PLAYMATE: you buy a new strap for your over worked, over stressed girlfriend to use on you, making her the perfect playmate <3 – 1.7k
attention ☆ wlw, smut, dom!grace, fem!reader, strap usage, pwp(!)— so nervous to post this since is my first strap piece, so bare with me
“Hngh— fuck baby.”
Grace doesn’t mean to run her nails along the swell of your bottom so deeply when adoring you from behind. “Shh,” There’s an immediate coo behind you, damp kisses leaving their mark over your shoulder, “I-I’m sorry.” It takes a special kind of woman to get Grace to wear a strap. It takes an even more important lady to get her to rub the head of it along the glisten of your heat. Slowly, intentionally…
Up and down…
Up and down…
Up and down…
And a little circle around your aching bud.
Grace actually groans when she teases the tip in as if she can feel it. Part of her wishes she could. “Oh fuck—“ she chuckles out in lust, trying to catch her breath from holding it while being in awe of your arching body over the arm of the couch. “Y-you’re so tight, it’s hard to push it in,” she mutters with a throb pulsing through her body, your tensing muscles making it harder for her to slip it in.
There’s a buzzing sound that sizzles in her ears. The room is quiet, empty and dim. What was originally just a simple date night between the both of you turns into a product review. The moment she opened the door after her shift and saw the new toy laying on the kitchen counter, she knew what you were up to. It was charming at first– a little funny. But now it’s real, the temperature continues to burn under her top and when you pulled her into the apartment by her suspenders, there was nothing stopping the course of the night.
“Fuck— are you happy to get to try out our new toy?” you lustfully prod at her. Your voice is erotic, sending the blonde into a complete tizzy from how slurred your words are. There’s a raspy whine she rips out of you when she pushes the toy deeper inside, feeling your legs tremble at the invitation. A simple yes is enough to subdue you.
Though you haven’t seen it yet, the look Grace is carrying is intoxicating. Her lips are parted, work blouse undone leaving her braless with glasses a little lopsided on her face. You did this proudly before she got you in your current position. Her pants are at the television stand; a place she also dropped off her extra work for the night. “Shit…” her voice is low as her hips fill you until your feet kick in false protest. “I know,” she consoles, feeling the warmth of her body press behind yours to feel small kisses on your skin. “A-are y-you okay?”
“—yes,” you grumble.
“Do you want me to stop?” Grace teases the question because she knows the answer already. You’re always such a champ when it comes to moments like these, but just because you can take it doesn’t mean you should. Today is not a good example of the latter. You want it and through hell fire you will get it.
Though, all worry rolls off her skin when she hears a quiet “no.”
From the veins of the silicon adjusting under the tightness of your walls and the natural tease of your girlfriend, your hips achingly fall back on her before you can get out what you need to say. “Hmph— you like being mean to me?” you call out through a bite you have on a throw pillow only to feel her pull back just enough to keep only the tip inside of you.
Her body leans over yours, pushing your hips deep into the arm of the couch. The tip of her nose runs against the exposed part of your back, nodding her face against your flesh. “Yes– beg for me,” she etches her words into your skin. “I wanna hear you beg.”
It’s like a light switch went off. If Grace could laugh at your eagerness, she would. Unfortunately as of now, your prurient image keeps all amusement underneath every other intense emotion she’s feeling right now. Through broken whines and pleas, she can hear the desperation pouring out of you with promises that you’ll be good for her. Grace watches you with lovestruck doe eyes, biting her lip before she slides back into you slowly. Her body stands tall once more, tilting her head to the side so she can take a full look of your body again.
When she leaves you, the comfort disappears. That lingering feeling of tenderness is washed away and she knows when you want her comfort and the pressure of her body against yours. She’s such a little shit and a great one at that. One moment you’re coaxing her down from a wave of emotions and next she’s scooping you up and putting you in them. A whine you let out is halted through a gentle massage over your lower back. She’d never leave you all of the way.
Hues of green and gray are taking in the heat of the action, watching how she fills you all while being observant of your responses.
As her hips roll into you with intentionality and hunger, she keeps her tempo moderate and her movements fluid. You’re at her mercy, gripping at the throw blanket and cushions below you. And as if she truly can feel you, she notices the extra work she has to put in when you tighten around her. Her bottom lip is between her teeth at the sight of her pretty girl. She can even melt when she spots a hand of yours reach back for hers to hold.
“You’re doing so good,” she holds your hand, cradling her fingers around yours. “You’re being good and taking your new toy?”
“Mhm.”
“Mhm…” Through a harsh growl, you rumble out her name when she picks up the pace. Her bosom bounces to her rhythm, unintentional friction from her top adding to her own arousal. “Grind on it — fuck,” the blonde tries to regain her breath, “… I wanna see you work for it— use me pretty girl.”
Now it’s only one of her hands that linger at the round of your hips, gripping you as you do as she asks. Her body slows down to a halt to see how you’re gonna chase your pleasure.
Grace’s head falls back when she feels you fighting for a sense of relief. The dampening heat between her thighs is surely causing her body to shift behind you; the hand on your hip reaches loosely over your waist while a thumb runs gentle circles over your knuckles.
The force of your effort has the woman humming with each hit; hair comfortably rolling over her face to cover the disastrously evil look in her eye. There’s nothing more than what Grace wanted to do than to tease you and stop you from reaching your peak. As she thinks about it, she pulls herself out of the trance she has been put under by you and continues her pace. They’re smaller this time, slower, less satisfying to get you to squirm.
“Grace—“ you growl through the cushion with stuttering hips.
There, a hand rushes from the curve of your hip to your bottom, keeping you exactly where she wants you. Grace shakes off the pride she feels as she widens you with every hit, watching her abdomen roll and tense like she knows exactly what she’s doing. And of course she does. There’s nothing for her to say. She’s not fighting back or egging you on. Never. You could call her name ten more times and the only thing she’d still expect from you is to eat the pillow and take whatever she wants to give you. She wants her power back and she wants it now.
She takes her time, cutting it out with the taunts and teases, allowing you to fully relax over the couch’s arm, standing on your toes as she fills you deeper and deeper the more she gets comfortable. There’s nothing else she wants to see from you other than you come undone under her control and she sees it; the stirring, the deep breaths and even the sensation of your nails digging into her hand. She doesn’t stop. Your body is giving out on you. using a toy that was sure to give enough stimulation to get you where you want to be without having to stimulate you more than what she’s used to giving her the chance to be there with you emotionally. Grace coos out gentle reassurances, encouraging you to keep taking it.
Your hips begin to flutter, that pit in the base of your stomach is growing and the sudden urge to pee is threatening such an experience.
It’s you now that rips a free hand from the crevice of the couch, pushing at her tiring pace. In a matter of seconds your hand swings back to you with a chuckle. “You’re doing so well– keep taking it.”
In your mind you want to fight with her, bicker and tell her that you can’t. Though would she really listen? Now? Right after she notices you’re about to reach your peak?
No.
With inevitability, you hiss, whimpering out hushed profanities and the most obscene language Grace has ever heard you utter. She allows you to have your way, watching your body seize and buck in place. The analyst swears she sees you lift a leg up. But not until she feels a wetness hit her leg do her eyes grow wide.
“Fuck–” using the hand steady in hers to pull you up against her chest, she runs that wild hand over your waist, right over the bone of your pelvis. “You did good. So good.”
“I did?”
“So good,” she calls out in your ear.
And while she may be exhausted after turning you loose, she litters you in kisses, shushing your vulgar language and holding you close.
