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jen-with-a-pen · 8 months ago

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HAHAHAH EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS RESPONSE IS GOLDEN OH MYOGDDDDDDD

You just made my entire WEEK ro, like fr 😂😂

Hideout (4.2)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Horny Teen, part two (see previous or series)

Summary: A late-summer heat wave hits you and Steve hard.

Warnings for smut (kinda unprotected sex, momentarily--guess that's dubcon to be safe--fingering, lots of foreplay things and dirty talk but Steve can't actually talk dirty, so...hot talk? IDK, gang, I 'bout died writing this. Prepare thy loins, babes). MINORS DNI. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this series is not for you! WC 3.1k

A/N: This part contains a cannibalized version of the original idea for this series, but since we've developed differently to this point, it is very different.

He calls ahead. For the first time in a year of visiting, he calls ahead and knows you aren’t working the night he’ll be here.

You work in the garden as long as you can stand before hopping in a cool shower. You aren’t even wrapped in a towel when the trill of your room phone—extension 14, as Steve now knows it—blares through multiple closed doors.

He’s checked-in, and in Room Two, but no pressure, if you want, if you don’t have plans, he’s here. It is the most adorable and awkwardest conversation of all time. It also never gets old to hear him scramble for the simplest of sentiments.

Translation: I’m excited to see you.

Your heart soars then immediately stalls in the stifling weather.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” you chuckle.

Of course, he opens his arms for a bear hug the instant the door labeled ‘2’ swings wide. Steve has fewer troubles with platonic affection when alone, that’s for sure, but who could blame him? You’re elated he’s here under any circumstances.

Record-setting heat this late in the summer has left all the AC units taxed to the brink, running constantly, and even with the in-room thermostat set stupidly low, a tank top and shorts is too much.

This means another first: both of you, in bed, naked.

Nothing’s happened, mind, because the swelter of the day zapped energy out of every creature for miles and miles around. The ice machine can’t keep up with eight rooms and your family needing relief from the blaze. From the bright stripe of red across Steve’s cheeks and his earthy musk, he was outside plenty. He’s wiped, too.

You wonder absently when the last time he wore cologne was and what it smelled like. Perhaps he never used it. Perhaps he misses small luxuries more than he ever realized.

Steve looks on the brink of heat-stroke, so you inched yourself onto one side of the bed to start, thinking skin-to-skin contact might be unwelcome. You barely got your palms on the sheets before he pulled you to him. You did not fight it.

It’s meant to be a profound comfort—your weight atop him—and it is.

Your cheek settles on his chest, eyes watching through the sheer curtains as dusk takes over the sky, a happy man stretched like a cat beneath you, smiling, heart beat slowing in your ear. So strong, so steady, so secure.

He’s safe. He’s comfortable. That’s all that matters.

You peer up from your perch. The thin worry lines on his forehead have relaxed. He seems younger. Freedom looks good on Steve Rogers, just as good as it looks on Captain America, maybe better.

You fall asleep straddling his hips, one knee hitched so the crook of your ankle drapes his thigh, slowly pushed up and down by his deep breaths.

You’re drifting, rocked gently by powerful waves in the nothingness of your blank mind, free like him, blooming in the warmth of a bright sun embracing you.

The glow continues until Steve gently shakes you awake.

The room is pitch black, the lights of the parking lot too muted to pass through the gossamer layer over the window.

“You’re…you were squirming a lot. Thought you might be having a nightmare,” his rough timber booms close to your ear.

“No, I—“ you wipe at your face “—I don’t think I was dreaming.”

Steve’s not so relaxed under you now. His abs quake slightly, and those slow breaths have become stunted, shallow with control.

“Did you?” you ask, looking towards his face, useless in the dark but your drowsy brain hasn’t caught up yet.

There’s a shuffling noise above you.

“Is that a ‘yes?’ Did you have a nightmare? You alright?”

