Work Text:
If there’s one thing Grace absolutely detests about working from home, it’s the laughable incompetence from her colleagues.
Honest to god, it's 2028.
Shouldn't everyone know how to convert things to PDF nowadays?
“For the last time, Chris,” Grace spits out her co-worker’s name like a curse, imagining his stupid, boulder-shaped head with a dent the shape of her fist. “You have to give me access to the document if you want me to make any adjustment, like how your wife still needs to give you verbal permission so you know when to do your own laundry.”
Granted, Grace is a little more impatient than she is normally.
How can she not be, when she can hear her loved ones chattering on the other side of the wall and she’s not there to join in on the fun.
A quick glance at her watch tells Grace it’s quickly approaching dinner time, and Emily does not like it when she’s late for dinner time.
Maeve, well, Grace can always sweet talk into forgiving her.
Emily, not so much. She gets very cranky about punctuality as she gets older. If her mother was here, she would laugh in Grace’s face and say something about karma.
Ridiculous. Surely she wasn’t this bad when she was younger.
Right?
“Alright, that’s enough.” Grace huffs, sending off a rather hasty Teams message that says she’ll look at the matter tomorrow and shutting down the app before anyone can object. Legally, they have no footing, for Grace outranks pretty much all of them, even if she doesn’t act like it most of the time. “Okay, family time.”
The picture frame of her mother hanging proudly on her pegboard taped to the wall grins at Grace like she’s proud. Grace has come a long way to accepting that she is.
Her apartment oozes warmth as soon as Grace exits her home office, an unbridled smile splitting her lips at the sight that greets her.
Already in her chair, legs kicking back and forth while her hands dutifully color in her sketchbook, Emily already looks so grown up compared to when Grace took her home a little over 2 years ago.
Having changed as soon as she got home from school, Emily now wears her favorite jeans overall that’s beginning to look rather small on her.
Grace makes a mental note to take Emily shopping on the weekends. Maybe they can even make a day out at the mall while they’re at it.
Assured that Emily is okay, a habit hard to rid, Grace turns her eyes to her kitchen, where she can already smell the delicious dinner about to make a home in her belly.
More than food, it’s the chef who catches her eyes.
In a sleeveless soccer jersey and sweatpants hung just low enough to tease, toned biceps glistening with a layer of sweat and jet black hair sticking to the back of her neck, Maeve certainly looks more delicious, even if what she is making can put Gordon Ramsay to shame.
Grace allows her attraction to propel her forward, though not without popping a quick kiss on Emily’s head.
When her feet just barely touch the back of Maeve’s, Grace slowly slides her arms around her waist and puts her head where the little divot on the top of her spine should be.
Grace also knows that if she looks, she’ll see black ink peeking out from underneath, and if she dares undress her right then and there, she will see a glorious phoenix that takes up all of Maeve’s upper torso.
Grace has fond memories of scratching said phoenix as Maeve fucks her into the mattress, her nails leaving lines of silver that almost looks like flames in the trick of the moonlight, as they tangle over and over in her sheets.
Goodness, she is so horny.
Capitalism and its unexpected consequences.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Maeve says, her husky voice making the firm body under Grace’s cheek rumble. “Did you manage to finish editing your report?”
Grace pouts. “No. Stupid Chris revoked my access.”
“Again?” Maeve asks, her incredulity clear and louder than the sizzle of whatever food in the pan. “Does he actually know how to use a computer?”
“Beats me.” Grace shrugs. Maeve turns just enough to boop her nose, reminding Grace she still has on her reading glasses. She takes them off and puts them on the counter. “Last I heard, he tried to click on some ads and nearly killed our entire server with malware.”
One immaculate eyebrow shot over a broad shoulder, “Did that ad say something about hot women in his area?”
“Teens,” Grace gags, and Maeve follows suit. This is not a topic suitable for Emily’s ears, so Grace quickly changes it. “Never mind. I’ll get my hands on that report sooner or later.”
Maeve hums, fully focused on cooking again. “You’re the tech genius between all of us. I’d pay good money to see you poach it right out of Chris’ grubby hands.”
Shy, Grace nudges Maeve softly with her nose, almost an endeared head bump.
Her beautiful girlfriend chuckles, one callused hand patting Grace’s interlocked ones at her waist.