“Don’t pull out, don’t pull out of me, please.”
It’s a hum of denial you hear under your ear while she holds you close, kissing the curve of your jaw. “I won’t– fuck I-I won’t,” she catches her own breath. “You sound so pretty.” fingers wrap around your neck to keep your head steady on her shoulder.
“Let me see your hands?” Your voice rings warm in Grace’s ear as she’s planted beside you, eyes leaving a show she was only half watching anyways.
A lazy smile pulls at the corner of her lip with a gentle hum from her throat. In no time, she lifts her hand to yours admiring the chance to compare hand sizes with you. The heat in her body begins to rise out of pure admiration for her favorite girl.
When your fingers touch her, it sends a shock down her spine, making you both share a giggle. To your surprise, your hands combat each other more than you thought. Grace watches intently; eyes dragging over your hands pulling and prodding at her fingers.
“I didn’t know people still did this,” Grace mumbles.
“Is it corny?”
Grace mentally kicks herself; that’s not at all what she is trying to convey. In fact, the act was rather innocent and sweet. If you could see inside her head, you’d see her giddy. “No– n-no. I just haven’t seen anyone do anything like that in real life. It’s uhm,” pushing out a chuckle, her spare hand runs through her hair, eyes leaving yours. “It’s really cute.”
Her hands lace around yours, having enough courage to lift it carefully. She notices the details; the scarring, the smoothness, natural grooves and the roughness before low, olive toned eyes make their way back up to yours to find an expectant look. She doesn't want to let go of your hand. She knows she probably should break contact to avoid overwhelming feelings brewing in the pit of her stomach, but the contentment on your face forces her to let you have your way. Instead, Grace decides to savor your fascination with her hands. She’s hesitant though intentional when she gives a small lap to her bottom lip, placing only a peck against your knuckles.
Grace uses this moment to turn your hand over in hers like she’s inspecting porcelain glass. Her attention isn’t clinical though; she carries that same purity you do. And as you watch her trace the lines of your palms, turning your hands over and studying the natural difference of your fingers, you feel the tips of her fingers tickle along your skin. It’s all deliberate in Grace’s eyes and genuine in yours.
Your smile makes her heart warm, “It’s cute?” you ask with a lighthearted, playful tone as you pull yourself closer to her, nuzzling into the warmth radiating off the young woman. With assurance, her hands reach for you merely out of protection, lazily draped over your hips while feeling you settle down on the thigh closest to you.
Grace’s body is warm; feeling the temperature rise and it’s not from the work issued hoodie she’s in. Hell, she wouldn’t even blame the duvet you’re both atop of. No. For the first time, she’s not blaming herself and instead blaming you. “Yeah,” her voice loses its calm, cracking and going quiet halfway.
“Yeah?” you coo, breaking her under the pressure.
“Yes,” Grace states under her breath, eyes meeting yours once more like you’re the one turning the Earth with her on it.
There’s a silence that enters the bedroom you two have been wasting time in. Lazy cuddling with nothing to offer but simple conversation and soft kisses. Grace is not an initiator in the traditional sense of taking what she wants with pride, but she’s instead careful. There’s hesitance in her kisses, caution in her touches, but she knows that you always give her permission.
“Your hands are bigger than I thought,” there’s a comfort in all ten of your digits cupping her face, making her lips turn into a lopsided grin. Her laugh fuels you, leaning into her body.
As if climbing off your lap is an end all be all, Grace’s grip tightens on your hips. Not to trap you, but just tell you that she doesn’t want to leave. Not yet. In a failed attempt to cut the heat in her chest, she tries to crack a small tease, “that,” snickering, she shakes her head and rolls her eyes, “nevermind.” Choosing to cut herself off feels better than letting herself talk herself into a place she wouldn’t be able to get out of.
Grace watches you widen your eyes, turning her head away from you to hide her amusement. She knows you’re going to throw her under the fucking train, so she’s just embracing impact. “Oh? You have jokes, huh? Say it,” you smirk, grabbing her face playfully before pressing a gentle kiss at the tip of her nose. “What were you going to say?”
“No!” Grace whines, pouting through a smile, taking a tiny kiss you leave on her lips, arms resting over your hips.
“No, you were gonna tell me!” you’re quick to try and reel her back in, hoping to get an answer out of her. “You can’t hold out on me. You know I won't leave you alone about–”
“Okay!” Grace groans out, throwing her body back against the pillows of your shared bed, feeling your hands carry down her chest. “I was just going to say–” she doesn’t know what takes her so long to tease you about something so intimate when she’s only ever been intimate with you. “I was going to ask how couldn’t you have known when they’re always–”
“Grace!” You stop her in her tracks. Grace has never been one to initiate dirty talk or even engage in it. It all felt so forced and scripted. Even saying that sent shivers down her spine. No… she’s a woman of action. ‘Don’t talk about it, be about it’ type of woman. She’d love to hear you ask her for what you want, but as far as her saying what she wants, there’s nothing holding her back, more like her hands like to guide with minimal verbal instruction. Pleasure was something for you, and if she could please you, she’d be just as pleased. That’s not to say she doesn’t chase her own pleasure from you, she definitely does. However, time and place. Time and place. “You’re thinking about that, now?”
“I wasn’t until you climbed in my lap,” the blonde admits.
“And who’s to say that I have never perceived your hands?” hovering over her body, both hands on each side of her head, she flushes as you smirk. “I think about your hands more than you think.”
Grace falls silent, smile falling slowly before the flesh inside of her cheek makes its way between her bites. The hands she has on your body twitch, balling up before releasing them. Her breath is caught in her throat, closing her olive colored eyes behind her glasses. You watch her inhale so much her lean frame lifted through her heavy top, opening her eyes to show herself that she has this moment in control. Hopefully.
“Do you?”
The analyst realizes she’s dating a woman comparable to a vixen the way your bottom lip sits between your teeth, making her heart race. “I’ve been wanting to feel your fingers in my mouth since you did it the first time.”
Grace is stunned by your words. You two have sex plenty enough for her to walk around town like she’s got the key to life in the back of her brain, but even those words rip lust from the back of her spine and bring it up into her chest. She felt like she could’ve smiled, laughed, anything other than sitting back up reinforcing her grip on your waist.
She doesn’t know what she’s looking for when she looks into your eyes. All she knows is that your hopeful look creates this thick atmosphere around you. “Ask me,” she whispers, shortening the gap of your lips. The tip of her nose rubs against yours.
“Can you put your fingers in my mouth?” the question causes the woman to stare at your lips, watching you lick them. It doesn’t register.
“Ask me again,” this time she asks you with a kiss to the corner of your lips. The moment it’s you that becomes nervous, she shakes her head, lifting her hand to carefully hold your face. “Please?” she prods, knowing you cave every time. “One more time, just ask me and I’ll do it… I just want to hear you say it again.”
Suddenly it’s you cradling the back of her head, heartbeat in your ears. “Can I taste your fingers? Please?”
The woman bumps a smirk once more, nodding. “Kiss me.”
Like the good girlfriend you are, you oblige her order, pressing your lips against hers.
And like her life depends on it, she dives into your kiss. With a low grunt, her lips crash into you, pulling your body closer (if that was possible). She drives the kiss with passion, but she’s gentle as she tries to be to not hurt you. You know more than anyone else that Grace couldn’t hurt a fly if it flew directly in front of her face, but you have to admit you’re currently at her mercy.
