âUh-uhm, hi.â Grace peeks her head into your office with a gentle flick of her hand, holding a file of something all too important to be playing around with you right now. Thereâs only one thing on your mind as she stumbles upon her destination. Sure eyes bore into the back of you as you scribble something irrelevant down in a notebook.
Grace, the best technical analyst (allegedly), is always in your office for something small. Nothing importantâ just wanting to take up your space. You always let her in anyway, enjoying the small talk. However, the timid girl always comes with an energy that makes you blush every time she leaves. You can feel the sprite-like warmth fill the room every time she tries to make you laugh or talk about something that takes your mind off the heavy hitting assignments you take on. Thereâs nothing she needs from you, generally, but you two cross paths after you work on her case. Watching her so shaken up when coming back home inclines you to keep in contact with her in case she needs someone to talk to. Or maybe someone to spend time with. The latter (sadly) never happened. But when she comes to visit you, thereâs this bubbling urge to push the boundary.
She hardly ever saw you before, and shame on her for not paying attention. But leading up to her mission, you two were able to interact more. Watching you, watching you work, and interacting with others, she peeps this social maturity that keeps you in her frame of mind.
You never rush when you have places to be; everything you do has a sense of control. To her, you look like you know exactly what youâre doing. Far more than she feels about herself. When you start working on her investigation at her side, itâs like the horrors she faces feel like an everyday experience for you. On multiple occasions, you are able to showcase a certain stillness that twenty two year olds hardly ever have downpacked.
Whether itâs watching agents call you âmiss,â retreat at your tone, or simply react to you with respect, the question mark above Graceâs head keeps getting louder, brighter, bigger. Sometimes you raise your voice. Sometimes you donât need to. You just know how to bring the conversation back to you. And she thinks about that often.
She is always attentive, maybe too attentive. You can always tell she is looking for you when she passes your office, olive colored eyes trying to spy without being caught. You always catch her.
And again, like any other day, you look at herâ messy bob, glasses high on her nose, and a fandom pin she carries proudly on her blazer.
âHi, Grace,â you welcome her warmly, giving her the space to walk into your office freely. She takes her chance, sitting down on a small file cabinet of yours. The way you lean back in your chair when she takes her first few steps into your office makes her feel like this is more of an appointment than a chance to flirt with you, but it doesnât stop her.
Her eyes catch your hunger. Sheâs no dummy. Your eyes are low, tired, and laced with bags. But there lingers a hunt in them that she feels youâre suppressing. If you can handle a room of male field agents, no way you couldnât take her.
She knows there is an age difference between the both of you; she can hear it when the other agents speak about you, the stories you mention and donât even bother to explain. But when she looks at you, her mind doesnât just see you as an older co-worker. The alarm bells go off. Her heart pounds in her ears and she feels like thereâs something about you that drives her toward this new feeling that reads âdangerâ in bold red letters. The kind that makes her want to lift the yellow tape and examine you anyway.
Your eyes, however, are low, daunting, and mischievous. She peers at you through her glasses, taking a mental image of your predatory look while her face burns hot. Having your time to flirt with Grace always makes you feel a little proud. She is so receptive to your words every time. Every time. But, in her mind, she dies for those words to actually mean something other than workplace banter.
Grace replays your words when youâre not around; she always does. She knows you like to flirt with her, but she yet canât confirm why. And neither can you. You know you probably shouldnât start something you canât finish, but you also donât know if you canât finish it.
âMost times, people would at least knock first before staring at me.â
Grace widens her eyes, clearing her throat. She didnât even know she was out of it. âWas I?â
Drawing back from the topic at hand with a smile youâre trying to hide, the blonde can see you trying to shake it off and change the subject. As your fingers graze over some final papers, âyou used a gun called âRequiem,â right?â Grace sighs as you stand to your feet; she devours everything about you in her mind.
Before she came in, you did need to speak with your SAC and time with them is limited. While you enjoy her company, you do have to get a move on.
