it's bloody and raw (but i swear it is sweet) x Fem!Reader
Words: 7,937
AO3 link is here if you would rather read it there.
Synopsis: Grace has been drowning herself in her work for quite longer than she usually does. It's been quite difficult over the past month to find time to spend together. You hoped this evening would be different, but, just like every other night for the past month, she's glued to her laptop working on her report.
Tags: Fluff, smut, angst, Sub!Grace, Dom!Reader, Switching, Established-Relationship, Sexual Frustration, Self-indulgent (like VERY self-indulgent), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Doubt, Teasing, Body Worship, Grace Ashcroft has a Praise Kink (prove me wrong lmao), Attempt at Humour, Female Reader-Insert, No Use of Y/N, Title from a Hozier Song, no beta we die like zeno getting clapped by gideon (unfortunately).
A/N: I have a confession. This is the very first time I have written an X reader fic (I've written second person before but it wasn't an X reader fic) so please be kind. I'm extremely nervous posting this since it's not something I usually write.
Also, this was originally written in past tense but then I decided to change it to present tense since it felt more fitting for what I wanted to capture, so if there any inconsistencies, I do apologise.
If you had to sum up Grace Ashcroft in one word, ‘workaholic’ would certainly be a strong contender.
The moment Grace is assigned to write a new report, her mind gets completely absorbed by it. In all honesty, Grace's devotion to her job can be considered both a hindrance and an admirable feat; of course, two truths can exist at once, but that doesn't mean it won't come without its fair share of trade-offs.
There have been countless instances where Grace has damaged her sleep schedule in favour of working on her current report. And, well, when it comes to her work, Grace is not someone who relents so easily. You juggled it up to be the fault of her perfectionist mindset, and, well, Grace’s work habits never allow her to leave until everything is as it should be: flawless.
Most nights, Grace returned home past midnight, and her fingertips would be numb from typing away at the same keys all day. Late-night shifts aren't out of the ordinary for Grace, self-induced for the extra paycheck; a month of it, however, is longer than usual.
A part of you greatly admires Grace’s devotion to her work, but there’s another part that has become harder to ignore lately; the part of you that wishes Grace would forget about her job whenever she is home; the bitter taste that flares inside your mouth at the sight of Grace working from home.
It surfaces too many times than you’d like to admit. From when Grace's attention is glued to her work, to the texts you receive telling you Grace has decided to do some overtime, it’s always there. All you wish is for Grace to share some of her attention with you, and at this point, you would take anything.
Regardless of it all, the resentment eats you alive, like a nagging voice in your head that finds pleasure in taunting you. Sometimes it almost convinces you that Grace cares more about her work, because… Hell, it's just easier to point the finger at someone else rather than yourself. But then, when you see the exhaustion imprinted on Grace when she returns home, you shame yourself with guilt. And the more you think about it, the deeper that resentment burrows into the corner of your skull, like a parasite. You don't want it to be part of you, don't want to feel it, but it just won't fucking go away.
And, much to your disappointment, it's there again today.
A couple of hours ago, Grace texted you she’s going to work overtime tonight. You aren’t surprised in the least; honestly, you expected it more than anything. Usually, you accept it and move on. This time, however, it's different—as if there is an invisible rift stretched out between the two of you—and you can't figure it out.
Tonight, you really hoped things would be different; that after so long, there would finally be a chance for a bit of normality. And if the chance arose, perhaps the two of you could even be more intimate—sexually intimate—since the past month has left barely any opportunity for it. This, however, chose not to bring it up with Grace. Not because you don't want to, but the fear of coming across as needy is a risk you aren't willing to take. You partly blame it on your crippling self-doubt, but also, Grace's sex drive is somewhat lower compared to yours. While you’ve tried to deal with this alone, there are only so many times it can be sated by touching yourself.
God, it frustrates you, and you want to slap yourself for thinking so goddamn apathetic and self-centred.
It's not like Grace is neglecting you; she still found moments of free time during her work days to check in on you. The evenings are no different either, since Grace doesn't spare a second before she cuddles up beside you in bed to ask about your day. More than anything, you blame both your work schedules for not overlapping, which, needless to say, has made it quite difficult to find any sort of time together. Then, adding on top the extra overtime Grace is working, and, honestly, both of you would be lucky to get a day off together.
You need to tell Grace, you know you should. But it's gone on for far too long now, and now, you have no idea where to even start.
It just…sucks.
It sucks to wake up next to the person you love every morning, and yet, still miss her at the same time.
You want to wash away all these invasive thoughts; the last thing you want is for your day off to be ruined by overthinking. For a bit, you silence them by blasting music as you cook dinner, but soon enough, they return, and once again, you are thrust right back into contemplating what to do next.
After finishing dinner, you leave Grace’s leftovers in the fridge—right beside yesterday's—and notice the eggs expire tomorrow. Not wanting to see them go to waste, you decide to bake brownies. A welcome distraction from all your thoughts.
You gather all the ingredients needed from the online recipe you searched up, and as you are about to prep everything, your phone chimes. The time reads 8:10 p.m., and right below is a message from Grace.