Pulling for just a breath, her kiss is softer than her first one. It’s careful; it’s an apology for such a hungry first encounter. As she feels your hands run down her hair and over her shoulders to rest on the bend of her hips, Grace shivers. She still doesn't know how bold she can be, but as long as you haven’t pushed her away, she feels safe to keep going. Though, why would you?
Your fingers curl into the hem of her hoodie, falling more for her just by feeling tugging your shorts, pulling your hips closer to hers. She gets a moan from you, sending electricity down her body. You adjusting your seat on her thigh is used for some mental feedback loop Grace can use later. Her lips continue to mesh with you, getting air by lingering kisses onto your cheeks and the bone of your jaw.
With careful hands, she encourages your hips into hers once more. This makes you write under her touch. The sound of victory isn’t a cheer more than it is a low, rough, satisfied chuckle rumbling against your skin.
“Grace,” you plead, but as she returns your look, it’s not to coo and mutter into your ear. She did that. No, it’s to give you exactly what you’ve been asking for.
Five digits carry up your back, wrapping around the front of your neck comfortably enough to not harm you but claim you. Your voice cuts out and Grace has no plans to give you the verbal attention you seek. Rather, her lips continue to dance along your lower neck, peppering your collarbone. Her hand simply rests at the top of your neck to keep you steady and surely out of her way. Whimpers in the air fuel her to keep going, and the grip you wrap around her wrist only amuses her.
Slowly, she offers you a lifting hand, fitting your cheeks into her hold, still dressing you up in affection. Grace lends her index and middle fingers to your lips, using her other hand to wrap your waist and pull you flesh to her chest. The hold you have on her wrist gets tighter and through your weakening stance, you melt into her arm and loop her fingers into your mouth with your tongue. That makes Grace pull off of you.
“Fuck,” her voice is low and dazed. She watches you intently; her heart quickening from the damp warmth your mouth has. You suck on her fingers slowly, observing her shaking eyes through her foggy glasses. In moments like this, she’s so fucking proud that you’re her girl. “Earn it…” she shakily demands, catching her breath. “You’re so pretty.” It’s a threat she rarely uses, but a threat nonetheless.
And as you feel her fingers curl comfortably in your mouth, there’s something warmer, more carnal drawing out of you. Grace has a hard time finding anything to say or what to even think as you grind down on her thigh, pulling a moan from her as if you’re the one taking advantage of her. Though in her mind, she wouldn’t have it any other way. You could use her and she’d give you the playbook.
The seat of you is hot, mending with the mold of her thigh. It’s hard for her to catch a breath with your eyes locked like this. Riding her thigh with her fingers in your mouth is such a vulgar sight to see, but never would she stop you and neither will you stop until you both get what you want. “That’s it, give it to me,” she stirs underneath you, keeping you firm in her hold.
She vows to leave it up to you; you keep riding and she’ll keep her hands right where you want them.
She sees your eyes flutter close.
She sees the focus of your tongue wrapped on her digits
She feels your hips already lose rhythm.
If she could bottle the moment up she would.
It’s silent for a moment as the two of you feast at the sight of one another.
You work those hips exactly like you want to. Does it beat her fingers? Absolutely not? The strap you’ve grown fond of? Not if it’s your girlfriend using it. Rolling your hips with intent, Grace keeps you balanced as you lean back, one arm keeping you up by digging your palm into the mattress, really working your body into the plush of her bare thigh. Grace knew that this would be the perfect night to wear those shorts.
“Baby,” you call out for her past her fingers, sending a shock down her body. Nodding, there’s encouragement in her actions.
“My good girl can do it,” she cheers through the passion. It's erotic watching your body work so hard.
Your chest rises and falls against hers, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach as your lover can feel her thigh become hotter and damp through the fabric of your underwear.
You belong to her.
Your body is stiffening even though she has you in her grip tight. But the distance you’ve created makes her anxious. If you’re going to finish, it will be against her chest, shivering and begging. She wants to feel you fight to speak with a little bit of her in your mouth. And as you get pulled back into her chest, you begin to flutter in the seat of your bottoms…
Finishing exactly like she knew you would.
It’s not loud, drawn out or dramatic. It’s breathy, passionate and deserving of a kiss well done.
Before Grace can pull her fingers from your mouth, you shake your head. It makes her laugh, “I think… you should just ask if you want my fingers in your mouth.”
INTROVERT: a person who is predominantly focused on internal thoughts and feelings rather than on external things or social interaction
attention ☆ wlw, fluff, smut, spoilers(!), introspection, pining, fingering, fem!reader, dom!grace, cunnilingus, strap usage, i realized i don’t have a lot of grace fluff yet, so im building it into my smuts until i can get my knight fic done! — 1.8k
It’s safe to say that Grace’s social circle is rather… non-existent. It’s not all bad; her being solo is almost by design. And trauma. She doesn’t like to talk about the latter, but mainly because the first one is much more significant in daily conversations. Or lack thereof.
The most chatter the blonde has had in a long while is with Leon and Emily. But more recently, you. Having so many people in her life at one time is overwhelming when she’s used to coming home and bed-rotting. So many connections she needs to uphold, but she tries her best. One thing she used to hear from her mother was that she’s too— introspective. It gives her the shivers every time she recounts it.
Grace wouldn’t call it introspection; she’s just in her head a lot.
But it’s not a bad thing in her mind.
Not when Grace has people who can externalize these thoughts to now… if she wants to.
Most days she can find herself thinking about you. At her desk. Mid conversation with Leon. Even while Dempsey is actively assigning her work. It’s like you always find a way to slip in and make a greeting that others can’t see. Grace loves it.
Leon might be the closest thing she has to a father. Emily is probably the closest she wants to have as a daughter. But you–
You belong to her.
Her best friend, her lover. You’re the one to call on her lunch breaks after she checks on Emily, the one who can laugh with her all night with when nothing is on tv, and the one she knows will hold her when the weight of the world just feels too strong.
She knew you were the one when she exploded with laughter over something you said that only makes her giggle now. Her face was so happy, Alyssa would’ve rolled over in her grave if she saw it. She lights up when you’re around her. There’s no force from you to talk to her; you two can sit in silence, hold one another. Maybe kiss you from time to time.
She notices the small things first.
The way you check on Emily when she’s late from work.
The way you remind her to eat.
The way “take care of yourself,” sounds more like you’re scared she’d vanish off the face of the earth rather than a simple ask.
The big things matter too. But the small ones are what have her mind stuck in a loop.
There are even times where all you have to do is walk into the room and the entire atmosphere collapses in on itself until it’s just you. No tv, no couch, no silly music playing in the background of her laptop– just you.
Grace prides herself on being careful with people. Observant. Analytical.
It was her job of course. She studies how people move through the world. What they say, figuring out intentions and all of their contradictions. But with you, she realized something unsettling; she’d never opt to study from a distance. She wants to be part of the life she’s watching of you. She used to be more so in love with the idea of yearning than actually settling down with it in her lap. The longer she kept her eye on you, she understood that you’re the final person worth staying by. The missing piece.
Do you know how easy it is for her to sit down and watch you for hours?
If you realized how much space you take up in her head you’d probably be stunned by just how much one person could think about another. This isn't the first time she’s wondered about these things, and she’s sure it will not be the last.
She likes your loudness.
She likes your silence.
She likes your proximity.
She likes you.
She loves you. Dare she say it.
She figures that the only problem with liking you is that she doesn't know what to do with herself when she is around you.
