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18+ MDNI . Lesbian sex, cunnilingus, fingering, power exchange, soft control, tender dom/sub, voice kink, uniform kink, holding, kissing, praise kink, “good girl”, adult age gap (reader-insert is capable in life but decides to give that up for the day).

Welcome to the Cities

GRAYSON x READER = Gentle Power Exchange ♡

SUMMARY: You’ve stepped off the ship to begin your new life in the twin cities. Your friend was supposed to meet you, but she hasn’t shown. Luckily, you meet Grayson, worn from her rough life as the sheriff of enforcers. She takes good care of you: finds you food, helps you settle in, and then she takes really good care of you…

NOTES: Slow and caring dommy smut, and falling asleep curled up together. Grayson stays clothed, but you do give a little too.

AO3 link • 4.6k words

Chapter 1: Lost

The sun is searing, even in the shade of the harbor buildings. You’ve got one huge, heavy bag, packed with what you decided was worth carrying from your old life. You stepped off the ship hours ago and waited. Loud, rough people pass too close, and you’re getting anxious.

Your friend isn’t coming. The only contact here hasn’t shown up.

You can handle yourself, you’re a grown-ass woman, from a tough enough town. But this harbor is strange and harsh, the twin cities unreliable, and you’re tired of rescuing yourself. You grit your teeth. You’ve been in far worse trouble. Like the mess that brought you here. No one’s following, no debts, a clean start. But you’ve never been here before, and it makes you queasy.

A deep and resonant voice wakes you from your thoughts. It’s edged with a subtle rasp that strokes something low in your spine.

“Evening. You seem a bit lost. Is there something I can help you with?”

You hardly understand the words, wrapped in that warm timbre, as you turn toward it.

Not a disappointment.

She’s tall and broad-shouldered beneath the authority of her enforcer’s uniform. Older, but strong in a robust way, and carries herself like someone who knows exactly where she stands in the world. No need to prove herself. She doesn’t have to.

“Sweetheart? Do you know where you’re going?”

An admiring look slips out before you can catch it. “No… but I’ll manage,” you murmur, trying for casual.

The corner of her mouth twitches, but she doesn’t let you get away with it. “You do need help. Tell me, pretty girl.”

You’re clearly older than ‘girl,’ and definitely no innocent. The top you’re wearing shows more skin than it needs to, and not by accident. But you like the way she says it, like the way she talks to you.

She looks worn, like someone who’s had a long day, or a hundred. There’s a smudge of dirt on her cuff and a bruise along her jaw, but the uniform is otherwise flawless. This city isn’t kind to enforcers. Especially not the ones who wear a badge like hers.

She lifts her brows questioningly. You’ve been staring too long. But gods, it’s not your fault she looks like that, not your fault she sounds like that.

A flicker of amusement tugs at her lips again, eyes drifting down your body like a slow, silent compliment in return, lingering at your hips, your bare waist. Her gaze flicks to your mouth before meeting your eyes again.

You bite your lip.

There’s no innocence in these cities, and she’s no exception. But the boldness feels honest. No pretense, no performance, just the game you both know how to play. She likes what she sees, and she knows you do too.

You turn slightly, trying to focus on your troubles, not her.

“My friend was supposed to meet me, but she’s not here. Her work can be unpredictable, but still… I don’t know… I need a room nearby so she can find me tomorrow. I’ve got the money, I just don’t know where to go.”

She nods slowly. “Will you let me help you find a place? …Take care of you?”

Her voice soothes you, but you don’t miss the two questions. The first one is easy. “I really do need help finding a place to stay.”

You breathe in as she waits. She’s letting you choose whether this is just kindness, or something more. What do you want this to be?

And gods, you naughty thing… You do want to surrender. You’ve already been brave enough to get here, and it’s been hard for so long. Letting her hold you up for a moment wouldn’t be weak or wrong, not if you both want it. She’s solid. And from somewhere deep inside you, something tries to loosen. Not peace, just less weight, for once.

You look down, thinking, and she doesn’t rush you. But the decision isn’t hard with the flutter low in your belly. Tomorrow, you’ll take it all back. The stress of life, difficult choices, the fight to survive. You’ll do it alone again. But tonight, just for a moment, you want to be held and let someone else steady you. She’s here, and if you keep your eyes on hers, maybe you can give in a little.

Her gaze is calm as you give your answer the way she must want it. Offered, certain, and willing. And a little breathless.

“And I am in need of care.”

Her smile stays composed, but there’s more focus in her eyes. Like she’s locking in now that you’ve said yes. And she steps a little closer. Just close enough that you feel her presence settle around you.