I'll be home in 20.
It chimes again.
Sorry it took longer than expected.
Your fingers hover briefly over the keyboard, typing out a couple of different texts before finally settling on something.
No prob. Stay safe on the train. See you soon.
After sending the text, you shift your attention right back to prepping. The faint hum of car engines fills the stale ambience of the apartment, along with the soft patter of rain, and it is then that you are reminded of the fact that Grace forgot her umbrella this morning. For a second, you contemplate adding a follow-up text to inform Grace about her umbrella, but decide against it. You can tease Grace about her forgetful habits once she is home.
Twenty minutes later, the apartment door creaks open, announcing Grace's arrival home. You stop flicking through your YouTube feed and set the remote down beside your empty coffee mug.
"You forgot your umbrella again," you call from the couch across the other side of the apartment.
A frustrated sigh fills the apartment. "Don't remind me," Grace says, tone gruff, then dumps her keys and satchel bag onto the counter. "I was in a rush this morning. Dempsy wanted me in a little earlier, but I forgot to set my alarm last night."
Amused by Grace's forgetfulness, you respond with a light-hearted chuckle. You find it quite humorous that Grace—an FBI analyst—has horrible time perception. When you began to pick up on the pattern, you considered it could be a result of undiagnosed ADHD. To be honest, with her already possessing a diagnosis of autism, you wouldn't be the least surprised (on top of that is an anxiety disorder, but you digress). Of course, you haven't brought it up to Grace, not yet, but time will tell.
"I would've—Christ, Grace!" Your chuckle dies the moment you turn around. Blonde strands of hair clump together right at the base of Grace's jawline, little droplets of water stick to her cheeks, and damp patches mark the shoulder-pads of her blazer.
Noticing the conveniently placed towel that hangs from the couch, you yank it off and then stride over to Grace.
"Wait, no, it's okay." Grace shies away from the towel you hold to her face. "I can do i-"
"Why didn't you tell me?" you interject, then start wiping the droplets of water away, and thankfully, Grace doesn’t pull away this time. "I could've woken you up," you add quietly.
Grace wears a weary smile. "Oh, right. Sorry," she whispers.
"Don't be," you reassure, because it's okay. The two of you are okay. "Just—" suddenly, a pang of guilt twists at your insides. Then, you continue, "talk to me—if you need a hand, or anything, yeah?"
"Right, yeah, okay, I um…I will," Grace stammers, sounding more uncertain than usual. Concern swells over you, and just as you are about to voice them, Grace speaks.
"Are you baking?" Grace gleams, her eyes sparkling partly out of joy and partly from the light from the oven.
"Yeah, brownies. Eggs were about to expire, so I thought why not."
Grace licks her lips, then gives you her response with a hum of approval.
Once her face is dry to your liking, you offer the towel for Grace to take. "Here, dry your hair. You look like a mop," you jest, and it earns you Grace's bashful grin.
"Oh, wow. Well that's…certainly one way to flatter a girl." There's a rare drip of sarcasm in her tone, exactly what you intended to hear, and you smile out of pride.
"You hungry at all? There's some leftovers in the fridge for you," you inform, already standing in front of the fridge.
"I-um…not particularly." The tremble in her voice makes you question if Grace even knows what hunger even feels like. Of course, it's a silly thought. You can recall the numerous occasions when Grace would forget to eat, specifically when she was fixated on work (or rather hyper-fixated, proof of your suspicions that she has ADHD), you would still have to remind her.
"Are you sure? You didn't take yesterday's leftovers with you today."
Grace leans up against the kitchen island. "I mean a little…I suppose?" Her sudden apprehension raises more questions than answers.
"You suppose?" you press further.
"I'm fine, really. Just…tired is all." Grace says as if the faint dark circles under her eyes hadn't already given you that impression.
"I can tell," you laugh faintly, allowing a little humour to resurface now, and you are thankful for it. It eases the growing worry on Grace's expression; however, it has little effect on the doubt billowing inside you.
"Maybe you shouldn't work on your report tonight if you're this tired," you point out as you go to cup her face, then place a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Why not leave it for tomorrow?"
Grace nudges further into your touch on her cheek. "I've only got a little bit left," she admits, "then it should be done."
Oh, she is definitely staying up until midnight again.
"Alright," you let a groan you have been holding back, then flop your head down onto Grace's. "Can I at least kiss you before you are dragged away from me?"
This time, it's Grace's turn to chuckle out of amusement. "I don't think you need to…ask me that."
With her approval, you capture her mouth with yours, eager. You hold her carefully by the neck, almost as if she were a precious gem to behold. Something so beautiful to the eye, yet so delicate to touch. The next kiss you share is hasty, and you swallow the throaty moan Grace releases. Grace lurches into the following kiss, and you take the opportunity to lift her onto the counter.
Grounded on the marble surface, Grace encircles her arms around your shoulders, and from how thirsty she is eyeballing your mouth, it gives you the impression she's already deprived of it. "You taste like coffee."Oh yeah, she's thirsty alright, and it's got nothing to do with the coffee.
"Well, aren't you observant?" You inch closer, the distance of your noses separated by a hair. "Want a bit more?"