It happens again today. She can be found huddled at her desk with a hand behind her head, tapping a light pen to the nape of her neck as she tries to focus on a file she couldn’t give less of a fuck about. Grace’s eyes flicker along the papers with a faltering smile at a small thought of you. She swears she’s not that distracted and that she can get back to work any time she wants.
The only downside of being your girl is that you’re so satisfactory that she in turn doesn’t know what to do with you. Anything. Second guesses of where to put her hands, what to say and how to say it are always up in the air. It honestly fills the woman with this cloudy fog of an amalgamation of emotions when it’s established that she has more power than she’d like to admit in this relationship.
How she is able to get you right where she wants you is beyond her, but when she asks Leon about it, she’s always met with a, “seems like you’re not the only one with a crush, kiddo.” and that breaks her. You like her, and that is more than enough for her.
Trust her, she knows she watches you too much. Though, the strange part (for her) is that you never seemed bothered by it. Sometimes you will glance up from whatever you’re doing and meet her eyes from across the room. It’s not a look of shock or surprise– a simple smile. Like you know you’re meant to be there with her.
At home, Grace knows she doesn’t have it under control. But at work? Grace likes to think that there’s this obvious composure.
Professional. Controlled.
But her mind is already guiding her from her desk at work to leaning over you on the couch. Heat with nothing on her mind and you are entirely too close to her. Her concentration slips right through her fingers. With a kick of her toes against some paper work out of reflex, she falls out of her trance but quickly goes back to lalaland with you.
Her thought of you enveloping her fingers while holding her face, begging for mercy lingers in her mind. The heat of your body takes her over as she fills and pulls out of you. The typical silence of her place is suddenly filled with your moans lingering in her ear. How pretty you are. The rise and fall of your chest, your small, “baby, please,” that twist of your lips when your hips rock into the palm of her hand when all she can do is watch you from above, not stopping until her job is finished. She thinks about when she coaches you through it, dropping little kisses on your face, “you can take it.”
Grace is snapped out of it when it’s time to get back to her job– the one she’s at right now. Sighing out, her glasses meet her desk, leaning back into her seat as she gives her files an intentional break. “Fuck,” mumbling under her breath, fixing her blazer and picking up her phone to see a text from you.
It’s a simple message hoping that your girlfriend has a good rest of her shift and that you can’t wait to see her. It makes her blush. How could she have thought about something so sinful in a moment when you’re so soft? Until Grace realizes– you’re not soft either. No, no. You've got demons of your own that captivate her.
Like the time she easily slips back into when her hands tangle in your hair as she watches you latch onto the heat between her thighs once again, at the hand of the blonde. Grace’’s got the world in her palms with her thighs wide open for you, quietly cooing in your ear some of the hell-raising words she had no idea she was even capable of. How soft your tongue and lips maneuver on her with kisses, sucks, teases and taunts. She orders it out of you; leaned back on the bed, toes curled and gasping for air, “Just like that,” a small demand pulls from her shaky breath. “Keep looking at me.”
The ding from her phone happens again. It’s already been two minutes since she last thought about you. She can find herself getting antsy at your mere existence. Taking a look around the cubicles around her, it’s still a slow and busy day for most folks; small discussions in the air. As she clears her throat, there’s one more troublesome glance at the work in front of her that makes her debate knocking it all out right now.
At this point, work doesn’t stand a chance. Not before she gets another text from you. This time something that makes her throw her phone faster than she picked it up. “What did I do to deserve this,” under her breath, the words escape. In her phone is a picture of a new toy, one that’s right up her alley that you seemingly bought without her knowing. In the picture lays a shipping label and discreet packaging that already has her conjuring up ways to use it on you.
And as if it’s her final act, she dips off once more. The thought of your hands deep in the duvet, back arched with your bottom swelled in the air just for her as you take something silicone and in your favorite color throws her right back into the scene. Your pleas are muffled through the pillow you bite on, taking every thrust like your life depended on it, rolling your hips back on her in the desire to chase your own pleasure on her.
“Ashcroft.” There's a call for her, but it’s not enough to slip her out of her own head.
“Ashcroft!” This time, there’s heavy knocking in a familiar pattern. It stirs Grace, but not by much.
“Grace!” This time she rips from her thoughts and looks Dempsey in the eyes once more. Shit.
“Yes?” this time, she sounds more annoyed than she does frightened, but it’s all the same to him. Work must be done.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he calls out to her, beckoning her to follow him with a tilt of his head. “Come with me. You’ve got a new assignment.” He carries a tone of irritation, but he knows who she is and how young and hard headed new hires can be.
Suddenly the air cools down and reality sets back in the twenty two year old, “right behind you!”
“I wanna ask you something,” you whisper underneath her ear, pushing her against the counter of the bathroom. The plush of your lips graze against her neck, the tip of your nose dancing behind the curve of the woman’s ear. “If I ask this question and you don’t like it, you can shoot me,” chuckling, you feel her head turn, nervous olive colored eyes not once meeting yours, but you take it upon yourself to take advantage of her facing you, placing a gentle peck at the corner of her lip.
You can feel the heat radiating off of Grace, the sheen along her forehead and the rouge on her cheek making her look more like a rose than a woman. “Has anyone eaten you out before?”
The pair of you are trapped in the bathroom by your own doing. It was Grace that accidentally spills that beans that she thought others experiences are much more valid than her own. That sex isn’t anything too exciting to anticipate. She wish she can eat her words now, but now she has to face the music and you were one for confrontation. If she told you (or anyone) the truth, her life was just far too serious to indulge in bedroom games. How can she really enjoy it knowing she has responsibilities that don’t allow her to live in pleasure for long?
Grace in all twenty two years of her life has never thought that she would have an encounter so intimate, or intense until she had met you. You’re someone who is devoted to being a consistent lover in her life. You want to belong to her, just like she tries to give herself to you. Everything you did for her only exuded passion, care and a little something else that you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge just yet. Maybe you’d call it yearning if your ego let you breathe, for now, you’d call it an extreme care for her.
And gosh, does she adore you just as much. Her life practically revolves around you despite you being there or not. Confronting her feelings head on never felt so freeing until she met you. Now, she takes the leap with a little extra faith. With you, she’s a Grace you both can be proud of.
The lights are low and the apartment is far too silent for the both of you. It’s late and the city is sleeping. The after hours approach you steadily, only hearing the rumble of cars or the croak of nearby birds from outside of the window.
The question alone makes the blonde hum in an attempt to maintain composure. Her chest rises and falls, shifting in her stance only slightly as one of her hands grip the rim of the sink. The other is loosely clung to your belt loop. You watch Grace's eyes shut, shaking her head.
Checking in, you of course see through on your word, seeking consent to continue, “was that okay to ask?”
“Yes,” she immediately nods, ripping her hand from the sink to wrap behind your neck. With her lack of experience, the only thing she wants to feel is your lips on hers again, finding your kiss swiftly. “And no,” she whispers against your mouth. “No one ever did.”
Her eagerness fuels your lust; lowering your body at an achingly slow pace. Swollen lips miss yours the moment your kiss trails down her chin and down to her jaw, peppering her neck with your mouth. “That’s a shame isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
With a quiet laugh, your hands run down her torso, fingertips running over her top, feeling the bra underneath her shirt to the quick breath through her abdomen. The second your fingertips meet the band of her bottoms, you tug at them for a moment to help lower yourself to your knees. The whole time, Grace’s hand never abandon you, seeking refuge in your hair as you leave her mouth lonely.