The shuffling repeats, accompanied by a strangled “yes,” and you lift your arm to brace on his chest. It unhooks your leg from his, and the hard length of his erection moves from its perch at your ass, nudging the joint of your hip and thigh from below.

“Not—not a nightmare,” he whispers. “Just ignore it.”

Steve’s voice is husky, his grip on the back of your knee tight and unyielding, keeping you from trapping him between your legs.

Your impulse is to soothe him, to tell him he is fine and it is okay to be turned on, generally, when naked and pressed to someone you find attractive—hell, you definitely are—but if he wants you to ignore it, if he’d rather not, if it’s too soon or too hot (metaphorically, physically) or just too much right now, then you respect that. None of this has ever been about making him feel like how he chooses to receive affection is wrong.

Without moving any limbs, your fingers retract and relax, a gentle, nailless scratch to his broad pec beneath your hand, and his cock twitches, tapping your leg.

“Sorry,” Steve huffs.

“Do you want me to get off of you?” You suppress the urge to make a minor edit in that statement because it’s very close to what you want to do.

The shuffling noise sounds different.

“No,” he says softly.

You slide your hand up his chest to his neck and around the back of his head, petting the corner of his bearded jaw just below his ear, careful to use as few muscles as possible.

His cock taps you again anyway. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

You ignore it, as asked, and continue scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Hey,” you start in the darkness, “is this comfortable?”

You run your fingertips over his features while he nods, following his jaw up and down.

Unable to see, this paints the most vivid picture of Steve’s reactions. You feel the vibration of a hum through his cheek, the draw and release of his brow as you skate over his forehead. You hear his short chuckle when you brush ever-so-gently across his long lashes and boop his nose. Finally, you trace his open-mouth smile with the edge of your thumb, his ragged exhale rushing over your palm.

Tap.

“Sorry.”

“Comfy though?”

His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Yeah.”

The drag of your fingers past the edge of bristly stubble and down his throat makes him shiver.

Twitch.

“Sorry.”

You flutter across his collarbone, wondering if that means he’s ticklish on more than just his sides.

“Comfy?”

He hums. You feel it rattle your cheek as much as you actually hear it in your ears.

You continue. His corded muscles giving only slightly to the pressure of your touch. His arm, his chest, down to the hand he keeps on your leg.

Several more breathy apologies sound above you. Steve’s other arm is draped over your waist, and with every pulse of need that betrays him, his grip tightens just a little. His fingers now dig into your soft flesh absently.

It’s hard to hide how desperate he’s made you, but the issue is mutual based on how his abs won’t stop tensing, searching for attention where he denies it.

You flatten your hand to his chest and make to move.

“May I?”

Steve’s swallow is louder than the ‘okay’ he returns.

You are careful not to push him in any weird angles as you raise up to your knees and straddle him, pinning his erection beneath you, not directly between your folds but nestled at the apex of your legs, just so he won’t have to worry about every involuntary poke.

With such fresh contact, he clenches his ass hard in response, lifting your whole weight completely before he settles again. The surge of heat to your core has you biting your lip to muffle a moan.

“Comfy?” you rasp at the same moment Steve offers a strangled “sorry.”

The low, constant whine of the air conditioner fills the hollow space around your cocoon of anticipation.

“New plan,” you laugh, relaxing your fingers to splay across his warm skin, “both of us stop doing that, huh? You have nothing to be sorry for, and I’ll trust you to tell me if you aren’t comfortable.”

“So…” Steve shuffles on the sheets, but whatever he moves doesn’t affect your position. “Can I touch you?”

You bite your lip harder before answering, your voice dropping to a sweet reassurance. “Yes. Of course you can, Stevie.”

You keep your pets of his chest and arms light, trying not to tickle him. He’s always so hesitant; you’re worried the tiniest misstep will send him back into his head—not in a good way.

The silence now feels purposeful, dense with possibility, and then rough fingertips land like a foreign explorer who’s braved months at sea solely to experience this moment.