All of a sudden, you are yanked forward, meeting Grace again, and for the first time in a while, you are the one caught off guard. How bold.
"Can you stop asking?" Grace replies quickly enough before she is already back on you. Her leg tangles around your waist, drawing you closer into her, much to your satisfaction.
Calloused fingers caress your face, pulling you impossibly closer, two thumbs teetering on the base of your chin to keep you level. Wanting more access, you open your mouth, but Grace's tongue is the first to push out before your own even gets the chance. Your knees weaken, the temperature of the room skyrockets, and a hand of yours collapses onto the counter to steady yourself. A moment passes before your head drops to your favourite part of Grace's neck, chasing for more of-
"Okay," Grace exhales, her breath a little shaky. "I should probably go finish this report."
You should’ve expected this.
"Alright," you accept before leaving one small nip just below her jaw, then stand upright. "Can we at least continue this later?"
"Yeah, I'd…like that." It sounds like a promise. A small one. But small promises like these aren't enough to fuel the hope inside you anymore.
----
Through the crack of the bathroom door, Grace is perched atop your shared bed, typing away at her laptop with a posture so rigid, it wouldn't surprise you if she were to get back problems in the near future. Toothbrush in hand, you wander towards the bedroom and relax one of your shoulders against the wooden doorframe.
Pure concentration is sketched on Grace's expression; her eyebrows are adorably knitted together out of sheer focus, the black lenses lie atop the small bump of her nose, and the dim light of the bedside lamp accentuates the round curves of her jawline. Despite not being an artist, you can’t resist the temptation to paint this image of Grace into a mural. Instead, you have to tuck the image away, a special memory meant only for you.
Suddenly, the clicking of Grace's keyboard stops, and her attention shifts over to you. She wears a quizzical expression, trying to decipher what you are thinking. So, you let your thoughts be known.
"You're cute when you're focused like that."
Grace's eyes widen. "Oh, um…t-thanks?" She rubs the nape of her neck like an old habit.
Compliments are a gateway to unlocking the nervous side of Grace, a side of her you are greatly fond of. Being able to still get Grace flustered in your presence, especially after this long in your relationship, fills you with immense pride. Half the time, you do it without even trying. It is just that easy to do; there is no secret to it, but you would never admit that to Grace.
"Do you have much left to do?" You gesture to the laptop with your toothbrush.
"I have a couple more things I need to revise now."
You just nod, unsure what to say.
Grace shoots you a reassuring glance, but the intention behind it does not reach you. "I won't be long."
Bile surfaces in your mouth. "You always say that," you scoff. Instantly, regret falls over you, and you curse at yourself for allowing something so bitter to be said to someone you love.
Grace turns to you, confused. "W-what do you mean?"
Shame clenches at your insides. "I didn't mean it, just…forget I said anything."
"Wait, no, seriously-"
Continuing to brush your teeth, the foam from your chin drops, submerging itself beneath the carpet, and you wish you could hide away from the world just as easily.
"-what are you talking about-"
"Shit, I need to go to the sink." You make a beeline for the bathroom and spit the foam into the sink. Quickly, you rinse off your toothbrush, track back over to the door, and it shuts behind you with a stiff creak. The desk in the far corner of the room becomes far more interesting to stare at, and in your peripheral vision, Grace plucks at her bitten-down cuticles.
"Have I…" Grace trails off, "I-I mean, did I do something wrong?"
"No," you instantly reply, "no, you haven't." Nervous, you fold your arms out of habit, bouncing one foot around for just anything else to focus on right now.
Grace sets the laptop aside, then shimmies to the edge of the bed. "W-what are you saying then?" You don't miss the quiver in her lip as she says it, nor the grip she has crunched around the small of her bicep.
"It's just-I don't…over the past month, it feels like we've barely seen each other. Or done anything together for that matter."
Grace is taken aback, a question of reason present on her face, and you take that as your cue to continue.
"You've been coming home late almost every night — I mean, half the time I'm already asleep—and all you do is work. I mean, you're already doing a shit ton of overtime, surely you don't need to do more when you're home."
"Well, I-I uh…I-it's just I've had a lot to do." You hate the way it sounds like more of an excuse.
"Had or want have two entirely different meanings. Though I suppose both are the same for you," you bite. Not violently. Not angrily. You just…bite.
"I…" Grace stops herself. "Well, it's just… Yes, I-I know I can get distracted by work-"
Fuck, there's the word vomit again. "Oh my God, you shouldn't have to when you are home," you cut in, tone rigid and hard as stone. "That's my whole point! I mean, like seriously, Grace, come on… go on and tell me you really believe you need to be distracted by it then? It's not doing you any good, it's not doing our relationship any good, it's not-"
"Jesus fucking Christ! Why are you so f-frustrated right now? I don't need you to lecture me about how I choose to work." Grace's voice is firm, very firm. It's the first time you've heard her like this, and time freezes — you are frozen. Grace is frozen.
"I- shit, that came out wrong." The blood drains from Grace's face, turning her skin sickly pale. "I didn't mean it."