Heavy breaths fill the thick atmosphere and they’re all hers. She thought that this would go a completely different way. A way that carried more structure and less carnal desire. But maybe that wouldn’t have been half as enjoyable. She has so much that she wants to say but her throat stops her from getting the words out every time. Grace will never admit that she is a virgin, but when you watch her clam up at intimacy and need a bit of a boost for physical connection, you figure her romantic prospects have been limited in the past, but it didn’t deter you from becoming her girlfriend after you confessed your feelings to her. It clearly bothers her since she can’t even tell you. In fact, her timidness invites you to be in her life more because you want to be the one to expose her to all of her firsts. You want to be her first kiss, the one who figures out how she wants to be touched and the one she craves when her temperature begins to rise.
“Such a shame,” she hears you coo, finally snapping out of her train of thought to realize the only thing she has to do is kick off her pants. It’s enough for her to do so, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Can I eat you out?”
There the woman stands in a simple t-shirt, her grip slamming over her mouth, wanting to remain quiet as she possibly could in a moment like this. Seething, she gives you a nod lacking confidence, but not consent. “Y-y-yes,” she mutters quietly like your apartment is filled with company and you had to keep hush. Grace nods without a proper pace. She’s eager to see what you have in store for her, but her heart races a mile a minute, feeling like she could either throw up or cry. Was Grace standing there going to be enough for you? She didn’t know if she should stand a specific way, try to say something sexy or maybe even pose.
“Wanna hold my hand?” you try to ease the anxiety in her heart, holding out a palm for the hand she’s got on her face.
With trust, the woman reaches for your hold, observing you closely. Your grip is firm, but comforting and your smile is just as warm. “Just breathe, if you want me to stop, I will. You just need to tell me.”
“I don’t want that, you haven’t even touched me yet,” the analyst blushes from your concern, turning her head away after hearing you chuckle. But it doesn’t last long when the tips of your fingers began to dance and curl round the lace of her panties. She honestly wasn’t the one to reach for underwear so scandalous until she saw yours. Panties and bras were comparable to any secret, fantasy lingerie store when hers are rather plain. Now, she relishes in the gentle feeling of the damp warmth of your tongue leaving a stripe over the fabric of her hips, happy to be in a set that makes her feel good.
“Put your leg on my shoulder,” you direct comfortably, adjusting for her do exactly as you ask, getting the right amount of room to work with.
Quickly, you take it upon yourself to use a thumb to pull her panties to the side, breathing in the scent of her and to much to your amazement, it damn near intoxicates you. Your tongue is careful, running down the inside of her thigh and licking up and in between her flesh. The woman above you holds your hand tighter, resting both of your hands on her thigh, whimpering without any inhibitions. “Fuck,” her hips roll in shock, jolting agaisnt your face that causes you to work on her body. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, but with no time to entertain her insecurities, you feed her impending orgasm.
Your face dives in her, keeping her panties away from your goal. Grace’s taste on your tongue is something you devour all day, and in a perfect world with a lot of time, that is what you would rather be doing. You salivate at the pulse of her core, hungry to latch onto her swelling bud.
Grace shudders at your expertise, feeling your tongue massage against her. She wishes she can be louder, be needier, greedier. Whatever she wants she knows all she has to do is ask, but considering you can’t properly respond, there’s a weak pull at your head. Looking up to find Grace looking directly at you, lips parted and begging for air. She gasps, pushing herself deeper between your lips. “Fuck,” she cries, grinding her teeth at the feeling.
Her body is trembling, but you continue your task. She’s not shaking as much as you thought she would, but you know it’s not because you’re not doing your job. Sweet girl. And while you know she’s aches to be quiet, there’s something deviant in you that desires for her to get a little loud without care for consequences. You continue to work on her with a fond devotion that makes her feel like it’s just you and her for miles.
Squeezing her hand in yours, you use it as a way to check in on her, but she is not immediately responsive. She feels it all; the tenseness is her stomach growing larger, you working on her and not letting up. Grace usually has an assortment of toys that she used to get her to where she needs to be until she climaxes and can continue with her day. Though with you attached to her like this, it felt much more different than batteries could give and there is no way in hell that she would ask for it to end.
As the time passes, you hum at her taste. She soaks your face more than you anticipated, but it drives you to keep going. The analyst pulses against your face, tongue trapping her bud against your top lip; suckling mischievously. It’s as though she’s even scared to move. If you lost your place on her, you would’ve found it again, but you don’t blame a girl over her nerves.
“Ah– shit!” hissing, the woman doubles over, glasses falling off of her face and onto the ground, luckily not breaking in the process. Grace on the other hand is too out of it to care, lips apart, her gasping for air turning more into groans. “Please, please keep going.”
Her wish? Your command and with you more than willing to oblige, her body losing its posture. “Please…”
You don’t let up on her. Not when the hand she has in yours shakes, not when her hips shiver against you and especially not when she seizes against the bathroom sink, throwing her head back and calling out your name in relief. When Grace finishes, it’s uneven, loud and messy. Your mouth has nothing left to do after you devour her clean, but your hands hold out for her when she sinks onto her knees in front of you.
“Fuck– Grace?” you ask, holding her body close to you, kissing the top of her head as her body relaxes into your chest. “Grace,” you demand, hoping to get a word out of her.
“I’m okay,” she promises, “I’m fine.”
Sighing out, fall to your bottom, resting your back against the tub as you hold her. “I told you that it was better to get it instead of reading about it,” teasing her, your head falls back. All of that work you put in made you tired. Your eyes shut with only a few seconds passing until your girlfriend’s lips press against yours. Her body is limp in your hold, lazily climbing into your lap.
“Thank you,” Grace chuckles. “You’re right.” she admires your tired face, smiling though you don’t spare Grace a glance. “Oh!” reaching over for her lenses, she pops them on once more. “So…” she waits for you to look at her, kissing you one more time before speaking again. “I want to learn– how to do that to you.”
Chuckling, you shake your head. “You can do whatever you want to me when I'm done wearing you out.”
attention: smut practice, wlw, fem!reader, smut, strap usage, sub!grace, dubcon (mentions of a drunk grace and drunk reader) — 458 words
Grace thought she could take it. Well, why wouldn’t she? You seem to take her when she uses the strap on, and you do so very well.
So with a friendly game of drunken truth or dare, the other game has started. Who can make the first move? It was all in fun, daring each other to lose articles of clothing, asking silly questions and stealing kisses under the influence caused a daring ask from not you, but Grace.
“I uh,” she smiles with rosy cheeks, looking down at the seat of your lap. “I dare you to let me ride you.” The question makes your eyes grow wide and a smile pulls your lips two times wider than it already was. Knowing her, she was thinking about that more than you think you estimate.
It is safe to say that she’s cursing herself now that she’s actually a top of you, shivering around the silicone. It takes no time to get your girlfriend propped above you, still sharing giggles even after the game long gone from both of your minds. Now, all she wants is for you to console her, tell her how good she’s doing and give her kisses when she tilts her head up from your shoulder to get them.
“Shit—! It’s so big,” she groans.
Using a hand to run through her hair, your other palm guided the roll of her hips. She’s fighting the urge to rip a broken moan in such an open space such as the living room, but the more fluid you're encouraging her to go, the bite she has on your top isn’t merely enough to keep her quiet. She cracks out a moan, quickly reaching for your face and diving into a kiss filled with the aid to quiet her down. Your lips trap hers, tangling your kiss into a messy bow telling her to not to pull away when your hand grips the swell of her ass.