A calculated inhale and exhale rock your pelvis, a wave of nerves foaming in your gut.

He starts innocently enough, mapping your thighs, muttering something about how soft they are, but you don’t dare lean to hear him better. No sudden movements. None. Even though your skin lights up as explosive as those 4th of July fireworks you missed.

Since there’s nothing to see in the room, you feel everything.

He keeps to the periphery of you at first, abandoning your legs to brush the same arms touching him, running fingers together, separating them just as quickly, caressing your palms gently, and dragging his short nails up your wrists without pressure.

You stiffen in pleasure, fighting not to shrink away from the purest intimacy you’ve ever experienced.

His long arms reach the curve of your shoulders, flit across your collarbone, and you’re doing your damndest to keep it together, leaning your head back in lieu of talking.

Don’t scare him.

It can’t last; you’re only human.

Steve’s hands slowly descend over your breasts, middle fingers catching your peaking nipples, and a lewd and aching cry tumbles from your bitten lips.

The force of it surprises you, but more surprising still is him, unfazed, encouraged to linger.

In that low timber, he growls.

“You like that… Knew you would.”

Your body throbs, pulsing with need and emptiness.

That means he thinks of you. He’s imagined this. He’s wanted this.

Stunning electricity shoots through your body as he pinches and twists, squeezes and kneads. Nothing too harsh, but he’s highly motivated when you purr and gasp atop him.

What else does he think about doing? How long has he fantasized? Is this as good as his imagination?

Yours aren’t the only noises now. He sounds tortured with little pleas and whimpers escaping before each guttural moan.

Arousal pools at your folds, and without realizing you started to move, the shy momentum of your hips has nudged his length to lay flush with your dripping center. His tip glides over your clit.

Again and again.

A hot pressure builds in you, faster than ever, kerosene dumped on your wet-dreams and burned to life, a spell manifest in the night.

Steve shakes beneath the palms you brace flat on his chest, the heels digging into his diaphragm.

He moves to grip your thighs hard.

Fire spreads beneath your skin as you two pant and gasp, his whole cock slick and slotted so close to where you truly long for him.

“Wait,” Steve groans, but you can’t understand.

No one could imagine how good this feels, how much you need this, how—

He sits up to stop you, accidentally notching himself at your entrance, your residual motion sliding the thick head of him past the that first, tight ring.

Steve’s lusty moan is barely eclipsed by your own, and you’re too close to halt sheathing him within you, arms instinctively wrapping his shoulders. Desire winds the coil in your belly too taut, the thought of losing this climax unbearable.

“N-uhhh god—“

He’s too sensitive though. He flips you both so your back crashes to the soft sheets and digs his grip into your side, his other hand thumping to anchor on the headboard. Steve sucks air through his teeth like he’s afraid the faintest smell of sex will set him off.

“Don—don’t move,” he orders in thick command.

It makes things worse.

You’re so close, vaulting off the ground and suspended by legs clamped around his waist, dangling on the precipice of ecstasy. You whine and clench, totally unable to control yourself, your nails digging into his back.

Steve cries out, choked at the hilt by your desperation and lost to his own finish.

His hand races from your side to your ass. He pulls out of you only to slot himself there and thrust his cock between your cheeks, cum shooting on the sheets below.

Mindlessly, you ride the cut of his abs, his course pubic hair adding almost enough friction to keep ascending toward your own end, but the void left behind is too consuming. The fire sputters and dims.

Steve buries his face in your neck, breath cooling the sweat lining your skin as he curls away from you, overwhelmed.

“Swear I was gonna wait,” he confesses to the tender spot behind your ear. “I swear.”

“Please,” you croak, tears prickling your eyes in lament for your ruined orgasm.

“Was gonna be better. Swear I’ll do better for you.”

You grope and claw at those thick arms which hold all but his face far away. “Please,” you beg pathetically, “fucking touch me, please.”

A drawn out grunt vibrates the column of your throat.