You rapidly blink away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. "I know," you reply while slouching up against the door, eyeing some uninteresting part of the floor before meeting her again. "It's okay."
Grace gives you a small nod. "I'm sorry." Her jaw tightens, teeth biting into her lower lip. "I've had a lot on my mind the past month. I-it's just I…" A small silence falls over, and you wait for Grace to continue. "I can't stop thinking about my m-mother."
Damn it, you forgot Alyssa died around this time all those years ago.
"Jus-like… It's been eight years. Why do I still feel like…this?" Her voice cracks, and your heart spasms from how hurt and broken it sounds.
"…I think about her every day. I know I should have moved on already, but I-it's all I can think about." Grace traces the watch on her wrist absentmindedly. "It's so stupid."
"Hey, don't think like that." Your tone softens. "It's not stupid, Grace," you assure then stride over and sit down beside Grace on the bed.
"I'm sorry," Grace sighs, head hanging in her hands.
"It's not your fault," you say, hoping the circles you stroke into her back offer more reassurance than what your words can give.
"But I should-"
"No. You don't need to." As a show of comfort, you caress her forehand. "I…I shouldn't have said any of that to you."
"I-it's fine," Grace says an octave higher than usual.
"Grace, it's not," you reply, "please don't pretend it is. I didn't mean to… hurt you. I was bitter and—as you put it—frustrated. There's been…a lot on my mind too, recently."
A shadow of guilt flashes over Grace. "Because I haven't been around as much?"
You need to be honest, with Grace and yourself, so you respond with a slow nod. "Yeah, but also, I just really wished you had talked about working all this overtime with me prior. Seeing you work yourself so much, skipping dinner as well—and probably also lunch from the leftovers you leave in the fridge—it all makes me worry." About her. About the relationship. About the future.
"I've wanted to bring this up for a while now. But between both our schedules barely overlapping, and you coming home late, the timing just never felt right. You looked so…exhausted whenever you were home, and I had a feeling if I asked you about wanting to do something or be…intimate, you wouldn't have the energy to."
"Why would you assume that?”
"…I didn't want to bother you. Or ask you for something you would most likely say no to.”
A question raises Grace's eyebrows. "You mean sex? Is that really all you've been wanting this past month?"
Part of it is, yes. But also, all you want is nothing more than for Grace's attention to be set solely on you—in and outside your presence—without the thought of work meddling with her mind. It's stupid. Selfish, really. Because, although you know Grace cares, your craving for the proof still lingers; the proof that Grace thinks about you when you aren't. Trouble is, you always think about her.
"I just want you." The words tumble out, and now, you can't stop them. "That's all I want. I mean, God, I just want you, and I'm…" Afraid. Horney. Selfish. Your throat constricts. "I don't want to ruin this." Your eyes burn wildly, and just as you try to continue, a tender hand holds your chin up.
Grace's free hand cups your face, whereas the other is still woven through your fingers. A tear runs down your cheek, and Grace kisses it away before she moves to seize your mouth. Without hesitation, you reciprocate.
It's a gentle kiss, soothing, a small exchange that communicates anything left unsaid between the two of you. The next one is deeper, a silent apology voiced through the desperate suck on her lower lip, muffling Grace's gasp. And the third is one of understanding, an equal measure of pressure and passion, one you don't want to end and would happily bask in for much longer than it lasts.
As you both withdraw, your head dips down out of habit to peck along Grace's upper neck, and you catch the small whimper Grace lets out.
"Is this too much right now?" you call out, replacing Grace's hand with the flesh of her hip.
Grace responds with a small shake of her head.
Still working at her skin, you grab the hem of her work shirt and tug it up suggestively. "Can I keep going? If that's what you want."
"Yes," Grace answers. Her breathing is shallow, and it leaves you speculating just how much Grace may have wanted this, too.
Permission granted, you begin to make quick work of Grace's shirt. Just as it's pulled over, the fabric gets stuck on the lenses you carelessly forgot about.
"You okay?" You chuckle at your own foolishness, then kindly refit the lopsided lenses, along with a tender kiss to the temple they hit.
The sweet sounds of Grace's laughter join yours. "Yeah," Grace simply says, a warm smile etched on her lips—the rare kind where she allows her teeth to show. Once the tender moment subsides, you urge Grace further up the bed, and you waste no time by pulling at the waistband of her dark slacks.
"You don't need these anymore." You flick the button of Grace's slacks, and they come undone with a resounding pop.
"Heh, I guess not," her voice trembles as the evening air hits her exposed legs.
You crawl back up and grasp the edge of her lenses. "Or these," you tease, then take them away alongside her laptop to rest them among the clutter on the bedside table.
Once you return to Grace, the two of you are quick to discard every bit of clothing, and every so often, both of you fumble between sloppy, haste-fed kisses until only undergarments remain. Still sitting up on the mattress, you dive to the space the strap of Grace's bra, then bite down firmly, just how she likes it. It rewards you with a sound that fights the line between a hiss and a gasp, and when you look down at your work, a birth is marked. Your tongue wipes the spot over, then you leave feather-light kisses around its border in the hopes of showing Grace just how much you treasure her.
