Has it honestly been that long since I've written something?
Wow.
Do any of you even remember me? If you don't, go check out my other stories, they'll help spark your memory.
Well, if it really has been ages since I've written, I'm probably either a little rusty or improved greatly. Most likely the former.
Disclaimer - I do not own S.G.
:)
...
Glass shatters, and in some far off place, she can hear the distant cry of a wolf, bold and melancholy. A thud, a crash, and she's up on her feet, launching herself from the bed she was previously lounging on.
She glances up, and zeroes in on his well-built frame, those broad shoulders and that sun-kissed hair, now matted to his forehead with sweat. She remembers a time, not such a long while ago, when she'd slid her fingers through that very hair lovingly - a gentle caress of intimate fingers against his golden locks.
Gentle was not something she felt like being tonight.
"How could you?" she spits, glaring at him from across the room.
He looks up, his eyes piercing through her own as realization dawns. "I did what I had to do. I couldn't have waited any longer."
She feels a prickling in her mind - a tiny voice telling her to just get it over with, but she refuses. He deserves this, she reminds herself. He bought it on himself.
"You know how I felt about them!" she cries, hurling the first thing she can grasp at his handsome face. "You knew how much I needed them, and yet you went ahead and did it anyway!"
He ducks out of the way swiftly, his magnificent pink wings springing from his back and guiding him to the ceiling. From his high vantage, he smirks down at her, revealing his teeth in a Cheshire grin.
"Do you want them back? Do you miss them? Does it hurt knowing you'll never see them ever again?"
She growls, reaching for something else to throw, something to cause even the tiniest bit of damage, but her fingers grasp at nothing.
"I hate you." She stomps towards the door as quick as she can in her current state. She hears an amused chuckle come from behind her, but she ignores it and moves on.
He doesn't deserve her time.
She's almost at the door - almost free from his irritating presence, when she feels strong, gentle arms slide around her expanded waist and lift her into the air. She grunts, but doesn't say anything more.
"I'm sorry," he whispers into her ear, floating them gently back towards the ground. "I didn't know they meant that much to you. I just...I didn't think. I'm really sorry, Sabrina."
Was that...remorse she heard in his voice?
"But...but you know how I feel about my pickles, Puck."
She could practically feel the grin forming on his face.
"I already told you, I couldn't wait, and it was just sitting there on the table when I came home, open and ready for me to eat. I'm sorry I didn't think, Grimm, but I just couldn't resist."
She slouches in his arms once they hit the floor, and he guides her back to the bed carefully. Once they reach it he helps her lay down before moving to his side of the bed.
Once they're both comfortable and tucked beneath the covers, he tips her head towards his and kisses her lovingly on the lips. He pulls back slightly, their breath mingling, and says-
"Did you honestly think throwing a teddy bear at my head was going to do any harm?"
She glares at him, shoving him lightly in the chest, and he laughs, drawing her closer.
"I couldn't find anything else to throw at the time. You're lucky I didn't somehow manage to grab the alarm clock."
He rests a hand on her protruding belly and caresses it sweetly. She smiles at the gesture - intimate yet powerful.
"I think I broke the vase on the dresser when you pushed me. Next time you decide to abuse me, be a bit more considerate towards our surroundings."
She buries her head in his chest. "Our surroundings? What about you?"
"I think I deserved it this time. Coming back from my daily run and eating your pickles is a plausible excuse to manhandle me. And, also, you're five months pregnant with our child, so I think irrationality and abuse are excusable."
She grins into his sweatshirt, still damp from his run. "You didn't take a shower yet."
"No," he sniffs. "I had to pee, and then when I came in here to get my towel, you decided to jump me."
"I'm sorry," she replies, shameful. "I'll try to be less violent the next time we run out of pickles."
Puck chuckles. "I don't think that's a problem, seeing as though I bought a whole carton of pickle jars last week and stored them in the basement in case of emergencies."
He doesn't even have time to take in her expression before she's up and out of the room, shoving him unceremoniously to the floor, as she thuds down the stairs to find her beloved.
...