“Baby girl, call me Grayson.”

No titles. Just her name.

You smile softly.

“Grayson.”

And breath by breath, you let your usual mustered confidence fall away, getting ready to lean into her.

But Grayson just picks up your bag and starts walking. You have no choice but to follow. She doesn’t touch you, only stays close. Her strong, steady arm is right there, near enough to reach, and for a long moment, you don’t touch either, but just ache, being that close. She’s so there. Maybe she’s testing you.

Carefully, you reach out and brush the sturdy fabric of her uniform sleeve. Grayson glances at you with a teasing twinkle that leaves you a little dizzy. So you slip your hand around her forearm, like it’s nothing. But of course it isn’t nothing. It’s everything. You’re holding on. Letting her lead.

And you imagine that if she weren’t carrying your bag, she’d pat your hand where it rests.

“Have you eaten?” Grayson asks. Her voice is grounding, not really a question, like she already knows the answer.

Caught off guard, you blink. You hadn’t thought about it, too wrapped up in waiting, in managing, but now that she’s said it, the hunger hits. You’re starving.

Grayson of course sees it. “Thought so,” she says, already turning down a quieter side street. “Come on. We’ll get you something decent to eat before anything else.”

You follow. There’s no room to argue, and honestly, you don’t want to. This is what you need. To be taken care of.

* * *

The café is tucked away. It’s quiet and cozy, and in the air there’s fresh bread, strong tea, and sweet spices. The owner greets Grayson with a knowing nod. This is her city.

Grayson orders for both of you without hesitation, glancing your way, not really asking, just confirming what she already knows will be fine.

You nod, not wanting to question it. It’s nice, not having to figure out what’s good or think too hard about what you want.

And now you know exactly what she is. The look and feel of her. The way she leans down to hear what you think you need, just to decide for you. She wants to take care of you as much as you want her to.

You try not to think about what you’re doing. Right off the ship. But changing cities doesn’t change you, and she’s unusually unshakable. It makes you want to fall.

“You’ll feel better after this,” she says, taking the seat across from you. And, oh, the way she says that like something absolute, something you’re just meant to accept.

You sink into your sandwich to keep your hands busy, mumbling, “Thank you,” softer than you meant.

Grayson smiles, tearing her bread. “What brings you to the cities, besides the missing friend?”

You swallow. “I work with gear. Combat gear. Design, repairs, special mods. Had a business back home before…” You trail off. She doesn’t need the whole story yet.

She lifts a brow, approving. “Useful work. This place eats that up. If it doesn’t eat you first.”

You smirk. “I’m not easy to chew.”

Grayson chuckles, low and scratchy. “You picked a hell of a time to show up. It’s been rough lately. But then again, it often is. These cities together like this… A couple of weeks of really ugly messes, and the last few days have been the worst of it.”

She’s tired. It wears her down, like she needs a break from life just as much as you do. You can be that for her.

Glancing at the bruise along her jaw you say, “Looks like a hard job.”

She shrugs, but it’s heavy. “Comes with the badge. I didn’t use to mind. Thought I’d do this until I dropped. But lately… I don’t know. Just wish the cities would take a breath sometimes.”

You eye her uniform, the shoulder armor. It’s beautifully and well made. You want to inspect the protective layers beneath, but the fact that she needs it? That unsettles you. What kind of place is this?

Without thinking, you reach out and touch the back of her hand where it rests on the table. Grayson stills. You get a glimpse of something vulnerable in her, but it only makes her feel more real, safer. You smile, and she turns her large hand to hold yours, thumb brushing across your skin.

“Ready to go find you a place for the night?”

You squeeze her hand and nod.

* * *

As you leave the café, you take her arm again. It means more now, but somehow, it’s not enough. You stop walking, unsure what’s wrong with you, what you need.

You look at Grayson. She sets your bag down, because she already knows.

Slowly, she touches your cheek, your lower lip. Her other arm wraps steadily around your waist, waiting. When you lean in, press close, she lifts your chin and kisses you.

It’s a rush you don’t expect. Maybe it’s the way she pulls you out of the world, holds you in just this moment, maybe that’s what gives her power. But deep down you know it’s because she can take care of you. Take care of anything.

Her mouth is gentle on yours. The kiss is sure and patient, and you open to her without thinking. She feels you melt, the way you cling, the way you give in, and pulls you closer.

One hand settles behind your neck, fingers soft and firm, holding you here. The other drifts lower, and her wide palm finds the base of your spine, anchoring you with the quiet weight of certain control.