You mark another one soon after, and Grace's lips pull into a thin line, muffling the briefest whimper, and the trapped sound adds fuel to the fire of your already intense lust.
You want to hear more.
To feel more.
So, you chase after the lips you have craved to leave bruised and swollen over this past month by your own spit. The surge of your body weight forces Grace up the bed, and it nearly causes her to tumble backwards, but your strong arms stop the fall. Holding her delicately, you take her by the hand and switch places so you are backed up against the headboard of the bed.
"C'mere," you tug Grace's arm, urging her closer to you. Accepting the invitation, Grace climbs into your lap, her knees coming to rest at either side of your thighs, and you support her position by gripping her hips. As Grace combs back the hair that cascades down your face, the light from the lamp highlights the small green parts of Grace's irises; in this moment, you seem to truly realise just how much of a marvel Grace is to look at.
The slenderness of her neck accentuates the perfectly prominent lines of her collarbone, one of the many places you love to kiss and leave marks on. Her full lips are lightly stained with chapstick, soft as velvet to the touch. There’s also the little bump in her nose that drives you absolutely insane, and you especially love it when Grace presses it against you. Her breasts are nothing short of a miracle, too, since they do wonders to put you at ease whenever you curl up on top of Grace to hear her heartbeat. Then there’s the vague amount of sweat that seeps from her pores, and you have to seriously hold yourself back from licking it up.
"How are you so pretty, and so Goddamn hot at the same time?"
Grace exhales loudly, and her breath tickles the hair on your cheeks. If they are already flushed, they are sure to be a deeper shade now.
"Say that again," Grace whispers, low and sweet, a stark contrast to the grip she has on your shoulders. "Please…" The word grazes your lips. "I need to hear it." Behind her doe-like eyes rests a plea, and it is one wrapped full of lust; one meant to only be unravelled by you, because in actuality, Grace is completely at your mercy.
On one hand, you want to give Grace what she wants. Then, on the other hand, you want to see Grace begging for it—for you.
"I love how pretty your face is," you start, a hand drifting up the small of her back, her skin white-hot under your fingertips. "It's so distracting, I can barely pay attention to anything else half the time."
"Yeah?" Her body shifts to rest on your thigh. One of her knees brushes your inner thigh, and the tingle it sends up almost causes a hitch in your breath.
"You're so soft and warm against me. Makes me never want to let you go."
At last, you reach her bra, undo the clasp, then chuck it into some forgotten dimension in the room. "And every time you look at me like this," you utter, "I can never say no to you."
"How exactly am I looking at you?" Grace asks innocently, but her eyes are anything but.
"Like you want me to fuck you senselessly," you rasp a hair away from her mouth. "It's so hot."
Grace groans, "Keep…going." Then she rocks down to meet you, and a hot, damp cloth glides along your thigh when she does. Guiding the rhythm of her hips, you allow her to feel just the right amount of pressure to sate the quake between her legs, then you bring yourself to the shell of her ear.
"You like to hear that, don't you?" You tilt your head knowingly, tone laced with mirth as your hand ghosts the damp patch of her underwear. A half-concealed moan leaves Grace, and although you can't be exactly sure which action causes it, your desire to unravel more of those sounds Grace tries to hide from you ascends to even greater heights.
"Answer me." The huskiness of your voice makes it sound like more of a command, and your fingers remain still over the cloth, waiting.
Grace swallows. "Yeah…I do."
A grin forms on your lips. "Needy as well, right?"
Grace's hips shift more, pressing onto your fingers for the friction you aren't willing to give her, yet. "I-I am."
A devilish chuckle escapes you. "You'd better keep it up then, and we'll see where it gets you." Then, finally, you stroke along the hot patch of cloth, and Grace inhales sharply. Desperate for more, you shove underneath the fabric in the hopes of being able to hear the sounds you love so dearly.
Heat coats your fingers, and your experienced fingers find Grace's bud. You massage it cautiously with well-tampered circles, and you are rewarded with a whine, but before it forms into a moan, Grace's jaw clamps shut.
Grace is not usually vocal—or at least isn't trying to be—during sex. When the two of you were first intimate in the relationship—sex or not—it took a long while before Grace allowed her guard to be peeled away. Sometimes, however, it would rebuild itself, as if it had a second nature. This is one of those times, but you always know exactly what to say; reassurance and praise do wonders to free Grace's vocal cords.
"Let me hear you," you say, kissing the faint amount of sweat off her bloodshot cheeks. "You have such a beautiful voice."
You slowly run down the valley of her sensitive core, gathering up more of her wetness, smooth and butter-soft.
"Christ Grace…" You probe a digit at her entrance, just barely inside, and Grace's thighs quiver at your sides. "Have I ever told you that you feel like silk?"
Grace breath hitches, verging on the precipice of a moan, but not exactly what you are after.
For a bit, you swirl the base of Grace's entrance, taking your time to achingly draw out every second for her. Since you first discovered that Grace tends to finish rather quickly, you try to prolong, or even deny Grace from finishing. You love to witness how desperate Grace can get, from her begging to touch you more to the frantic movement of her body. You can never get enough of it, and you have every intention of savouring it.
