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the-hinky-panda · 1 month

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The Drowning Kind: Part III

Sean rarely sleeps. His secrets, his plans, always keep his mind in constant motion. Examining all sides of the task at hand, making uneasy alliances with untrustworthy people makes sleeping a luxury. Closing his eyes, being vulnerable, have given him multiple nights of insomnia.

But not with you.

The first time the two of you spent the night together, curled up together on the river bank, under a blanket he stashed in the kayak, he was shocked to discover that he had fallen asleep. The stars that he had been staring up at had mostly disappeared, fading away in the early morning light. You, however, were still curled against him, head on his chest, still sleeping soundly. Your ribcage moved under his hand with each breath you took and he realized immediately that he loved you. He would do anything to keep you safe, keep you near him, this little slice of peace and authenticity.

That was two weeks ago.

He’s only missed seeing you three nights during that time. He hates to admit this but he’s getting used to sleeping a few hours each night now and finding it harder and harder to do so when you’re not in his arms. Last night was no different, in fact, even more so now that you fixed up this fishing shack and dragged a futon in here. It’s the first time the two of you have slept in anything resembling a bed and even though he can still feel the steel bars digging into his back, he doesn’t want to move a muscle.

He feels you start to wake up, little shifting movements in an effort to squeeze yourself closer to him. He does move this time, turning slightly so he can run both his hands over your bare skin and bury his nose where your neck and shoulder meet. He can feel you smile, your cheek pressing against his ear as you run your fingers through his hair.

“Good morning.”

He hums in response, pressing kisses along the column of your neck. The scent of jasmine and eucalyptus, your scent, fills his nose and he wants nothing more than to carry it with him for the rest of the day. He’s used to keeping secrets but he’s growing tired of keeping this one. The world he sees is nothing but violence and bloodshed. This love has to be hidden and every day that passes, the more that secrecy feels like the real crime.

Your back arches when he draws one of your nipples into his mouth. Your blunt fingernails dig into his scalp when he drags his tongue over the hardening nub. A moan is ripped from your throat when his teeth graze over it.

“Fuck, Sean.”

He slips a hand between your legs and finds you already soaking wet, his fingers sliding easily inside of you. He wonders if he’ll ever get tired of this, of you. His track record has always been spotty at best. Relationships pursued to kill time, boredom, or to create alliances. But then you walked into his life and turned everything on its head. He’s felt a want, a need, that he’s never felt before. You can’t go a day without the water, and he can’t go a day without you. It should put the fear of God into him, having something with such power over him, but it doesn’t. There’s an odd comfort in it actually.

Your hand wraps around his already hard cock, a steady pressure and stroke. Now it’s his turn to moan.

“Please, Sean.”

As if he could deny you anything. He slides his fingers out of you, pulling your leg over his hip. He captures your mouth with his as he enters you, swallowing down your moan. The noises you make, the intensity of your hold on his shoulders, arms, and back lead him to believe that no one ever loved you like this. That this is just as new a sensation to you as it is to him. This is the moment that he realizes you love him. The realization is enough to halt his movements, to stop time long enough for you to release your grip on his shoulders. You end up holding his face gently in his hands, your pupils still wide and black.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice is breathy, desire drenched but there’s concern bleeding through. Color starts to seep back into your eyes and worry creases your forehead. “Sean?”

“I love you.” He chokes on the words, this barbed-wire secret that feels like it rips his throat when he speaks it outloud. It’s admitting his greatest weakness and he’s never been comfortable with that. But it’s out there now, handing in the air between you and it seems far more intimate than being buried inside you. He’s shown you his heart.

Your smile is relieved, beautiful. “I love you, too.”

And that is Sean Renard’s biggest, most damaging secret he has: he’s fallen in love.

#sean renard x you #sean renard x reader #sean renard x ofc #sean renard fic #captain sean renard x you #captain sean renard x reader #captain sean renard fic

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the-hinky-panda · 2 months

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The Drowning Kind Series

Title: The Drowning Kind

Pairing: Captain Sean Renard x OFC (written as a reader)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You heard of the Portland Grimm and leave your fundamentalist group of naiads in Vancouver. You just wanted a safe fresh start; you didn't expect to fall in love with a royal hybrid police captain.