But Grace is just so adorable as a puddle hanging over your work. âI- I did,â you really did read her file.
Her temperature bounced between hot and cold, thoughts about you spinning. âLeon Kennedy gave it to me. Itâs uh, DSO weapon.â She makes it her mission to relish the little bit of time with you before she lets herself out to get back to the stacking projects on her desk.
âDo you still have it?â
âYes. Itâs framed on my wall.â
Snorting, your feet carry you to the younger woman, formulating a way to coax her out of your office with promises that she could come back, but you can see in the shuffle of her eyes that she doesnât want to leave. At least not yet. âYou know, I never asked you,â Grace speaks up, hand raising to reach for your wrist before retreating. âHow old are you?â
Graceâs eyes follow yours when she realizes the question stills you. She watches your brows raise; youâre older than youâd like to admit. Surely youâre not too much older than Grace, but youâre at the age where it makes you shiver telling others how old you are. âWhatâs the best technical analyst doing here in my office⌠again?â
âYouâre avoiding my question,â Grace shifts in her position, wanting clarity.
âYouâre in the big leagues now!â Your tease is dark but playful. âGetting gratification early isnât allowed here.â She hears your words, slow and intentional when looking at her, watching her head lower a bit.
âB-best?â Grace chirps, shimmying off the abrupt darkness in your tone. Lifting her head again in shock, she knows that no one else in this damn building is calling her that. âI mean, itâs out of my realm of expertise. I do what I can.â Plush cheeks flush a soft pink in contrast to her naturally pale tone.
Turning back to your computer, she sees you rip a file off your desk. Thatâs her file. âYour report is public now. You did what a lot of agents couldnât do. And your job shouldnât have left you so⌠disheveled.â You saw the pictures; the ones when she came back on a chopper, torn clothes, bloodied and scarred.
âI didnât have to do it,â Grace brake-checks you quickly. âI justâ conflict of interest? I needed answers.â
Grace watches you look over her file, absorbing your look. You look so invested in her work, it makes her bite her bottom lip. âIâm not judging you, Grace.â You turn back to her, tossing her report back on your desk. She makes sure to fix that lip before your eyes catch contact once more.
With a quiet, âoh,â she nods.
âYou did what you needed to do. I carry a gun on my hip every day and still couldnât do what you did. I probably wouldâve died.â Hearing you chuckle disrupts the awkwardness that begins to brew in the air after Grace stumbles over her words.
âI wouldnât have let that happen,â Grace releases a breathy, unsure laugh, tucking her locks behind her hair.
Oh, she definitely would have thought she could keep you safer. She may not be the FBIâs best, but she knows how to stay by Leonâs side; surely you wouldnât have been any different if it were you on the field. Save you, though? Well, you admire her thoughts about you. However, a corny flirt sure can get into your heart, and Grace feels like sheâs chipping away at some of the stone around yours.
âWouldnât be too caught up staring at me?â
âI made it out twice, I can make it out again.â Graceâs confidence shines through this time, beaming a smile and patting the gun on her hip. âThis time Iâd have a proper motiveâŚâ
In slight victory, you feed into her just a bit. âWhy do you want to know how old I am? How old do you think I am?â You peer down at your feet, a flash of insecurity behind your eyes.
Grace hastily tries to change the look on your face back into something that exposes interest. âOld enough for me.â
âGraceââ her attempt makes your armor fall with a laugh pushed out of an exhale. She beams at the heat rising to your ears, proudly grinning and exhaling a satisfied chortle. âIf thereâs something that youâre planning on doing with that information, you better come correct, Ashcroft.â
Itâs only a small matter of seconds that she needs to process your desire to withhold such a number, which only makes her question why. She doesnât say anything just yet, but as you watch her stand with her own work cradled in her arm, she swallows.