“Y’shouldn’t have ta beg...”

He shifts to his forearm, caging you in as you plead over and over. He kneels to hover, and your thighs weakly squeeze at his own to emphasize what you need.

“Sounds so pretty when you do…”

Something between a screech and a snarl erupts from your chest.

Steve shushes you, smoothing a big hand across your damp cheek, and quietly, he commands you, “show me what to do.”

Your quivering hold guides him by the wrist down your body. Words to instruct him won’t form in your sex-steeped brain. As luck would have it, he doesn’t need specifics.

“Next time I’ll taste you.” One finger teases your folds in search of his entrance. “Next time you’ll have to beg me to stop.” Two fingers drive forward, displacing a gush of your shared juices. “So wet,” he groans, agonized to silence when you jerk his hand to thrust faster.

“More.”

He sets a loving and delicate pace, the heel of his palm working your clit.

Too delicate.

“More,” you gasp.

He obliges, muttering how good he’ll be to you from now on. You’ll always be first. He promises.

The fire takes over again.

“More, Stevie. Please.”

You grind down on him to prove your point, and he marvels that this isn’t too rough for you.

Each strangled breath ties your moans together in a crescendo worthy of Carnegie Hall.

“God,” he rumbles by your ear again, “I know that sound. You’re close, aren’t you?”

Steve’s pumping fingers bully your body farther and farther up the bed, using only a taste of his real strength.

Your chant of ‘yes’ catches in your taxed lungs. He doesn’t need an answer though.

The super-stretched band snaps, a plateau of peace and weightlessness tipped at the vertex until—crash—nerves are razed all along you like a carpet-bombed battlefield.

“Uhnn, is that what you’re gonna feel like around me?” He sighs at the thought and stills his hand just to commit the ripple to memory. “How’m I s’pose to last?”

You slap a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to hold in your yelp of relief.

That mouth…that fucking mouth of his is a weapon all its own.

Tiny explosions wreak havoc on you, body and soul, as his fingers greedily coax you to keep coming—just a little more—just for him—one last rush—give him everything.

His lips open in your palm, but you grip his face harder.

You can’t. You can’t listen right now. You can’t hear one more dangerously sexy, completely innocent thing fall from his beautiful mouth.

Steve lets his hand go lax but doesn’t take it away from your clenched and spasming thighs.

He tries to speak again then gives up, waiting.

Finally, before you can collapse boneless to the bed, he hooks his arm behind your leg so you don’t land on the cold, cum-stained sheets.

He shakes off your forgotten grip of his jaw.

“Tops?” he whispers, patience personified in the long pause before you hum acknowledgment. “Can I kiss you?”

That fucking mouth…

There’s barely enough breath in you to make a sound, but the instant the ‘ye—’ forms in the back of your throat, Steve’s lips are on yours.

It's your first real kiss, of all the ways, after all this time, following all that.

You’d laugh if you weren’t smiling, suffocating in the gentle press that becomes deep and adoring. He kisses you thoroughly after each frantic gasp for air, savoring you, even in the reckless passion of the moment.

Steve rolls to lay you atop him again, more intimately than before. He keeps his face close, sharing breath even in the heat and stench of sex in the room, your wetness now smeared from his navel to his knee.

Turns out, he is a very good kisser, focusing on the act of physical connection. Not only do your lips touch, but he likes to nudge you into whatever minutely different position with his nose. He likes to nuzzle his beard on your sensitive skin until you giggle and squirm. He relishes you like you relish him.

He whispers things too soft to make out at first. It takes him a while to find his voice, to push past his insecurities, to find his confidence, but eventually, you hear it.

He mumbles how he should have been better, more prepared.

You weave all your fingers through his hair, propped on his chest by your elbows, smiling so he’ll be able to tell in your tone.

“Take the win, Cap.”

You freeze.

You’ve never called him that, and Steve stays silent for an excruciating beat.

