplies, a smile pulling at her lips. “He looked like it was Christmas morning when we dragged him back with us.”
“It’s not every day two hot college girls pull you off a train and proposition you for a…” Sadie trails then, the rest of the sentence getting lost in a moment of nostalgia turning quickly to one of regret. These are tales of other lives they no longer lead - well, a life Meredith no longer leads. The jury is still out on Sadie, and frankly Meredith’s surprised she didn’t go from Seattle Grace straight to a plane bound from Europe. But she’s still here, and Meredith’s glad for that, somehow, surprisingly.
“Things weren’t ever the same,” Meredith exhales, telling a story they both already know, and she reaches out a hand, twirling one single blond curl around her finger. It’s smooth between her fingers and when she lets go, it lies against Sadie’s shoulder, limp. “It never is,” she says, decisively.
When Sadie kisses her it’s almost exactly like Amsterdam. Exactly like all those other times, European countries and cities she can’t even try to remember the names of, before that, when they were still in school. She still kisses the same, moves the same, tastes the same.
It reminds Meredith of the simpler, carefree times that she wishes she could get back to.
---
mark
If she’s to believe what she’s heard, it’s as much of a rite of passage to sleep with Mark as it is to sleep with her. So they have that in common.
Derek will berate her if he ever finds out (not that she cares, not that she’s thinking of him, because she can’t, not now, maybe not ever), and her already strained relationship with Lexie will probably be pretty much non-existent, but it’s her price to pay and she’ll deal with that when the time comes. If the time comes.
For now, she’s three sheets to the wind and giggly on top of that, a happy drunk for once, and Mark smells of leather and scotch, something comforting about that. He grunts every time she touches his right hand, the one covered in swirls of purple and yellow, a palette that’s almost pretty in this light, at this stage of the game, and a few times she bumps into it just because she can. She’s not doing any damage, it’s healed enough by now, but it’s mildly painful.
She takes it as a reminder that she can still make people feel something.
“You were always going to break her heart,” she says, like an ‘I told you so’, defiant against the feel of his fingers against her inner thigh, spreading her wider. The Sloan method, she’s heard it called, and now she’s about to find out if it lives up to its reputation.
“And you were always going to break his,” he breathes out, and she shudders.
---
lexie
“I was never cut out to be a big sister.” Meredith can’t believe she’s confessing things like this at the same time as she’s tugging up on the hem of Lexie’s shirt. There’s something wrong with that, discussing complicated family trees in between discarded clothing and some rather aggressive kisses. But Meredith never claimed to be anything but messed up anyway. “I’m sorry,” she adds, not specifically for this, maybe, but for everything.
This isn’t a road she should be leading her down. Poor self-destructive Meredith, bringing others into the fray, damaging everything she can get her hands on until they resemble something like her.
Lexie doesn’t pull back, shake her head, give some convincing speech about how, yes, she really is, or maybe she’s just trying. Instead she slips her tongue into Meredith’s mouth, and Meredith gives up on removing Lexie’s shirt, settling for getting her hands as far up it as she can, fingers tracing something random into the skin of her back.
So maybe Lexie’s not much better at this than she is.
---
owen
She’s going to call this one ‘shaking things up’, for lack of anything else to call it (because ‘fucking my best friend’s almost-boyfriend sounds tacky).
Surprisingly, Owen goes along with it. Meredith can’t say she isn’t just a little surprised. She never pictured him as one for infidelities, but then again Cristina said they never slept together, so she doesn’t quite know where the line is. They don’t really know him anyway - he’s a mystery, and maybe that intrigues her a little.
“I throw people into walls,” he admits, maybe warns, and she’s already heard this story from Cristina, already heard all about how sorry he is, and how she doesn’t think it’s a big deal. It doesn’t intimidate her, all of his problems, because no matter what they’re doing right now, no matter how quickly she’s working the drawstring on his scrub bottoms loose, she’s still not going to be the one who’s there to deal with the aftermath in the morning.
“I build walls,” she decides to share, if they’re going to play show and tell with their flaws.
Later, she starts to realize that he was only really trying to protect Cristina here, in some sick and twisted way that she understands purely for that fact. To protect her from himself.
Meredith thinks she sees far too many similarities there.