It isnât the fact that she is younger than you that makes you drive this idea home in such a way that intends to keep her at a semi-professional distance, but itâs the worry that she could possibly outgrow you. The things that youâre doing right now come with a responsibility that is every day. Grace has so much more to see and experience before even meeting you at your age. Someone who can meet her where she is something that you wish for her, not to make advances on a woman whoâs had too much and somehow, not as much experience as her.
Grace has stopped pretending she doesnât come by your office on purpose.
At first, it is easy to justify with work questions, file clarifications, reports that technically need a signature. But eventually even she knows those excuses are getting tired.
She adores being around you.
Your office is always a disaster, stacks of papers leaning messily against each other and half written notes scattered across the desk. Grace rests on suspicion you understand where everything is anyway.
When she leaves Raccoon City, the souvenir isnât planned. She only means to walk past the silly item on the street among the chaos. But then she sees it and immediately thinks of you. Now it sits somewhere in your office, probably buried under paperwork, and the thought makes her smile every time she stops by.
Even if she only stays long enough to watch you work.
Honestly, every reason you come up with to not dive deeper with Grace only makes you feel superficial. Shallow even. Itâs as if the attention she gives you is a double-edged sword. She looks at you like youâre something worth chasing on your own time, at your own pace. Though you know better, or think you know better. Thereâs a silence that lingers in the air just a little bit longer than either one of you would like, but you donât move. Instead, you watch her approach you, clutching her work in both of her arms before giving you a quick glance, âI can find a way to get your age.â
Her tenacity makes you snicker, palming her waist while she stutters on her feet out of the door, âRight. I will be looking forward to what you can find out about me, Grace.â
¡ â ¡¡ ⪊â⪨ ¡¡ â ¡
And oh, does Grace stop at nothing to figure out how old you are. She will never tell you, but her tone with her peers when asking about you is straightforward, as if sheâs asking for work-related reasons. She even takes part in harmless employee searches. Coworkers donât have enough conversation history with you to know, and personal information is clearly classified. Itâs worth a shot though. The moment she leaves your desk, there are two things on her mind: you and your age. No way you would make it a big deal if it werenât something to worry about. Maybe you look younger than you are. In Graceâs mind, she doesnât care at all about how old you are.
Even her own boss finds her scrambling through her work here and there after realizing sheâs out of focus even for a brief moment. He doesnât address it, but gives her a look that puts her back in tow for the rest of her shift.
âMiss?â It sends a shock through your core to hear such a familiar voice speak so formally with you. There you sit with your back turned toward the woman, extreme focus on your work. Grace has only ever seen you like this when passing your office and you couldnât bother to speak to anyone. Turning back in your chair to find Grace there once more, your brow perks up at her arrival. Though her usual anxious stance is meshed with something a little more sinister and much more mischievous.
Standing tall, Grace spots you looking at her before taking a peek outside. âItâs pretty late. Are you on your way out?â Grace holds a hefty bag on her shoulder, feet curled at the entrance of your workspace, hoping to get out of her flats as soon as possible.
âUhm,â your eyes glare at your phone, tapping it to activate your home screen and taking a look at the time. The last time you looked at your phone was four hours ago. Did you really miss that much daylight? As you sigh, you lean back in your seat. âItâs late, I guess I should.â You situate yourself to stand, only then remembering your little conversation from earlier. âFind out how old I was?â A small smile dances across your widening lips, shaking your head at the earlier conversation.
Thereâs a quiet shuffle and thud behind you as you snag your belongings into your grasp, finding her closer to you with a jolly, comfortable smile. âNot like I spent the whole day trying to figure it out,â the inside of her cheek is bitten between her teeth, but her smirk is still prevalent. âBut I guess the fun part about that is, maybe youâll let me guess until I get it right.â
âYou thought about it that much?â Grace relishes in your confusion, padding her feet deeper into your space, eyes expertly searching for things that could clue in on your age. âHow are you gonna do that?â
Grace smirks, placing a finger to her face that shows she is absolutely planning something. The digit taps against the apple of her cheek, bending over to take a look at all of your (mess) belongings. Then she finds it; an old nineties nu-metal album sitting on one of the shelves near your computer. Snagging it, the woman feels like she grabbed the golden ticket at the chocolate factory. âThis wouldnât happen to be an indication, would it?â
âYes and no.â You reply simply, feeling the glory run off the rascalâs body. Grace rests on your desk, dropping her bag. There is no way she wants to leaveâ and she knows at that point you have no intention of doing so either. âYes, Iâm about that old, but not old enough to be alive for the release date.â
âSo itâs safe to say you like metal,â the blonde nods. She doesnât watch you confirm with a nod of your own, but she opens the CD case and looks at the artwork, fascinated. âI like older women,â she blurts.