Her hands fall from your face as they slide over the back of the couch, only pulling away for a breath.
“You’re doing so good for me.”
Grace tries to conjure up a smile but only gives a faltering smirk before her lips part open and her head falls back. Though she jumps at your hands holding her waist to keep her up. “Fuck,” she gasps, body all too hot and aroused from grinding agaisnt you the toy you lent her for the night. “When I come,” she mutters, “Y-You can have this back.”
Giggling, you pepper small kisses on her face. “Not a fan?”
“I didn’t say that!” She admits, but you don’t push. “I just– shit. I need m-more p…ractice.”
attention: angst, fluff, wlw, subtop!grace, brat!reader, femme!reader, grace is jealous and doesn’t know how to communicate that
“Grace?”
When you call out her name for the third time, she’s finally free from the mental prison she kept herself in.
“Y-yes, princess?”
There’s the blonde, sitting on the edge of your bed with her hands folded and eyes anywhere but on you as she waits for you to finish getting ready for your date. She’s in rags compared to you, cheeks getting hot every time she looks at you.
Unapologetically, you’ve been stealing glances at her from your vanity this whole time you’ve been cleaning up your makeup, shaking your head with a smile. As you spin around, light colored eyes quickly hunt for you.
Though while you’re there at the vanity, getting all dolled up, she’s looking at you too. She’s sneaking looks at your outfit, your curves, your makeup, your smile, how you move like you know you own more than half of her. Like you’re more than just her other half; you’re the sun she orbits around. It feels like everyone orbits around you.
When people see you out with her, she pretends not to notice the energy you bring. You simply belong to her. Your personality shines brighter than hers ever could, and pairing it with such a pretty exterior, she’s lucky she got you when she did. She hears the compliments; she’s the main one dishing them out. She sees the stares you collect. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a dime, but if it were Grace, you’d be worth more than a million bucks.
With her just sitting there, it’s hard to know what the woman is truly thinking. So you prod teasingly, “are you okay? We can stay home if you’d like, you look a little anxious.”
Grace is too fast with her face, turning it into something of confusion mixed with alarm. “W-hat? No!” She leans back, hands flattening out on her thighs and right there? That’s how you know you’ve got her. “I’m fine,” she sighs and tucks a lock behind her ear. “I just— can we go?” It’s not a joking tone she has when she says this. It sounds quick and a little disturbed.
Something feels off, Grace doesn’t emit that amused timidness that she usually carries. Her voice sounds colder and disconnected.
Her response makes your brow lift. Now you’re the one confused. “Um, yeah.” Your teasing tone slowly dissipates. You don’t push, and for someone like Grace, watching you turn around for one final look was not an action of content. She can see how plain your face gets, even noticing the falter in your smile. She wishes she could tell you how beautiful you look tonight and that’s the reason that she’s being so short with you. But who knows if you’d believe that, and the air is already too still to fill the void again.
You can’t help but to feel a little discarded. Not a single comment about your look tonight, not even a glance your way. That you noticed. While you feel dejected, you finally finish your look.
“Ready. Ready?”
Grace’s sudden unease in her stomach doesn’t settle when you speak so dryly. “Yeah…” Even when you hold out your hand for her to take, she’s kicking herself. She takes your fingers delicately in her hand, standing to lead you out of the bedroom. She decided to finally compliment you, eyes glued to yours. “You look really beautiful, tonight.”
“Thank you.” You’re short with your gratitude, lifting a small smile to your lips, but not meeting her gaze. “Let’s go.”
Oh goodness. The miscommunication is eating away at Grace. The air damn near chokes her, but she tries her best to keep walking to the front door. She doesn’t want to ask outright, so she uses her ‘stellar’ FBI skills to prompt the most genuine, “are you okay?”
Your look goes from fake amused to completely unamused in a way that could’ve haunted her. “I’m fine, Grace. We have to leave remember?”
Grace. There’s a way you say her name that makes her blood run cold.
“Um, okay?” she sighs, unsure of her next move. “That’s just— not the look and sound of someone who’s fine. I-is there something—“
“No—“
“Please just tell me,” she stops, holding both of your hands right as you approach the door. She sounds like she’ll actually get sad if you don’t tell her what’s inside your head. “You’ve been so— short with me and I don’t know why.” The woman’s eyes grow large and sorrowful as she pulls your hands up to kiss your knuckles, bringing you closer to her body.
“You act like I’m mad at you,” now it’s you to look away from her.
“I-I don’t care if you’re not mad at me. Say something.”
You exhale, trying to drop your hands but you’re stunned when the woman’s strength keeps them up and close to her lips. “Fine— upstairs? When I was getting ready, you didn’t say anything. Usually you compliment me, tease me, something. It seemed like you’d rather just leave instead of our usual banter, and I tried really hard for you tonight.”
Grace’s hands slowly lower yours, nodding her head. “I know. I noticed.” To be fair, she complimented you, but not in her typical fashion. She was always a lover, making sure you know how much you meant to her before even leaving the house. Some nights, you two wouldn’t even make it out of the door. It wasn’t always physical. Sometimes she’d praise you, sometimes she’d be the one to dress you. It all depended, but it all felt the same.
“You noticed?”
“I didn’t mean to rush you or make you feel like your process wasn’t important to me. I love watching you get ready. That’s why I do it.”
Your eyes try to find the truth in Grace’s eyes, and it’s not hard to find behind her glasses.
“I, it’s just— um,” she finally smiles. “You look really good tonight.”
That makes you pause, “Just tonight?”
Grace laughs, shaking her head. “You’re trying to be difficult?”
You both giggle, but you shake your head. “I just know that if you got tired of me I’d lose my mind.”
“Mm mm,” Grace disapproves, kissing the apple of your cheek. “I could never get tired of you. Ever.”
“No?”
“If I prove it to you right now, we would not be leaving through the front door.”
“Yeah and you made it very obvious that’s what you want to do.”
With a tight smack to your ass, Grace’s bottom lip makes it between her teeth before she swipes a kiss from you. “Open the door before I change my mind.”
You shake your head, turning to face her and cupping her cheeks within your hands. “If you like how I look, you should take a picture so it lasts longer.” Grace’s eyes flicker across the features on your face, eyes meeting yours again. “A video.”
“Better than letting the world get to see what’s all for me.” Grace smirks, look falling away from you. That is, until you lock her face in your hands with a tighter grip.
“You’re jealous…” you mischievously grin. “You think some big, strong woman is gonna come swoop me up?”
“No—“ she croaks, wrapping her arms around your waist, pouting.
It amuses you to watch her get all flustered, face flushing pink. Your eyes hood, feeling the increase in your heart rate. “You wouldn’t let that happen, right baby? You wouldn’t let the mean ladies take me away,” you coo, puffing a faux pout for her and placing small kisses on her face where your hands haven’t covered.
Grace groans, leaning into your kisses but rolling her eyes. “I-I don’t wanna go out anymore.”
Giggling, you kiss her lips once more only to pull away from her. “Too late. You gave me an order to open the door. I’m opening the door.”
“And Requiem is still in the car for any woman that tries me.”
“Grace!”
She thought she whispered that quieter than how she actually did.
warnings: slice of life, fluff, genz!grace (so–canon), genz!reader, fem!reader, for people who feel like they’re too childish for their interests we love u xoxo
“What a-are you doing?”