Grayson kisses you like she already knows you’ll fall apart for her. She devours you carefully, without hurry, knowing just how much to take. Just enough to leave you trembling.

Your thoughts scatter. There’s only her. Her strong arms. Her soft mouth. The way your body yields so perfectly into hers.

When she finally pulls back, it’s not all calm. Her breath stutters against your cheek, and she tenses for a moment, like you just loosened something in her. She looks at you like she just found something she didn’t foresee.

Then she leans in, her voice charming at your ear, and just the right kind of suggestive. “You like giving in, don’t you? Come on. Let’s get you settled.”

You shiver and hum, barely there.

She picks up your bag again, but this time, her hand finds yours. And this time, she’s the one who holds on.

You feel like Grayson just caught you mid-fall.

* * *

The harbor hotel lobby is quiet, with dim lighting and worn velvet chairs. It’s not fancy, but it feels safe. The woman at the desk is polite and welcoming.

Grayson moves like she belongs here, but you are certain now she belongs everywhere in this city.

“Room,” she says. You wonder if the woman behind the desk feels her voice like you do, humming inside you, the way it settles low.

She straightens at once. “Of course. Name?”

Grayson turns to you. You lean on her arm. She’s still holding your hand, so you squeeze and nod, giving silent permission.

She turns back. “For two.”

The words travel through you like heat. Your breath catches, and she hears it. Her shoulders tense, like keeping herself from doing more.

The woman doesn’t ask questions. Just hands over the key with a courteous smile. Grayson thanks her, then picks up your bag again. Grip on your hand tightens slightly as she pulls you toward the stairs.

* * *

Chapter 2: Touch Me

Grayson opens the door but then just stands there, hand still on the handle, watching you walk into the room. You pause and realize that in her honorable way, she might not come in unless you ask her to. What if she doesn’t come in at all? The thought cuts cold through your want.

So, you walk back to the door and carefully touch the collar of her jacket. Lifting your gaze to meet hers you brush fingertips along the lapel of the uniform, then slightly tug it.

Your voice wavers. “Grayson, please… touch me.”

The corner of her lip lifts up and her eyes crinkle as she draws a slow deep breath. Her hand wraps around your wrist, just to hold it against her chest, like she’s saying she heard you. The door clicks shut behind her.

She touches your jaw, thumb brushing lightly, fingers trailing the curve of your throat, watching you need her.

Then she guides you to hold on to her, cling to her shoulders. You feel her want in her movements. It’s quiet and restrained, but undeniably there, as she pulls you from your waist against her. She feels so solid, and at the same time hard and soft against you.

“I’ll touch you,” she says low, kissing you, “as much as you want.”

You exhale in such relief that she smiles, and the next kiss is deeper, claiming not just your mouth, but you. Tongue swipes along your bottom lip, asking to be let in, and your spine tingles as you do.

One hand trails down your side, until she holds you at your lower back, fingers spread wide, keeping you close. The other slips into your hair, holds you in place, and you melt into that control.

Her mouth moves lightly along your jaw. You tilt your head to give her room, and a soft whine escapes from your throat.

She hums and nuzzles beneath your ear, breathes you in, as her fingers slide up your back, under your top, like testing you.

Pushing into her, you try to move her, to do something more, to hurry her. But she doesn’t hurry. You feel her grin against your neck, amused by your impatience, as she takes her time taking your top off, pulling it over your head.

You try not to look too eager when you help your arms out of the short sleeves. She sets it on the couch next to you.

Stepping back a little she looks at you, thumb brushing across your nipple. “You’re so beautiful in my hands.”

She captures your mouth again, then starts kissing lower. There’s hurry in it now, maybe for your sake. Restraint breaking on your behalf.

Sitting down on the couch, she pulls you to stand between her knees, mapping her way down your body, taking time at your breasts. You sink your fingers into the shorter hairs at the nape of her neck as her tongue circles, then soft lips on your nipple, as her hands move to the waistband of your pants. You fist her hair lightly when she opens the front.

Then she looks up at you. Lips parted, your answering gaze is all she needs to be sure. She slides your pants down and you step off them.

Your underwear is the only thing left as she rises to stand, hands tracing the lines of your body.

You reach to brush along the edges of her uniform jacket. There is so much armor on it. It looks so handsome on her, but you need it off.

She unbuckles the heavy belt herself and places it on the couch. You open the metal clasps of her jacket, fingers trembling and fumbling. She doesn’t rush you, but watches you, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with you wanting her, if she’s allowed to have that.