Grace's entrance dampens further the longer you swirl at her entrance, and you grunt out of elation from the feel of it alone.
"P-please, I need more…" Grace goes to sink down onto your fingers herself, but you are quick to pull away.
"You already so eager to finish?"
Grace groans. "Can you please just fuck me already?" she blurts out.
Without a second to spare, you heed Grace's request. Two fingers glide in easily, knuckle-deep, and your fingers hit the spot you know Grace would let out a thick moan at the feel of. And finally, she cries out in a moan.
"God, you sound so pretty."
Grace scratches her nails through your hair, then pulls. Your head tilts back, and you grunt slightly out of pleasure. At first, you half-expect her to apologise. Then you realise Grace's eyes are snapped shut, totally unaware of what she just did to you.
"This what you want?" You ask lewdly.
Grace responds with a small nod. "Mhm."
"Remember what I said about using your words."
"Y-yes," she replies, a moan following after.
Utilising the desire you have harboured for the past month, you push it onto Grace. Wet sounds and Grace's whines fill the room with sex as you continue to hit the same spot inside Grace, over and over again. Incoherent words are muttered under Grace's breath, and she collapses onto your shoulder, panting. However, they become the least of your worries the moment Grace's knees buckle out and go limp at your sides.
"You wanna lie down?" you muffle into strands of blonde hair, to which Grace nods right away into the crook of your shoulder.
Unfortunately for Grace, you are forced to withdraw from inside her. Grace whines, grief-stricken from your abandonment, but once she lands on the pillow, you don't keep her waiting. Returning to her, you curl two fingers to hit the sweet spot again, and Grace trembles.
"Oh, f-fuck," Grace whimpers, clutching onto you for dear life, her grip on your back turning knuckle-white, only for it to go limp again.
"Hey," you call out, "it's okay, you can hold onto me more. You won't hurt me." Instantly, an arm wraps around your shoulder blades, the sheets now a complete afterthought. Nails clutch your back, forcing you to rest below her chin. Seizing the opportunity, you pepper a trail from there all the way down to her collarbone, inhaling the fragrance of vanilla perfume and washed laundry. Familiar and comforting, a reminder of home.
"I've missed you."
"I-" Grace jolts as you curl your fingers deeply inside, hitting the same spot, and you don't need to look up to know her eyes roll back from how fiercely she grips you. It doesn't hurt. No. But the minuscule amount of pain drives you forward, pushing you to give exactly what she needs.
"Oh, right there, please," Grace blurts out as her leg hooks around you, pulling you closer. For a moment, it traps you, but you adjust yourself so you have ample room to continue working in tandem with the erratic movement of Grace's hips. "Don't stop," Grace pleads and squirms beneath you, holding you closely, and then, you withdraw from her.
"W-what're you…" Grace mewls, confused in her daze. "No, no, keep going…please. Why did you stop?" Your abdomen throbs from the cries in her voice, and it takes all your willpower not to grind onto Grace's thigh.
"Relax," you coo, "I'm not done with you yet." You meet the navel of Grace's stomach, then, at a sinfully slow pace, lower yourself as you nip and lick at her sensitive skin, which only makes Grace squirm more. Taking the opportunity, you part Grace's legs, tear away her underwear, then clasp around the swollen bud. Grace lurches at the immediate contact, and her hips arch towards the ceiling. You press her stomach down and hook an arm around her thigh so she can’t move away from you. Once she settles, you finally allow your hand to return inside her.
Grace stifles another moan, and after a moment of guiding her through the height of her orgasm, Grace melts. The heat surrounding your fingers clenches, her voice shakes through every incoherent word, and soon, she goes limp against the mattress.
Returning up to Grace's level, you line meticulous kisses to her forehead covered in a thin sheen of sweat, hoping the gesture steadies the uneven rhythm of her chest.
"Grace?" you check in, only to receive no response. "Grace," you repeat a tad firmer, "you alright?"
"Mhm," Grace hums in approval, and you feel her mouth upturn at your collarbone. Confirming she is okay, you retract from inside of her. Grace squirms immediately from the overstimulation, only to sigh out of relief afterwards.
You wait for a brief moment for Grace's consciousness to return, and just as her eyes open, you take that as your cue and suck a digit into your mouth. Grace stares at you, darkly. Her mouth hangs open in bewilderment, and another opportunity presents itself to you.
You hover the remaining damp finger over Grace's inflamed lips. "Clean them for me," you say, softening the command with a gentle whisper.
Grace stares up through hooded eyelids, basking in the afterglow, and damn, is she drop-dead gorgeous. and it increases by tenfold the moment Grace obeys your command. Within seconds, it is cleaned so easily without protest, and your pulse quickens once Grace stops.
"Well, aren't you easy," you state playfully.
Grace exhales an annoyed groan, then hides her fluster in the crevasse of your neck.
"Quit embarrassing me."
You huff a laugh. "Nope, not gonna to happen."
After a moment, the rain and Grace's heavy breathing are the only sounds to fill the room's peaceful silence. You trace meaningless patterns into Grace's arm as you wait for her to settle, and only then does she break the silence.