“Would you mind setting the table?”
“I got it!” Emily shouts, nearly making Grace jump out of her skin.
“Just the utensils, Emi,” Grace calls, watching her daughter skip into the kitchen with a hopeful smile. “You're too short to get the plates.”
“Mom,” Emily whines. “I’m almost 10 years old. Rose says that's practically an adult.”
Maeve chuckles. “What does that make your mom then?”
Emily hums. Grace narrows her eyes.
Is this a set-up?
“Ancient?”
It is.
“Emily!” Grace’s indignant yelp is overshadowed by Emily and Maeve bursting into cackles, followed by a smack of their palms meeting in a high-five. “I’m only 24!”
Fucking rich of Maeve to laugh. She's even older than Grace!
“Medieval then,” Emily fires back without missing a beat, and right away Grace knows exactly who to blame.
“I’m gonna kill that boy when I see him.”
About a mile away, Jamie sits in his own office and lets out a spine-breaking sneeze.
Karma, Grace thinks to herself with an evil smirk.
“Let’s not endorse murder in front of the little one,” Maeve whispers in her ear, making sure Grace feels her smile against her skin before she kisses her earlobe. “But we can talk about dressing you up in a vigilante suit later.”
Swallowing, Grace sulkingly shoves Maeve away, her burning cheeks and ears the only indication of her fluster.
She goes to help Emily, who is actually doing a pretty good job of getting the spoons, the forks, and even chopsticks.
Grace takes care of the plates like she said, putting Emily’s on each end of the table, where she gets a whole corner to herself, while Maeve and Grace sit side by side on the other end.
It's Emily’s idea really, because she is growing up to be just as expressive as Grace with her hands and she gets very into her stories about what sort of adventures Rosemary has taken her on today.
Usually if Jamie was here, he’d be able to dodge her flailing arms with his creepy reflex. Maeve and Grace, not so much.
“Alright,” Maeve announces, her voice strained from having to lift a whole pan onto the table. “Cloth, please.”
Grace hurries to slot the piece of fabric and Maeve gladly puts down the pan, then opens the lid to reveal their dinner.
“As per requested by Miss Emily,” who giggles at Maeve being silly. “Cheesy, mildly spicy noodles with steaks. In addition, the chosen toppings are three boiled eggs, two pieces of white tofu, and a dozen mini sausages. As complimentary from the restaurant, we offer Miss Emily her favorite beverage, a glass of fizzy water, and Miss Grace, a glass of iced peach tea.”
Grace gasps, touched that Maeve remembers her offhand mention about having a random craving for peach tea just this morning.
Maeve catches her eyes and mouths I love you, like it's so simple for her, to love Grace even in the littlest ways.
“As for me,” Maeve stops to grin. “Water.”
“Boring,” Emily boos, smiling sheepishly when Grace scolds her. “Sorry.”
Grace rolls her eyes, exasperated and fond. She needs to cut Jamie’s visits down to twice a month if this goes on.
Dinner proceeds without any more fanfares, and Grace is happy to report she gets through the whole thing without needing to drink milk once.
Emily used to have a similar spice tolerance, but staying over at her uncle Jamie’s means she has a lot of practice eating spicy food, which makes her just a smidge better than Grace, who normally can't even handle spicy Cheetos.
Maeve made sure to douse the pot of spicy noodles in milk, creating a cream of delicious sweetness that, although they all enjoy, screams unhealthy.
Grace makes a mental note to make (read: buy) something with more vegetables for Emily.
Luckily for her, Emily will eat just about anything as long as it doesn't have mushrooms.
Grace kind of understands her.
“Emily is tucked in,” Grace announces, skipping back into the kitchen where Maeve is cleaning up. “Now you have no excuse but to let me help. Seriously, Maeve, you don't have to clean up if you're the one who cooks. That's generally how that goes.”
Maeve laughs, otherwise not stopping Grace from snatching the dripping plate right out of her hands. She has this thing where she refuses to use the dishwasher, believing it won't clean as well.
Grace has far worse hills to die on, so she lets her girlfriend have this. Even though they could save so much time washing dishes and spend it making out instead.
“I like the task,” Maeve says, hip-checking Grace just slightly. “It's comforting.”