Part I

Part II

Part III

#sean renard x you #sean renard x reader #sean renard x ofc #captain sean renard x reader #captain sean renard x you #captain sean renard x ofc #sean renard fic #captain sean renard fic #grimm fic

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the-hinky-panda · 2 months

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The Drowning Kind: Part II

Title: The Drowning Kind

Pairing: Captain Sean Renard x OFC (written as a reader)

Rating: Explicit

There are two things that naiads are experts in: swimming and secrets.

When you first met Sean Renard, you immediately recognized a fellow secret keeper. Words were used sparsely and with the craft of saying enough but providing no actual information. It was a language that you spoke fluently and his presence soon became the closest thing you ever felt to being home. You didn’t think he felt the same way until you saw the red kayak on the river at ten o’clock at night two days after the close of the case you had offered assistance.

The late night rendezvous continued for the next two weeks, you floating alongside the boat while conversation flowed, still guarded but slowly unfurling tiny bits of information. You moved from Vancouver for a fresh start. His ancestry was old, traced back hundreds of years from Europe. You were living in a broken down house along the river because that was all you could afford. He was living in a penthouse in Portland. You had taught yourself how to read and write, your village not strong believers in their women being educated. He spoke five languages and had the best education money could buy.

Slowly, more valuable pieces started to become revealed. His hybrid heritage. Your disfigured hands and feet. His tiring game of playing both ends against the middle to protect the Portland Grimm. Your deep scars of a betrayal from someone you had trusted. He was searching for balance between the two worlds he represented. You were searching for the girl who had dreams and once believed that love was real.

So you found each other.

Due to the situation he found himself in, along with a diabolical brother who searched for leverage in every aspect of his life, you understood why this needed to stay a secret. For your protection and everyone else around you, no one could know that you had regained that tiny spark of hope that maybe love wasn’t a myth. You still weren’t convinced of what this was between you two but it was precious enough to protect. And you did, for the first time in a long time, feel truly protected. So you kept the secret.

“Where are we going?”

You glance over your shoulder. “What’s the matter, Sean? Don’t you trust me?”

The smile he gives you is sly, a subtle twist to the side of his mouth. “All I asked is what did you do today. Now you have me on one of the uninhabited islands in the middle of the river. I’m sure you can understand my unease.”

“I do,” you respond. Trust is hard for both of you after the lives you’ve lived. “It’s worth it, I promise.”

You found the abandoned fishing shack the same way you find everything, by accident. Growing up along riverbanks and on the edges of lakes in Vancouver, you had more of a need to know the flow of the water and the islands that got in the way of it. You were spending much of your free time learning the same thing here in Portland. That knowledge is what crossed your path with Detectives Burkhart and Griffin.

A group of college kids who had too much to drink had gone missing after an afternoon of tubing on the river. They unknowingly became prey for some rowdy wendigo and needed to be found ASAP. Burkhart had reached out to the naiad community in the harbor and you had wanted to show your worth to your new community. You didn’t expect to be the one to find them but you did, only one out of the group of seven fell victim to the wendigo. Now, you were the riverway consultant for the Portland PD.

After your maiming, you were still able to be useful.

The shack was falling down, abandoned for years. It didn’t take much to patch the small roof or replace the broken board walls. It was meant to be a shelter from the elements, nothing longstanding. There’s no electricity that runs into it so you have to get creative in how to fix it up. Abel and his daughters helped you out by using their fishing boat to bring a futon, small armchair, and a desk. You brought some of your books and candles. You pitched it to them as your retreat but your true intention is to share it with only one other person.

He takes in the ramshackle little hut with cautious curiosity. “Did you build this?”

“No, I’m not that talented.”

You push the door open hesitantly. You had already lit some of the candles, the soft glow flickering off the wooden walls and furniture. It actually looked more inviting than you thought it would. But then you remember the one time you visited his apartment in Portland. The large windows overlooking the city and river. The polished granite counters in the kitchen, the artwork that hung on the walls, and the bottle of wine he was there to pick up. All of it was worth more than anything you had ever seen before in your life. What were you thinking trying to pass this off as something special?

“I think it’s lovely.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. He’s patronizing you. Making the simple, little naiad believe she had done something magnificent when really he was laughing at you. Words are failing you and you silently stare at your feet until he nudges your shoulder playfully.

“You going to let me in? Because I really want to investigate something in there.”