There’s a warm stutter asking for your attention as you type fiercely, resting on the arm of the couch in your shared place with your girlfriend. If it’s not for having one earbud in, you wouldn’t have heard her. She sits beside you, nudging your shoulder before you spare her a rather focused, sharp glare. “I’m drafting the next meeting agenda for these fuckers at work,” speaking to her relaxed your face, melting your pressed lips into a proper smile. Instead of smiling back to you, Grace grimaces as she glances back down at her phone. That look makes you feel uneasy, shifting your face from something comfortable to unsure, “...why?”
“It’s nothing, I just– that’s very responsible of you.” Grace locks her phone as her cheeks burn. “Mature even.” the comment makes your eyes narrow, only being a few years apart, ‘mature’ feels too adult of a descriptor for you.
It isn’t necessarily what you’re doing, but it’s more of what she’s not doing. Here you are, being productive by her side when she is on her phone, scrolling through posts on Reddit that vary from questionable to very questionable. Her response resets your face, chuckling. “Not really. I mean, you’re in the FBI. I wouldn’t want to come home and do more work, I get it. And I’ve never been an honorary member of the DSO, so I’m just trying to catch up,” you joke. “What are you even looking at?”
So Grace doesn’t overthink herself anymore than what she probably already has, you shut your laptop and toss it on the nearby love seat. In a matter of moments your head rests on her shoulder, planting small kisses on her jaw. The analyst receives your affection, but keeps her phone locked. “I was just on Reddit,” she mumbles, turning her head in a way to steal a peck from your lips.
Much to her shock, your eyes widened, “Am. I. The. Asshole?” Olive eyes sparkle at this revelation, but you’re off by… a lot. You do know a fair deal of Reddit communities, but you dabble in all of the apps as a spectator. If you see the posts Grace has made under alias’, she’d want to move towns. Don’t get her started on her fanfiction era.
“Yes! Kinda…” Your girlfriend finally springs up the courage to open up her Reddit to showcase a feed ridden with fandom content from different forms of media. Anime and Gaming didn’t shock you at all. Though you snort, titling your head.
“So what’s the problem with this? Why’d you try to hide it?”
“List your top three Reddits,” Grace asks, and much to her dismay, you prove her right. When she heard them and not one of them contained a fandom and more discussion based forums, she sighs.
“Wait a minute. So you hid it because you’re a fangirl and you suppose that I’m not?”
“What?” she supposes that does sound bad coming out of your mouth instead of hers.
With knit brows, you smile to hide the confusion brewing in your mind. “You like Five Nights At Freddy’s, I like Heated Rivalry, but I don’t hide my TikTok feed from you. If you feel immature, I feel batshit crazy.” It honestly feels electrifying getting deep lore from your girlfriend who only ever gave you baseline ‘likes’ that everyone says. Harry Potter, this thing, that thing that everyone else in the world can agree is enjoyable. But this– this is the meat and potatoes of your night.
“I-I’m–”
“You’re plotting theories of evil children in animatronic suits and I am literally watching two men kiss for my own entertainment, Grace. It's so hot that you know how to do that. I feel like the weird one, because I want two real men to kiss forever, yours is less committal,” you joke. “And that’s because we are allowed to a: rest when we want and b: acknowledge our efforts without criticism. Especially with people we love,” you correct, but Grace’s eyes only shut. She can’t deny that it’s amusing trying to listen to you rationalize how you're on each end of the fandom spectrum and she appreciates it, truly.
“You’re right,” it’s easier to give into your words of wisdom, simply because she did need to hear that. “And I don't think it’s weird you like to see two men kiss and play hockey,” Grace’s tone is so flat, it makes you laugh harder than you intended while hearing her playful jab.
Snorting, you grip her chin, “of course, I am,” and steal a kiss from her pouting lips. “Now, you’re gonna tell me the plot of your favorite video game that I saw in your feed just there. You scrolled fast as hell, but I caught the same character five times.”
“We can play the game, if you want.” Grace suggests, smiling genuinely, happy that you like stepping into her world.
Grace’s energy shifts as she enters the home you, she, and Emily share.
She knows that Emily means no harm in anything she says. She’s such a sweet girl, but when she says on the way to school that, “You look happier with her than when it was just you and I,” it hurts her more than she likes to admit.
Emily has been Grace’s pride and joy since she decided to take responsibility over her that night. If there’s ever a time that she is flustered or feels lonely, it is never anything Emily has done. In fact, Grace blames herself. Grace’s priority is always what she can do to make Emily happy, what can keep Emily inspired. Though it gives her purpose, doing it on her own is taxing.
That is until she finds you, the one she is ready to let into her world. And you come at such a pivotal time in both of their lives. Right at the time Grace admits to herself that she can’t do this alone and a time where Emily needs a role model that isn’t her preoccupied mother figure, or a disgruntled, sarcastic, yet charming middle aged man.
She slips through the apartment, checking for traces of you to make sure you haven't left. Though her heart is heavier than usual, she knows she can count on you to talk her down from wherever this heightened sense of insecurity is coming from. Grace looks everywhere for you until she sees you; draped over Emily's bed, tucking in the corners of her blankets and settling plush toys. For a second, Grace acknowledges how maternal you look in her mind. her cheeks flush a dusty pink, clearing her throat to gather your attention.
“Hey um,” you hear Grace call for you as you’re all too occupied making up Emily’s bed.
She watches you from the doorframe with a smile dressing her lips warmly. When you turn to face her, she is not looking at you, but the neat work you’ve done getting the girl’s room tidy.
“I just dropped Emily off,” the woman who owns your heart mutters, eyes flicking up to finally meet yours. You assume she’s off work today considering her laid back outfit.
Grace feels as though she’s speaking freely, hoping to just connect with her girlfriend with a little bit of conversation. However, you spot something behind her tired eyes. The way her brows shift between something that looks like concentration and confusion.
“Good,” you pose, fixing the little girl's last stuffed animal before shuffling over the carpet to Grace. “Something on your mind? You look like you’re thinking about something.”
Like you’re the remedy, her body releases any tension it has when your hand runs through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Nothing serious,” her arms fold over one another, the corner of her lip lifting into a smirk. “She really likes you.”
“Emily?”
Grace nods.
You pause, looking back at the room you just sifted through while a warm grin covers your mouth. “I hope so, that’s my reading buddy. She’s getting me into Harry Potter.” Your eyes drift back to Grace, who is eyeing you down like you hold the sun. “But why do you look so serious?” Your smile falters, fingers fluttering around the hem of her top.
That causes Grace to stand tall, shaking her head. “Not more serious than I am… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
"I just," you asking for clarity gives her the permission to take your hand, pulling you to the freshly made twin sized bed to have a seat by her side. “The biggest risk I’ve ever taken is with Emily.” The gaze the woman has on you falls to her feet, but you hold her hand tightly. “And I got to find out what ‘fight through the night’ means in real time.”
That draws a laugh from the both of you, “thank fuck you came back home,” you start, “but what’s wrong? You don’t look like yourself,” you continue to prod at her, open to listen.
“I blame myself every day— every day for what happened to my mom,” she continues, swiftly putting a hand up as you try to speak against her recounting that lingering intense feeling. “I’m getting better with that,” she spares you a soft eyed glance. “But, she was all I had, and she was taken from me. I still fear every day that Emily could possibly go through something similar and that taking her in is all in vain.”