"I…" Grace inhales deeply, the aftershocks of her orgasm still coursing through her veins. "I want to taste you now," she finishes.
When it comes to any form of sexual intimacy, Grace is typically on the receiving end of such things. Which isn't an issue for you. Really, the arrangement works out for both of you; control isn't something Grace takes, she relinquishes it, and you're more than happy to take over. But on the occasions when Grace does reciprocate—that is, if she doesn't immediately fall into a nap soon after—the use of her mouth is always her go-to method. Needless to say, you are exhilarated by the prospect of her offer.
"If that's what you want." For further emphasis, you lie on the ruffled-up pillow, offering up any and all control to Grace, and she takes it by straddling your body. Her hands rest at the base of your neck, and for a moment, the Grace analyses you, deciding on her next move.
"You look really nice like this."
"Got a nice view there?"
"I see why you like it so much," Grace comments, but there's a sudden shift in expression, something sombre. "Did you mean what you um…said before?" Your head tilts in question, despite knowing exactly what Grace is referring to. "That you’ve missed me?"
You give her a tiny nod. "Yeah, I did."
Grace travels over your breasts, kneading at the smooth flesh. "Have you really missed me this much?"
"You have no idea."
"How much? I need to know."
"I'd think about you all the time. About us. I didn't know how to tell you. Wanted to ask you if, you know, you wanted to do this, but I'd chicken out every time—too worried you would just say no. Sometimes when you were still at work, I got desperate, so I'd touch myself and imagine it was you-"
Grace cuts you off with a press of her lips. "Stop talking. Please." She says, and her manners never fail her. "Tell me what you want, anything. I'll make you feel good, like how you always do for me."
If things ever get quite heated, particularly when Grace is the one giving, her anxiousness would slip, and a more assertive, confident side would take over. Rare, but not unwelcome.
"Alright," you say, weighing out your options. "Mark me on your way down."
Eager to please, Grace does exactly that. Careful nips and sucks are placed on the sensitive parts of your collarbone. The pitch in your voice bellows low into a grunt as the flesh underneath flushes dark, tickling the bundle of nerves above your chest with a pleasant sensation.
"That's it," you tell Grace, combing through her dishevelled hair, because that's all you can do the further she moves out of your vision. Already feeling deprived of seeing her, you hoist yourself onto your elbows for a better view. Grace's back is angled downwards to your navel, giving you a perfect view of her ass lifted slightly into the air.
There's a brief glance you share, and Grace's hold on your underwear communicates a question; while you have already given your consent, the attentiveness Grace displays towards you warrants your heart to constrict—part of it from love but also partly from the fact that you find the small gesture unusually hot.
You give her your answer by lifting your hips up, and as Grace takes away the fabric, a string of arousal clings between it and you. There is no denying the proof of your pent-up frustration, not even as your cheeks flush from embarrassment.
"You've uh…been wanting this for a while." Grace states in a whisper, probably only meant for mice to hear—for only Grace to hear. And just as you are about to respond, Grace kisses up your inner thigh, then licks up the specks of arousal glistening at the corner of your core.
As soon as Grace Ashcroft has a hint of you under her touch, the thought of work—of that laptop you wish to be thrown to the bottom of the Mariana Trench—vanishes from her mind. You recognise it in the way her tongue ravishes you hungrily, and it makes you wonder if Grace is just as depraved as you; each movement is slow, deliberate, but the force is tenfold from what you expect, and Grace is starving.
Needing to do something, you grip Grace's scalp like a vice, strings of straw-blonde hair tangling all up between your fingers.
"Fuck, God, yes, just keep doing that," you choke, then it deepens from the press of Grace's tongue onto your nub, and a gasp strangles your throat.
"Do that firmer." Grace answers your prayers by flicking her tongue, then presses it with the right amount of pressure, just as you told her to. It stays like this for a bit; Grace alternates between firm presses and cordial sucks, and your body shudders further after every lap she does.
"Just like that…" The pressure coiling within your abdomen forces you to unwillingly snap your eyes shut, and the pulse in your ears and centre rings much louder.
"I need you-" you choke, "to go inside." Once again, Grace heeds your request. She delves her tongue in, circling the rim of your entrance before returning to flicker inside. The tip of her nose bumps your swollen bud every now and then, giving you much-needed extra stimulation. What starts out as hoarse whimpers turns into a groan as you are pressed into the wooden fixture of the headboard, and your shoulder blades contract out of protest.
Sensing your discomfort, Grace pulls away from you, then asks, "Are you okay?" Although you grieve the sudden loss of her touch, you quickly adjust yourself before Grace grows more concerned.
"Yeah, perfect," you hastily respond, "just keep going." At that, Grace returns and immediate relief floods over you by the sound of a quivering moan. Flustered, you cover the blush on your face with your arm, whereas the other still remains in Grace's hair. You squirm from anticipation, and a thumb rubs soothing circles at the cushion of your thigh, reassuring the release your body craves.