You look around the space wondering what he could be talking about when he picks you up, your arms looping around his neck and your legs wrapping around his waist. You start to ask what it was he wanted to investigate when he takes the opportunity to kiss you. After a long day of not seeing each other, you easily give in to the familiar press of his lips against yours. You hear the door being kicked shut and feel yourself in freefall, stopped when you land on the futon.

“So,” you ask him from your sprawled position on the blankets, “what exactly did you want to investigate?”

He pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor. “I want to see if that futon can hold the both of us.”

You reach behind your back and untie the crocheted bikini top, tossing it on top of his discarded shirt. His eyes darken at the sight of your bare breasts and suddenly this rehabbed fishing hut doesn’t seem like such a silly secret after all.

#sean renard x you #sean renard x reader #sean renard x ofc #captain sean renard x you #captain sean renard x reader #captain sean renard x ofc #sean renard #captain sean renard #sean renard fic #captain sean renard fic #grimm fic

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the-hinky-panda · 2 months

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The Drowning Kind : Part 1

Title: The Drowning Kind

Pairing: Captain Sean Renard x OFC (written as a reader)

Rating: Explicit

“Lots of men want to stay in a boat because they're afraid of drowning. But a mermaid knows: life is just not worth living if you're not ready to drown a few times.”

― C. JoyBell C.

Captain Sean Reynard has many secrets. Some are larger than others. This one is fairly small, relatively speaking.

He owns a kayak.

It’s dusty, and hasn't been used in years. He had bought it on a whim, trying to impress a woman long forgotten now, and now he’s thankful for that impulsive purchase. It’s almost eleven at night when he unlatches it from the roof rack of his car and slips the front of it into the water. The moon is full tonight, turning the river silver and the trees on the river bank more gray than black. He’s grabbing the paddle when he hears your footsteps on the soft riverbank.

“I wasn’t sure if you were making it out tonight,” you say. “Heard it was a rough day in the office.”

“Rough day in the office means meeting up with you will be a certainty.”

Your eyes glint in the bright moonlight as you smile at his comment. He still is getting used to having someone genuinely pleased to have him in their presence, no expectations or favors. You’re already dressed in your swimsuit, bare feet, toes curling into the soft silt as the river laps around your ankles. He knows you’ve spent most of the hot summer day in the river, that you know the currents, branches, and estuaries as well as he knows all the roads and neighborhoods in Portland. The perks of being a naiad and a police captain.

He moves towards you, leaning down to kiss you but you retreat a couple steps further into the river with a coy smile. “You’re going to have to catch me first.”

“Well that hardly seems fair.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” you give him a wink before turning and disappearing under the silver water.

He watches the ripples of your movement as you do your laps under the surface and wait for him to launch the kayak. By the time he’s made it to the halfway point in the river, he can see the electric blue glow of your gills as you circle around the kayak. He pulls his paddle out of the water and rests it across his lap. He waits for a few moments, enjoying the silence, letting his eyes adjust to the night sky as more stars start to appear in his vision. He needs this after the frustrations today; he needs the quiet, the physical effort…you.

Your electric blue eyes are peering at him from the pointed bow of the kayak. You sink below the surface again but appear at the side of the kayak, effortlessly pulling yourself up and sitting, perfectly balanced, in front of him with minimal shifting of the boat. You stay in your naiad form to help with your balancing, air whistling and chirping quietly from the gills along your neck.

“Do you want to talk about your day?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’d rather hear about your day.”

“All my swimming and playing with my fishy friends?”

“Says the woman who got kicked out of the all you can eat sushi bar last week?”

“I almost got kicked out! Get your facts straight, Captain.”

“My apologies.” He lays a hand over yours and you instinctively pull it away but he catches it, slipping his fingers through yours like a hook and halting your retreat. He can feel the scars of the cutting, the lack of webbing between your fingers. He knows if he looks at your feet, he’ll find the same disfigurement there too. He changes into his hybrid form and waits for your eyes to meet his. “You’re not the only one with marks of shame.”

You squeeze his hand back and give him a small smile. This is usually when you start listing the differences between them: he had zero control over his heritage, you had made the conscious decision to go against eons of tradition. His mother had tried to protect him as best she could. Your husband had stood by and watched you be cut by the village elders so they wouldn’t do the same to him. He has tried to convince you, shame is shame, details be damned. One day, he hopes you’ll believe him that when he sees you, all he can see is strength, resilience, and bravery.

He sees everything he wants to be and that’s a much bigger secret than the kayak.

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