“Sorry,” you offer in the dark, air conditioner churning out sobering drafts of reality.

Steve runs his knuckles gently in patterns across your bare back. There’s a short huff and an amused snort, you mind scrambling to plan some explanation as to why you’d haul the drama of out there into his safe space.

He guides you to settle against him again, tucking you into his strong hold with his chin resting on your forehead.

After what feels like an eternity, he simply asks, “comfy?”

A/N: In case you were wondering...

[Next part: Desperate Man]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @mrsevans90 @lemonadygirl

#rolling around on the floor clutching you to my chest #also if you need any reaction memes i have a dedicated folder they are the only things that let me depict my thoughts and feelings #kitchen fridge #ILLYYYYYYY #also i have SO much hope and faith in you this series is perfect to me no matter what #IF HIDEOUT DOESNT HAVE ANY FANS THEN IM DEAD #hideout series #ronearoundblindly

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inuyashaluver · 3 months ago

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ILLYYYYYYY

Firstly wanted to say thank you for your fics, they NEVER disappoint 🫶

And I wanted to request something with Grace Clinton, maybe a soft/hard launch with a non-footballer gf?

girlfriend - grace clinton

grace clinton x reader

description: in which your girlfriend is tired of keeping the love of her life a secret, thus, you get a special invitation to her debut with her national team

warnings: nothing really!! not proofread because its me

a/n: STOPPP, thank you so much for the love and support you are so incredibly sweet, please enjoyyyyy, i'm rusty like don't mind me AHHAHAH, clearing out my drafts and requests as we speak!!

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, grace, long story short are soulmates. you have known grace pretty much your entire life and have never felt such a huge amount of love for anyone as much as you did with her.

grace has always been in love with you, she doesn’t remember a time where she hasn’t been. and that just sums up your entire relationship, completely and utterly in love.

—

you and grace have known each other ever since you were 7. you were both placed in the same class at school, grace known for her class clown personality while you just smiled at her antics while working on your studies.

you two gravitated towards each other quicker than ever expected, being the best of friends until you were both 17 and grace finally asked you to be her girlfriend. an absolute surprise to not only the both of you, but everyone else around you.

while grace was playing football, you were her biggest cheerleader on the side, her ‘lucky charm’ as she loved to call you. you did absolutely everything together, the best partner for life.

in your adult lives, you moved in together, grace playing football while you were in veterinarian school. it worked so well, it was so effortless, so easy and it was absolutely the best.

—

you had the privilege of being able to travel around the uk as grace joined different clubs, and grace was so incredibly grateful for you.

something to know about your girlfriend, she was incredibly private. grace hated the thought of you being a secret but she was so protective.

she often had nightmares of you being found by crazy friends and getting harassed, and that was why she kept you private. her work and social life completely separate.

you didn’t mind it, you and grace were secure amongst yoursleves and within your relationship to not find it offensive. you both loved each other and that was all that really mattered.

all her teammates, your friends and family knew about your relationship and knew how much you meant to each other, and that was enough for both of you.

there were subtle hints here and there, people knew grace had a partner, she just didn’t want to give anyone details. both of your instagrams had soft hints towards your relationship, but nothing too obvious or completely out there.

you would come to every match without fail, always waiting for her at the end of the match.

—

she spots you sitting in the stands, clad in her jersey with a proud smile on your face as you watched her sign things and take photos with fans. she felt herself grow shy at the pure look of admiration on your face.

when people began to leave, she smiles over at you, you smile at the girl, nodding your head flirtily as she gave you a cheeky wave with a wink.

she gestures to the tunnel, meaning to follow her to the back later on. you nod, laughing at her cheeky antics, you pucker your lips up jokingly and she rolls her finger in a circle to hint for you to hurry up so she could say hello.

you wait for her in the carpark, perched up against your shared car, she rushes out excitedly, clearly out of breath but she smiles so brightly when she sees you, her most favourite person in the entire world.

you open your arms out to her expectantly and she walks into them with a relieved breath, hugging you around the middle tightly.