Sliding your hands beneath the open jacket, your palms smooth over the white shirt. Between the jacket and her robust strength there is safety.

Your arms wind around her middle, into the soft warmth, like trying to fit inside the jacket with her. She holds her breath and kisses the top of your head, wraps her arms around you and closes her eyes for a moment.

Then she shrugs out of the jacket and drapes it across the back of the couch.

Keeping palms flat on her belly, you watch her turn her sleeves up between you with efficient movements. Strong hands and arms used to handling weapons and criminals, that surely know how to hold someone still just right.

She pulls you with her backing toward the bed, sits at the edge, and draws into her lap. You straddle her, knees against the mattress. Strong thighs are under yours, legs spread wide, in a stance for stability. Your bare chest is against the crisp fabric of her shirt, her breath hot on your neck.

And then she tugs you further in, right against her, gripping your hips. And thank gods, you’re still in your underwear, because without that last scrap of fabric, you’d be soaking the front of her trousers. A low grunt as she feels the heat of you so close.

And then, without meaning to, or maybe because you mean to, you rock your hips against her.

It sends a pulse through both of you. Your gasp is airy, her groan low.

Then she gives up some restraint. Says nothing and just moves.

Hands slide under your thighs, and in one seamless shift, she lifts you off her lap.

You grab on, legs wrapping around her. But she wouldn’t drop you. On her knees, she places you in the middle of the bed. Lays you down like you belong there. Belong to her.

Your back to the bed, Grayson over you, you feel content, breathing her scent in, before remembering your need. It hits like a wave. But Grayson is ahead of you, thigh pushing between yours, pressing against your core.

You rock your hips up gently and she lets you have your way, watching your ache, before pressing herself against you. The sensation of her weight ripples through your body.

But she doesn’t move, only whispers, “Let’s not hurry this.”

You give a small sound of protest. “Please, Grayson…”

She chuckles low, one hand already finding its way down your body. When you whine for more, she follows the line lower. Kissing your throat, sucking your nipple, mouthing your belly. You lift toward her, but she doesn’t go straight to where you need her, lips brushing your hip, your thigh. You can’t wait much longer.

Your panties are damp and show just how much she affects you. She hums, then curls her fingers around the waistband and pulls them off.

Her gaze drags slowly from your legs to your sex, your stomach, your chest, and finally, to your face. You see she likes it. Still, you feel a little self-concious and involuntarily shift. Catching it, she leans down to kiss your hip again,

“Shh, you’re perfect.” And something in her sure voice makes you believe her.

Hands return, delicately touching first, then pressing your thighs wider. Nothing in you resists opening up to her. She settles there, arms wrapping beneath your thighs. One hand resting on your belly, the other keeping your thigh tight to her shoulder.

Her mouth touches the crease of your thigh, then the other. Then again, but with her tongue, until you soften completely in her arms.

And finally, no more detours.

Flat tongue, light, slow stroke, all along your folds.

You gasp, hips twitching, and grasp her hand on your abdomen. Holding you firmly open, she groans into you. The sound vibrates through your skin.

No flicking or teasing. She presses her tongue softly at first, then in firm, long stripes, sinking between your folds until you’re clutching her hand.

Against your skin, it’s warm and perfectly clear. “Stay still, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You try your best to stay still for her, as that tongue carefully learns you.

And at last, your clit. She doesn’t just lick one way, she tries to find what you like. The tip of her tongue dragging, swiping different directions, mouth surrounding and gently sucking, until she finds your way. You pant and whimper, let her hear everything, moans starting to tremble, until she finds the rhythm that makes your hips lift and your whole body shake.

Her eyes don’t leave your face, like she’s not just devouring your body, but everything you’re giving her, your surrender. She grabs tight around both your thighs and holds you still, tongue never faltering.

“Grayson…” you whisper, just before you come, sudden and unbounded. She holds you through it. Her mouth doesn’t leave you. Not until you’re done. Not until you tug her up to you.

She pulls you into her arms, and you hold on tight, tucking your face into her shoulder, heart still pounding.

One hand cups the back of your head, lips brushing your temple. Her voice is husky in your ear.

“Good girl. You did so good for me. Just like I wanted you.”

You shudder as she whispers, “Let’s not end yet.”

Her hand slides down, and somehow, you still want more. She explores you first, tracing the slick between your folds with her strong fingers, then gently presses one in. Then two, deep and assured. You arch into it, breath catching.