Thereâs silence that bleeds into the room, washing the space of anything professional between the both of you as you slip into a state of sudden understanding. It feels like a horn blares across your face as she says it, eyes meeting hers.
âProfessionallyâ of course.â
âGrace?â
The woman realizes what sheâs done, dropping her smile only a bit when setting the album back where it was among the mess, âYes?â
âThat made it so much worse.â In all honesty, Grace canât see how telling you this is bad at all. Of course, Grace is generally nervous, but under the right amount of pressure she always knows how to make the room shake. The room is filled with heat, confrontation, and a little sleepiness. âAshcroft⌠youâre young. Donât you want to find someone closer to your age?â
Hearing you push at her makes her cock her head back in disapproval; âyouâre a couple years older than me, tops. Itâs not like you live in a retirement home.â
You say nothing, giving Grace room to keep going.
âWell, now that I know your age⌠kinda,â the younger woman creeps back up closer to you with a hopeful smile, only growing when watching your lips turn in the same direction as hers. She knows sheâs got you when you roll your eyes. Grace bares full teeth in a crooked grin. âMaybe I can get to know the actual number at dinner?â
âGraceâŚâ
âProfessionally!â Her hands lift in a lighthearted defense.
âWe will see, Ashcroft.â Graceâs face is burning hot; your hand tucks a lock behind her ear. âI suppose I can give you a ride home if you just canât get away from me,â she catches your tease, leaping for her things once more to follow you out.
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warnings: slice of life, fluff, genz!grace (soâcanon), genz!reader, fem!reader, for people who feel like theyâre too childish for their interests we love u xoxo
âWhat a-are you doing?â
Thereâs 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 itâs not for having one earbud in, you wouldnât have heard her. She sits beside you, nudging your shoulder before you spare her a rather focused, sharp glare. âIâm drafting the next meeting agenda for these fuckers at work,â 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, â...why?â
âItâs nothing, I justâ thatâs very responsible of you.â Grace locks her phone as her cheeks burn. âMature even.â the comment makes your eyes narrow, only being a few years apart, âmatureâ feels too adult of a descriptor for you.
It isnât necessarily what youâre doing, but itâs more of what sheâs 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. âNot really. I mean, youâre in the FBI. I wouldnât want to come home and do more work, I get it. And Iâve never been an honorary member of the DSO, so Iâm just trying to catch up,â you joke. âWhat are you even looking at?â
So Grace doesnât 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. âI was just on Reddit,â she mumbles, turning her head in a way to steal a peck from your lips.
Much to her shock, your eyes widened, âAm. I. The. Asshole?â Olive eyes sparkle at this revelation, but youâre 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 aliasâ, sheâd want to move towns. Donât get her started on her fanfiction era.
âYes! KindaâŚâ 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 didnât shock you at all. Though you snort, titling your head.
âSo whatâs the problem with this? Whyâd you try to hide it?â
âList your top three Reddits,â 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.
âWait a minute. So you hid it because youâre a fangirl and you suppose that Iâm not?â
âWhat?â 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. âYou like Five Nights At Freddyâs, I like Heated Rivalry, but I donât hide my TikTok feed from you. If you feel immature, I feel batshit crazy.â It honestly feels electrifying getting deep lore from your girlfriend who only ever gave you baseline âlikesâ that everyone says. Harry Potter, this thing, that thing that everyone else in the world can agree is enjoyable. But thisâ this is the meat and potatoes of your night.