“Only you would consider labor comforting.” Grace shakes her head, dutifully wiping every plate clean. “Is this an heiress thing? Because Jamie lowkey has it too.”
“No, he is just a masochist.” Maeve grins proudly at making Grace snort.
“Let's not put that sort of image about who I consider my brother in my head, thank you very much.”
“Okay,” Maeve laughs. “By the way, I made some stir-fry. Emily mentioned she wanted to try udon noodles but without the broth, so there's a pack of it in the frozen drawer. Just defrost it and put it back into the pan when you reheat everything tomorrow. I think she’ll like something lighter on the stomach after tonight’s dinner.”
Jesus.
Can she be any more perfect?
“Maeve…” Grace gasps, her voice a little wobbly. “You didn't have to.”
“I wanted to.” Maeve shrugs. “Like I said, I like cooking.”
Like her fridge full of Maeve’s leftovers isn't enough proof.
This isn't just about Maeve's hobby.
This is her sacrificing her time and energy making food she knows Emily likes but has mentioned only once. This is her paying attention and taking into consideration whether Emily is eating healthily or not.
Grace knew Maeve was in this for the long haul, but these sort of gestures are so sweet and not rare whatsoever, that they never fail to make Grace yearn for her.
It's ridiculous. How can she yearn when Maeve is standing right here?
I want to marry you.
Oh.
That's how.
“Hey, you okay?” A dry hand palms her forehead, Grace blinking back to reality and meeting Maeve’s blue eyes filled with concern. “You zoned out on me.”
“Sorry,” Grace says, mustering up her best smile. “Just… got a lot on my mind.”
Maeve’s brows furrow even harder. “Is it the report? I didn't realize it bothered you so much.”
Grace shakes her head. The last thing she wants to do right now is think about work and stupid, boulder-shaped Chris.
“I’m fine, I promise.”
Maeve tilts her head, almost puppy-like in her surveying. Whatever she's looking to ease her worry, Maeve finds it, deflating with a nod.
“Okay, but let me know if there's anything I can do. Like casually walking behind you during a Teams call with the meanest face possible.”
The vision is so hilarious it startles a laugh out of Grace, though soon softens into something rather dreamy at the domesticness of it.
Maeve, casually walking around in her home like she owns it.
Maeve, who already has her clothes, her toothbrush, and even her makeup kit here in Grace’s bathroom.
Maeve, sharing not just a life but a home with her.
Oh.
Oh.
That's what this is.
This is what she's been yearning for all this time.
“Shit, work is calling.”
Grace comes back to Earth again to a much more unpleasant view, Maeve picking up the phone and answering in her most serious voice, “Morgan.”
Her plan to talk Maeve into wearing the strap before wearing her out slowly dissolves into flames, as Maeve has that look of determination on her face whenever something serious just happened.
Sure enough, when she hangs up, Maeve is deftly cleaning the counter and wiping her hands.
“Work called. We found a body in the river.”
“Homicide?” Grace asks, following Maeve into the bedroom.
“Don't know yet.” Maeve disappears briefly behind her wardrobe. “But foul play is suspected and we need to hurry before we lose all the important bits for the autopsy report.”
Fucking reports.
“Will you come back afterwards?”
“I don't think I can.” Maeve’s head pokes out, a sad look on her face. “I’m sorry, love. I know you wanted to cuddle and watch the new season of Bridgerton.”
“It's okay.” Grace smiles. She's a bit sad, sure, but she understands having Maeve over on a weekday means possible interruptions on all fronts. “Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?”
“You bet.” Maeve winks, then goes back to rummaging the closet. “I found this Indian place with glowing reviews. You said you never had butter chicken before, right?”
Of course she remembers that too. “Yeah. Let's go there.”
“Brilliant.” Maeve finally steps out, now dressed in a standard uniform for assistant morticians in the morgue she’s currently working in. “Kiss for good luck?”
Grace gladly gives it to her, deepening the kiss as soon as their lips meet.
Her arms wind around the back of Maeve’s neck to pull her closer, and vice versa Maeve’s fingers grope her lower back before they dig into her ass cheeks.
They're panting hot and heavy when oxygen runs out, and Grace is mentally patting herself on the back for putting that dazed, almost glossy look in Maeve’s eyes.
“I love you,” Maeve exhales, visibly shaking herself. “God, I can't believe you’re sending me into a crime scene with a drowned victim horny.”