"Grace." Her name rolls off your tongue, and you can only hope the plea in your voice reaches her. And thankfully, it does; Grace replaces her mouth with a single finger. It curls at the immediate contact, and you have to bite back a moan. All of a sudden, the bed creaks inwards with a dip a couple of times.
Curious, you uncover your face and are met with a needy Grace rutting into the mattress. Her head is still fitted against you, and a harmony of moans leaks out between every palpable suck against you. Electricity shoots up your belly, and your heart throbs from the sight, then your vision darkens as a finger inside you curls at just the right angle. Euphoria floods your shaking body as you climax, and the choked moans and low whimpers are not just yours alone.
While you attempt to regain a semblance of consciousness, Grace kisses your left thigh with such tenderness you barely register it. Climbing up to you, Grace drops haphazardly to nuzzle between you and the ruffled pillow beside you.
Once the fog dissipates from your mind, you task yourself with the job of grabbing a cloth and some water. A minute later, you return, damp cloth in hand and a glass of water in the other, to the view of Grace still buried into the pillow. Once she is pulled out of her daze, you assist each other in cleaning up and share the glass of water to sate the dehydration that has crept up.
"So," you break the silence, "did that taste better than the brownies I made?"
"Uh-" Grace chokes on her water. Probably not the best time to have asked her. "Y-you're really…going to a-ask me that?" Grace coughs between small fits of laughter, trying but failing to fight off a fiery blush.
"I'm just messing with you," you snicker, then clear away a few strands of hair clinging to the water on her chin.
Grace scoffs. "When are you not?" she replies, then takes another sip of her water and briefly swirls it around in thought before swallowing.
"Have I—are we…" Grace stutters, but you remain patient and allow her to collect every thought before she can continue. "A-am I a good partner?"
A lump rises in your throat. "Yes, Grace, you are," you swallow, only for another lump to rise in its place. "I should've told you how I was feeling sooner. And I had no idea you were still thinking of your mother. That was very…selfish of me."
Grace's hand snaps over to yours, so quickly it leaves you stunned how she does not manage to spill the water all over the bed (it’s not like that matters; they need to be changed now anyway).
"I'm sorry I haven't been around much recently. I-I thought maybe, if I just kept working, my thoughts on mum would um…stop." The corners of Grace's glassy eyes water up slightly. "I still miss her."
Worry twinges at your heart, and you swiftly ensnare Grace in an embrace at your side.
"I know you do," you tell her, and you hope your words offer as much consolation as your gentle hold on her does. It somewhat does since Grace drops her head to your shoulder, wiping away the tears threatening to fall.
"I really didn't mean to hurt you," you mumble into her scalp, tone stiff, slightly broken, but fully genuine. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, I am too," Grace says, meeting you at eye level. "Listen, I know I work a lot, but I'd like to try and fix this. I just wish you'd told me how you felt sooner." Grace squeezes your hand, her hold acting as an anchor, not only to merely keep you in place, but to keep your mind in the present.
"I'll try not to stay back or work at home when I don't have to. " You have to fight back the burn that surfaces in your own eyes. Not out of sadness but rather…relief. Finally, you are relieved. By the fact that whatever distance has drifted between the two of you seems to have finally closed.
"That works. And I'll try to be more open from now on."
You are going to try. Both of you will try. And that's all you can ask for.
A/N: Thank you for reading if you made it to the end. I have been writing this for like idek… 4 or 5 weeks. My brain feels like fucking mush from reading it over and over again. Originally it was meant to be PWP with like 3K words but oh how THAT fucking changed. I've gone through like 3 drafts of this, and god, I think I'll die if I have to write another one.
I won't lie this is something I am extremely nervous posting since it has become quite a self-indulgent piece. Partly for many of my own reasons, but also, I've been craving more of Grace's character. More than anything, I really hope Grace was kept in character throughout, I'm not too sure if her stuttering is handled accurately, especially since I don't think she would stutter much around someone she is comfortable with, maybe only when she is overwhelmed nervous or angry. Also I really wanted to try and recapture that sort of sass she displayed in those rare instances throughout the game, I really hope it came across right. I was fighting tooth and nail when writing this because I kept doubting myself constantly. Hope I did it well enough for you readers to enjoy it.
Just to putting it out there but X Reader fics are not something I normally dabble in when it comes to my writing. However Grace is one of the very few exceptions (specifically one out of three lmao) because good lord was I desperate af for more of her. Still am lmao and might have a couple different ideas for another fic but the question will remain if I can finish it (I already have so many WIP's, help me lmao) Anyway… onto writing something else now and pray to God (even tho I'm an atheist) I can finish it lmao
Also I haven't really written an argument scene like this before, I'm not too sure how I feel about it. It was extremely difficult to write and honestly, I was quite stumped on it for a long while. Hope it was somewhat ok.
Likes and comments are much appreciated! Any constructive feedback is welcome too. Hope you are all taking care of yourselves given the current state of the world we are living in.
Edit: I've gone through and just restructured a few sentences, fixed up a couple bits of dialogue, and tried to polish up the grammar. Everything remains the same just needed to fiddle with a few things I wasn't too proud of. Ok gonna leave this alone now.