âI-Iâmââ
âYouâre 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,â you joke. âAnd thatâs because we are allowed to a: rest when we want and b: acknowledge our efforts without criticism. Especially with people we love,â you correct, but Graceâs eyes only shut. She canât deny that itâs amusing trying to listen to you rationalize how you're on each end of the fandom spectrum and she appreciates it, truly.
âYouâre right,â itâs easier to give into your words of wisdom, simply because she did need to hear that. âAnd I don't think itâs weird you like to see two men kiss and play hockey,â Graceâs tone is so flat, it makes you laugh harder than you intended while hearing her playful jab.
Snorting, you grip her chin, âof course, I am,â and steal a kiss from her pouting lips. âNow, youâre 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.â
âWe can play the game, if you want.â Grace suggests, smiling genuinely, happy that you like stepping into her world.
The concept of Grace being popular with her female coworkers
ASK TIME âŁď¸ wlw, lesbianism, fluff, the ladies love grace and she doesnât know why
âHi Grace~â we all say in unison
But no, really. If the girls at work are fawning over Grace, she would never even know. Or maybe she would just assume that theyâre being nice to her. The poor girl on the other hand is trying to get on with her day with as little conversation with new people as possible. I totally think she is an introvert; so, when a group of âem are staring at her in the break room while she is trying to decide if she wants to stay any longer for the pot of coffee to heat up, her eyes are wide behind her glasses, tapping her fingers against her blazer in hopes that the damn machine would hurry up. Or ORâ she gets that one little, âhi grace!â from a coworker she has never met before. Maybe a little cutie patootieâ too cute for this world in her eyes, she may send her a shy little smile back. One of the girls from her job may offer her a coffee or another may ask her to go to lunch with her (to which she may say yes simply because she doesnât know how to say no without feeling like an ass), but itâs not like she hates people. Sometimes she may jump into a little bit of banter if it is something within her realm. She can talk about her job well, talk about things from the fandoms sheâs in and converse about silly little things she knows hold no real weight.
But that doesn't stop the ladies. I know you saw the mod with her wearing suspenders. I know we all have. They love it.
It's her quiet demeanor that sets the women off. She can be at her desk with her knee pulled up to her chest, typing away with a to-go container (from last night) at her side as she ferociously tries to recount things for her latest report when she decides to say fuck it and finally reach for the bathroom like sheâs been thinking about for⌠a while. Thatâs when it all of a sudden feels like happy hour by the sinks. Thereâs never less than two other women in the bathroom and when Grace is in there, it always feels like too many.
âOh hi, Grace.â
âYou look really good with that blazerâ
âDo you have makeup on today?â (sheâs just 22 and tired)
Someone even tucks her hair behind her ear while she tries to get out of a small talk conversation, body turning rigid under their touch. The key all the Grace loving ladies want to know is: how to get her. And itâs simple. Patience. And meet her where sheâs at. Please.
Sheâs a sucker for a genuine woman. Nothing surface level works on her. Consistency is key to getting and keeping her considering all that she has lost. Itâs the questions that make her think, the ones that come off âboringâ or âcommonly usedâ that make her go âwow, she actually likes meâ. My sweet girl. So, imagine her surprise when itâs a woman whoâs usually a cubicle behind her that asks gently, âhi, i know we donât know each other wellâ and you may not even⌠swing that wayâ but I was wondering if youâd like to check out this new game with me? Iâm no good at playing them, but I watch others play them if that counts.â Graceâs eyes continue to grow wide and steady on her, studying her natural slouch and honest tone. âI noticed you were a fan of games since I hear little fan theory videos from your monitor when it gets too late.â
If she didnât swing that way before, she does now. âIâ I, uh, really?â she starts, blush forming on her cheeks as a smile creeps up on her lips. âFirstly, I want to say sorry for you hearing myââ
âNo, don't be. Itâs not a bother to me.â
âOkay,â she chuckles out nervously. âI would. I would love to check it out with you. What kind of game is it? Maybe I can tell you more about it.â
a/n: yes, i know i love leon! but i love grace too, and i think that we donât give her enough credit as a newbie to the series <3 i am simply inspired by wanting to dive deeper into grace as a person and less of an agent. i like to think sheâs living a bit of a double life with a pretty girl from the strip club.