Grace laughs, even if she is subconsciously rubbing the insides of her thighs together too.
“There's always a public restroom we can borrow tomorrow.” Maeve growls in warning, and Grace kisses it right off. “I love you too. Go be a hero.”
An odd look flashes through her eyes before it disappears.
“There's no place I’d rather be than with the two of you.”
As soon as Maeve finishes saying goodbye to Emily, promptly melting Grace’s heart into wax in the process, and closing the door behind her, Grace is beelining back to her bedroom.
She makes a mad grab for her phone, hands slightly shaking.
[me]
are you decent?
[dollar-store dementor]
yes?
Immediately she hits on the camera icon, Jamie’s contact number blowing up to full size before the line connects and reveals the real Jamie on her screen.
“Is everything okay?” he blurts out.
“No. Yes. I don't know.” Grace makes a sad whimper. “I need your help.”
“Okay, I have a shovel—”
“Not that kind of help!” Honestly she’s a little insulted that he thinks she would resort to asking for help when it comes to that.
Hello, one-time survivor of a zombie apocalypse here.
“Right,” Jamie says, dragging out the syllables. “What happened?”
Grace takes a deep breath, “I want to ask Maeve to marry me.” then let it out.
She hadn’t been expecting anything from her best friend, but for him to burst out laughing before tossing the phone elsewhere is certainly not it.
“I knew it! I fucking knew it!”
“What?” Grace shouts, craning her neck like that’s going to help her stop staring at the ceiling. “Jamie, what the hell do you know?”
The camera moves, but instead of her silver-eyed best friend, Grace is looking at a very unimpressed-looking Mikey.
Oh.
Was she interrupting?
“Hello, Grace. I apologize for my boyfriend’s uncouth behavior—”
“Woohoo!”
“As it may have happened,” Mikey coughs, her glare pointed. “The two of us, Jamie and I, had a bet about which one of you was going to come to him about this sort of thing first. I voted in your favor.”
It takes an extra second for Grace to understand. “Wait, he bet against me?”
“Sweet baby sister of mine.” Jamie comes back into frame with an identical deadpan expression. “Did we or did we not have a conversation about how you didn’t even realize you were dating Maeve throughout that will-they-won’t-they time period two years ago?”
“To be fair, people call that a situationship,” Mikey chimes in, though Grace is confused whether or not she’s supporting her.
Actually, if Jamie voted against her, doesn't that mean—
“Let me tell you, babe. There was nothing casual about whatever they were doing.”
Grace is sulking. Jamie is supposed to have her back for fuck’s sake.
“Fuck you, man.”
“Yeah, yeah. Blame the dude with a Doctorate in Psychiatry.”
Mikey coughs again, “If you’re done gloating, maybe listen to what Grace has to say?”
The sheepish look on Jamie’s face brings Grace an astronomical amount of glee, once again bringing her reassurance that Mikey Montogomery is the perfect girlfriend for her brother.
“Right. Sorry. What brought this on?”
“Nothing, really.” Grace shrugs helplessly. “We were just in the kitchen doing the dishes (“I hope you didn’t use the dishwasher.” “Jamie.” “Right, sorry. Go on.”) and it just dawned on me how much I want this. I want her here, all the time, and I can see it so perfectly, how she fits into both our lives.”
Six months ago, Grace had officially put Maeve on the pick-up list for Emily.
Shortly after that, Emily invited both Maeve and Grace to be chaperones for her class trip to the zoo.
Then just three months ago, Grace had a spare key made for Maeve.
Last week, Emily found a stray cat and the first thing she did after they got home, adoption paperwork pending, was checking in with Grace to see if Maeve was allergic.
It’s there.
It’s been there all along, and Grace is only just now seeing it.
“I want her,” Grace repeats, a singular tear drop running down her cheek. “I want to come home to her everyday. I want to make her my wife. I want her to be the mother of my child. I want her to be in our lives forever.”
Jamie laughs and looks away, but she too can hear the tears he himself is holding back.
Next to him, Mikey graciously puts herself in the background, but in frame, her hand never stops stroking the top of Jamie’s head, offering him comfort where she can.
Finally, when he regains his composure, Jamie looks back up at the camera and smiles.
“Then let’s go ring shopping.”