You choose not to add too much dialogue to her confession, knowing that now isn’t the time. Instead, you remain present by pulling her in and resting her head on your shoulder. She obliges; her arms wrapping around your waist like a comfort.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. Raising her is the best and most confusing time in my life and my worst fear is doing this alone or not at all. She’s such a good kid, but she also has her own traumas that I have no idea how to help her with.” Grace mutters out. You almost chuckle in the realization that this is the most you’ve ever heard her speak, and so fluidly.
“Grace…” You pause. Where is all of this coming from? Has it been living inside your girlfriend so long that she didn’t even have the gall to tell you?
This time it’s Grace who keeps her mouth shut, though she pulls away from you to grab a small book in the corner of the girl’s room. It’s no smaller than a regular notebook, littered in glitter, stickers and big, bold sloppy letters that say, ‘Emily Ashcroft’s Journal’.
“I know I probably shouldn’t be going through her things,” she admits. “But I was so proud to see her writing so I took a peek and—“ with a sigh, the palm of her fingers ghost over her lips in quiet astonishment that’s seemingly been brewing for a while.
The blonde makes her way back to you, sitting in her spot before handing the book to you. “I’m given permission to snoop around too?” You try to joke, only earning a chuckle in return. It makes you flip open the pages, unsure of what you are looking for.
Grace let's you window shop before expressing the direction to which her conversation is about to go. “She writes about you all of the time. What you make her for breakfast, how happy you make her— she even writes about the dance party you two had in the living room.” That last part is supposed to be a secret between you and Emily, thinking that Grace would have a heart attack if she found out both of you were jumping on the couch.
It was only to cheer up the little girl. Integration into public school from hiding in a cell for however long she was trapped in there is hard for her. And if Grace can’t be there due to working so late, you vowed to be the next best thing until she came home. Without fail.
“You found out about that?”
“It’s a good thing I found out later than during,” she cocks a grin, nudging your arm. “But I’m not mad. That’s what she likes about you. You know what she told me when I was dropping her off?”
“What did she say?” You quiz, combing your fingers through her hair.
“She says that she’s never seen me smile the way I do when I’m with you.” Grace says it like she should be happy, but her face says otherwise.
You admit in the beginning of you and Grace’s relationship, you offering to tend to Emily on her behalf was to impress the blonde, in hopes that she’d want to keep you around. But the more time you get to spend with Emily, you realize that you want to be there for her, genuinely. You want to help with her homework, her friendships, everything. You know you break through to her when there are things she tells you that she makes you pinky swear to not tell Grace. Small things like field trips that would’ve made the other woman worry or other things that Grace would’ve been pacing the room back and forth over.
Grace is already dealing with so much at a young age, it only makes sense to collaborate with Emily to take things off of her plate.
“…Okay?” It’s you who falls back a little, feigning confusion. You would think that’d be a good thing to feel; being connected to someone so well that you’re the one that changes their emotions. “What’s wrong with that? I’d like to think that’s a good thing, no?”
Sighing out, Grace can’t help but lower her head. There’s a weight that covers her. It’s unnamed but cloudy. “It just feels like she thinks I’m not happy when it’s just us, and that’s not true— she means the world to me and—“
The woman jumps when your hands reach her face, cupping each of her cheeks in the palm of your hands. “I really need you to stop blaming yourself—“
“I’m not—“
“Grace—“ you bite this time, shaking your head slowly. “No. You’re a hell of a woman. She is lucky to have you. And if I know her like I hope I do, she doesn’t take any offense by it.”
Peering through glossy eyes, a pair of green flickers across your face. She doesn’t know where she wants to land, but anywhere other than your eyes brings her comfort. Grace doesn’t think she can handle the confrontational energy she usually trusts you to carry. “I’m sorry.”
You’re careful with her; watching her welling eyes and trembling frame. You don’t accept her apology, her feelings are valid in your eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”
Grace faces it head on, not backing away from you.
“I just,” Grace stalls, eyes finally meeting your gaze. “Emily is my responsibility, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to care about her. Being someone’s caretaker is a big responsibility. I don’t want it to be overwhelming for you and Emily loses that constant in her life. if she thinks I look happy now-- I don't want to lose that.”
“Wait a minute–” you can’t help but feel the slight offense leveling up into your own ears, face growing hotter. “What do you think I’m here for?” your bark is harsher than intended, watching Grace’s eyes round in an unspoken apology. Letting her go, your other half attempts to reach for your hands before backing down.
Her mouth parts as if she has something to say, but nothing leaves her.
It’s your turn to express everything that has been on your mind. Do you not express your feelings clearly enough for Grace to where your love feels superficial? Temporary? Is it not enough; the late-night caring for Emily, the times she gets sick but Dempsey won’t allow Grace to go home so it is you who leaves your job to care for the little girl? The times you’ve sat there with Grace through her panic attacks, your promises to spend the rest of your life with her?
Of course there are good moments too, but the things that would've shaken the average child-free person, anchored you into this flourishing unit.
“I wouldn’t leave you if you pushed me out of the damn door yourself, Grace.” Your brows knit, leaning into her, watching her flinch. You know you’re not scaring her, but the weight of your words brings her the clarity to recognize the impact of her worry. “I love you, Grace. I love you. And I love Emily too. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you both in my life, and if I haven’t proven that to you, I don’t know what else I could do...”
“No!” Grace croaks, hands settling on your wrists, pulling them into her lap. “I see it. I do. I’m sorry I just–” there’s a breath she takes, lifting your meshed hands to place a sweet kiss to your knuckles. “I love you too, I love you so much.”
All of the amusement leaves your body, leaving you in a purgatory of hurt. If you knew that Grace was feeling this way, you would’ve tried to nip it in the bud sooner.
“I want her to be my responsibility too. I want to be there for her and I want to keep being there for you. I have no intention of leaving you. Ever.” With the still atmosphere vacuuming the comfort out of the air, you check on her, “Grace–”
She nods, blinking away any tears forming in her eyes. “No, I know.”
“I have to admit that a child is a very big responsibility, but you know what else is a big responsibility? Showing up for the people you love, having people count on you. Which you know about very well. I do the same exact thing, it just looks different. But I do it, and I do it for you and Emily. Do you think I could survive one day and not see you in bed beside me in the morning? You don’t think it would kill me to see you and Emily off with another woman who is supposed to be me?”
Grace sighs out, looking away from you, feeling the tears swell in her eyes once again, but you don’t let her collect herself. Instead, you get on your knees in front of her, pulling your hands from her grip to place your palms on her thighs. And thankfully you did, Grace used the chance to wipe the small tear that escaped her eye. "I just-- get really scared over losing it all."
“Hey?” you whisper, leaning up to tilt the woman’s face to look at you. “I’m not gonna leave you. I'm not going to leave her. You have an easier chance of making me a wife than an ex.” Though you’re teasing, her eyes follow back to yours slowly, widening and wondrous. “But I say one commitment at a time.”
“You wanna be here with us?” Grace’s voice cracks.
“Yes, of course I do, baby.” propping yourself up with your hands on the mattress, you press a reassuring kiss to Grace’s lips, nodding. “You believe me when I say it’s you two?”
“Yes,” she exhales.
Caressing the back of her head with your fingers, you stand, watching her eyes follow you. “Good,” as you take the notebook and place it back where she grabbed it, you saunter back to her to help her stand up. “We can talk to her about it, too. Really see what she's thinking."
Grace nods, wrapping her hand around yours tight.
"Let’s grab breakfast? As you digest your food, you can also digest that it’s going to be our little family for a very long time.”
Grace chokes out a laugh though the revelation hits her like a truck. She’s happy, nodding. “Thank you for being there for– us.”