She shifts lower, just enough to sink them to the knuckle and curl just right. Her hands don’t hesitate and you pant short, little breaths.

A soft kiss at your jaw. “So sweet. So open.” Pressing to that spot inside on every stroke. You whine and bury your face in her hair. She holds you close. Lets you hide for a moment. Lets you feel her steady.

But then, still low but firmer now, “Look at me.”

You don’t move, eyes closed, thoughts only on feeling.

“Baby,” she murmurs, fingers still moving inside you, “let me see you.” The hand at your back presses just slightly. A nudge.

She doesn’t just want to give you this. She wants to share it. To watch you take it. To witness what it does to you.

“Sweet thing…” Her lips brush your jaw, coaxing you back. You turn, breathing hard. And gods, the way she looks at you, like you’re the only thing she wants to see.

Her thumb brushes gently over your clit, syncing with the curl of her fingers inside you. You’re so close.

Her gravelly voice sinks into you.

“That’s it. Just let it happen.”

Her rhythm never falters. Looking into her sure eyes, you hold on to her.

“There she is…” she murmurs. “Let me feel you fall apart for me.”

And you do fall apart for her. Whimpering her name again.

When you come, it’s not just her fingers, or her gaze, or her heavy body steady against you, it’s also her deep voice,

“That’s it. My girl. Good girl.”

Hips trembling, thighs shaking, your eyes blur, but you keep looking at her. Sobbing, maybe. Moaning her name. You don’t know. But she does, because she watches you the whole time, fingers working, holding you together through it.

“You’re doing so good, darling”

And when your body stills, she cradles your head to her neck. Her hand stays between your thighs, not inside or moving anymore, just resting there.

You’re curled against her as your breathing evens. Her solid body surrounds you, and you feel so safe and wanted, cared for.

She hums softly.

You’re not sure how to offer it, but you want to give something back. To touch her, if she wants it.

So, gingerly, your hand trails down. Across her stomach, still covered by her shirt. Then lower, to the waistband of her trousers.

Your fingers dip there, offering to give.

Turning your face from her neck you peek up at her, a silent question.

She exhales slowly through her nose. Looks into your eyes like she’s searching for something. Then the arm around your back tightens, nudges, gives permission.

So you go further. Warmth. Heat. Wet. All because of you.

She moans quietly into your hair.

You find her with your fingers. She’s tense, but bit by bit, she relaxes into your touch. She doesn’t guide you, doesn’t speak. Just holds you, face buried in your hair, breath stuttering at your ear.

You worry whether you’re doing it right for her, fingers moving carefully. She doesn’t buck or writhe. But when she presses in, hips pushing subtly into your hand, you start to feel more confident, and quicken your pace.

You feel her start to shake before she makes a sound.

And when she comes, she comes into your hand like she can’t help it. A broken groan. Arms lock around you, holding you to her chest as her body tenses, then shudders apart. For a moment, she is yours.

She doesn’t let go. Even when her breath steadies. Even when your hand stills and slips back up to her waist. She just holds you there, tight in her arms, mouth pressed to your temple.

Her voice, when it comes, is ragged. “You’re so good to me.”

You hum to her, glad to have taken care of her too.

She feels close, not just in body, but in everything.

Grayson shifts first. One hand smooths up your back, the other slides beneath your thigh as she adjusts you, so you’re both comfortable, your weight resting fully against her.

A rumble from her chest. “You okay?”

You nod against her. “Yeah… Are you?”

She exhales and rests her head against yours.

“Now I am.”

Eventually, your breaths even together. Your eyes flutter shut.

Just before you drift to sleep, she murmurs, “Baby girl.”

You whisper back, “Grayson.”

Then, silence.

And sleep.

* * *

That’s how you wake the next morning. Your hand resting over her belly, snuggled up against her.

Voices drift in from outside, and you can recognize one of them. You don’t want to move, but life is waiting, and it’s time to return to it.

Grayson watches as you peek out the window, wrapped in a blanket. To your relief, it’s your friend chatting with the hotel concierge. She found you.

You crack the window open, call to her and wave, promising to come down once you’re dressed. She gets the hint not to come up, and makes a questioning gesture at the blanket you’re wearing, and laughs. You bite your lip and shut the window quickly.

Grayson is already up, standing in the middle of the room, pulling on her uniform jacket. The corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles wide, clearly well-rested.

You walk over, uncertain, but she’s as calm and steady as ever. She pulls you close and leans down to kiss you.

Then says in her grounding voice, maybe as much to herself as to you,

“You’re going to be alright now.”

And you know you will be.

♡

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