warnings: drug mentions, adult content (not smut), stripper!reader, fem!reader, fluff, subtle confessions that don't feel so subtle, LESBIANISM FR, we love grace here
Words: 1.8k
DONâT KILL THE PARTY â GRACE ASHCROFT
Iâm feeling a little lazy, but I love this girl.
I think about her.
Grace Ashcroft saunters into a place thatâs all too loud, all too dark, where the money is wasted like the girls she comes to see. The walls glow with shades of purple and red, clamshell-shaped couches, and each pole is taken by a woman who knows exactly how to move. The way one of them seduces the crowd with her body is so skillful that Grace almost falls victim to her energy.
Maybe itâs PARTYNEXTDOOR, maybe itâs Gunna. She doesnât know the difference, but the bass from the music rumbles from her feet up into her body.
The scent of cheap perfume, money, cigarettes, and cannabis lingers in the air, but the blonde doesnât mind. She claims the room quietly in her work clothes, low pony, and glasses. After a tiring shift, the stresses of work keep her up late, and who else can keep her company other than women who choose to stay up this late? Bonus points because theyâre beautiful dancers.
Sometimes she thinks about what happens if her boss catches her coming to a place like this. Sometimes it bothers her that she doesnât have a partner at home, but commitment feels like too big a responsibility right now while sheâs still figuring out her place in the FBI. At least thatâs what she tells herself, but thereâs a reason she comes here every so often. She only finds this place after hearing a few rookies talking about it outside her office when life feels âtoo dull.â So much for dull.
She almost makes it past the crowded bar before she spots a familiar style of shoe youâve mastered walking in lately. You donât see her since youâre off in the back, chatting with your housemother about something petty.
A woman around her age, proud in her mature top and lusty eye makeup, beckons her. âYou know, you keep coming in here, weâre gonna start thinking youâre trying to blow up the spot,â the tender jokes, tilting her head. Grace clears her nerves, downs two shots, and makes small talk with the bartender whoâs been eyeing her since she walked in. The woman in front of the blonde is simple in comparison to you, but in the other patronsâ eyes, sheâs as sweet as a Long Island Iced Tea; sweet, but a bit too forward. âAnd this is a gentlemenâs club anyway,â she says, slipping Grace a free shot of tequila with a smug grin. She already knows who the agent is here for.
The agent chuckles slightly, unease bubbling through her body over the staff noticing how often she comes in, but thereâs someone here who keeps her wanting more.
You.
She waits a bit longer, entertaining the woman who made her drink. Then, as if a switch flips, Grace loses her pliant amusement and turns firm and controlled. âIf I spend as much as any other man in here, you can call me Mr. Ashcroft.â Clearing her throat, she downs her last shot and eyes you slipping toward one of the private roomsâ until you notice her, sheepishly awestruck by your scantily clad figure and gentle smile. Her eyes falter behind thin, black-framed glasses, her head hanging low with shyness⌠but something more intentional brews under her skin. You confidently wave, and she shoots you a short wave back.
She knows she probably shouldnât be here, considering youâve built a rapport with multiple clients. Still, when she comes here and itâs just the two of you, she buzzes. Her eyes never leave you as if sheâs studying your behavior. To Grace, this is a safe havenâ of sorts. When itâs just you two, she doesnât have to care about her job or her worries. She gets to be flirted with, enjoy comfortable touches, and receive a little dance just for her from a woman whoâs happy to bend for her.
In a profession like this, closed mouths donât get fed. Thatâs what draws you to Grace. Her mouth stays closed, but you know she wants to say something. Anything. So you pursue her. She used to stay by the bar, but you notice she always watches you dance, so you offer her a private dance for free. That night she pays you an amount that makes her punch her steering wheel at four in the morning. You, of course, love it. Over time, she only looks for you, and you only look for her, which is how you both end up here now. And honestly? Your smile gets wider and your heart beats faster when she gives you a small gift or admits sheâs been thinking about you.
So, you donât let up. Grace is your best customer, and you make sure to lure her in with a curl of your index finger. If sheâs watching as carefully as you think, she can see your lips say âcome here,â and before she pays, the bartender lifts a hand to tell Grace youâve offered to cover her drinks tonight.
With that, Grace clumsily fixes her posture and makes her way to you.
âHi, honey,â you croon. âItâs been a minute.â You greet her comfortably, hand on her waist, watching her shift into your touch. âI missed you all week.â
The blonde allows you to take off her glasses as you lead her to an empty room. âI was here Tuesday,â she embarrassingly admits, and youâre amused. She watches your figure fill out your set, flesh hugged by lace, nets, and sparkles. She canât forget the small stretch marks that scratch at your flesh.
As the door shuts, you slip her glasses on your head. âFour days feels like a long time without you, Grace.â You pull down her blazer, toss it onto a table, rest your hands on her hips, and walk her backward until she stumbles onto the loveseat. Grace squeaks but calms when she sees you above her. âAnd Iâm not saying that just because youâre a client,â you add, smiling as the words flow out, âyou also let me take my shoes off.â
You both laugh, but youâre a little serious. Sometimes she doesnât even want you to dance; she might just want to talk. As you slip into her lap and her hands ghost your hips, your fingertips tuck her baby hairs behind her ears. âYou know itâs okay to touch me. Youâre never disrespectful.â Her hands land on your skin with a relieved sigh.
âWhat do you want, Grace?â you ask, running your fingers through her hair and pulling out her hair tie, slipping yours into a messy bun. You tease, âWhat can I do for my prettiest customer?â You bop your head and pop her glasses onto your face, making her stare with a satisfied expression.
Grace tries to avoid blushing, the red lights hiding the heat in her face. âI donât want anything tonight. I just wanted to see you.â
Your eyes widen, and your head cocks in amusement. âTook you long enough. Donât make me think youâre seeing other girls when youâre away from me, Grace.â
âIâIâd never!â the woman blurts, leaning closer. âI hardly have time to come here. I wouldnât,â she insists, fingers dragging lightly along your waist. Then a thought makes her smirk. âYou like saying my name?â
Your brow lifts; you didnât think you said her name that much, but if she noticed, you donât mind playing into it.
âI used to think it was the most boring name ever until I met you. Now I say it all the time.â
Grace tilts her head. You wink.
Rolling her eyes, Grace scoffs. âI donât know if itâs this place, the musicââ
âNot the mixed drinks.â
âMaybe not the mixed drinks,â she continues, laughing, her eyes falling to your bosom. âBut thereâs a reason I keep coming back here. I know it doesnât make me special, butââ
âI think youâre very important.â Your hands run through her hair, smirking softly. Itâs soft and smells of lavender. Her confession, like many, feels cute. Grace carries a falsified confidence from this angle, and youâre desperate to play into her nerves as you lean closer. âI can only kinda see with these glasses. Can you see without glasses, Grace?â
It catches her off guard. She blinks, thrown. âU-uhm yes. I can see.â
âCan you see me clearly?â you tease, watching her brows furrow.
âY-yesâŚâ
âI think youâre more important than the old fucks I see most nights. More important than the younger men seeing a womanâs body for the first time. And I think youâre far more important than you believe if you come here just to see me.â Leaning into her jaw, your fingers play with the collar of her V-neck.
Graceâs eyes veer away, smirking. âI donât think you should sell yourself short just because you can have anyone in here.â
âGood thing I donât want just anyone in here.â