“hi, baby” she whispered in your ear, her lips giving you a subtle kiss on the shell of your ear. “hi, gracie girl”, you chuckle, rubbing your hands up and down her back before you pulled apart, puckering your lips up at her teasingly. she smirks, her hand cupping the underside of your jaw to pull you into a loving kiss.

“i missed you” she breathes out against your lips, you smile, pecking them, “i missed you too, baby, two hours is way too long” you chuckle mockingly, kissing her a little longer this time.

she smiles in the kiss, drawing you in closer with her hands on your waist, “two hours felt like two days” she mocks, giving your hips a gentle squeeze as she walked you to the passenger side of the car, opening the door for you and closing it once you were seated.

“you played so well today, gracie baby” you smile at her when she puts her seatbelt on, she grins so sheepishly, cheeks pink no matter the time or place when it came to you.

“cause you were there” she shakes her head in your face, kissing your lips tenderly before she grabbed your hand to hold as she drove.

—

when grace got transferred to tottenham, things fast tracked.

“baby, it’s only fair” grace groans, flopped on top of you as you were under the covers in the early hours of the morning. “gracie, i love you, but please, no” you beg, speaking up from under the blanket.

she sighs, smushing her face into your stomach over the blanket, “babe!” she yells, muffled by the blankets, you rip the blankets off your face, giving her your best scowl when she looked up at you from the movement.

“please, no, it’s too early” you exclaim, grace smiles at you, clearly amused by your attempt at anger on your features. “you got to pick dinner, and the movie last night” grace reminds, “i knew you let me pick because you wanted something,” you tutt, shaking your head.

she gasps, her hand clutching her chest, “i would do no such thing!” she moves up to straddle your waist as you hold yourself up by your elbows.

“my ass” you whisper, letting your girlfriend press a sweet kiss to your lips, “please” she pouts. her hands moving the blanket off you to hold your waist, kissing you again. you hum against her, clearly her little plan had worked.

“please come to training” she whispers, her words fluttering over your lips. you roll your eyes fondly, nodding and letting your girlfriend kiss your cheeks repeatedly, pulling you up from the bed excitedly.

the girl had already picked out your clothes, that’s how confident she was that she could get you to come to training with her. her separation anxiety was real.

you laugh when you see the ‘clinton’ hoodie on the top of the pile of clothes, shaking your head but putting it on anyway.

and when you both arrived at training, and you were seen in the training video wearing that hoodie, the questions and speculation were growing tenfold. who was this girl grace brought to training?

you and grace had been chatting after all the bombarding questions reached both of your phones. and you both decided, maybe it was time to put your relationship out in the open. although you both had your worries, you just didn’t want to hide anymore.

and so after careful deliberation, you and grace would make your relationship official in her debut match for the senior lioness team.

—

grace was so jittery in her hotel room this morning, aggie had to message you that your girlfriend was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. you call her and she picks up a couple seconds after you press the call button.

“baby” she breathes out, clutching onto the phone as she talked to you, “hi, babe, you okay?” you ask her, phone on speaker as you get ready for the game. “i’m okay, just nervous” you hum at her words, “and that’s okay, baby” you remind her and she instantly calms down.

“yeah, i know” she sighs, “i miss you, i can’t wait to see you tonight” she grins, fiddling with the ends of her shorts. you giggle into the phone, “i miss you too baby, i’m very excited to see you” you both chatter back and forth before you hung up.

“i better see clinton on your back, babe, i love you!” she calls out into the phone before she hangs up, getting rushed onto the bus. you laugh, already wearing the england jersey with your girl’s name on the back. like you were a rooke, tsk.

—

you sat with her family in the stands, understanding why grace was so jittery. you watch her train and she looks pale, there’s so much riding on this. she wants to do well, she needs to do well. she needs to impress you.

she waves at you shyly when she spots you, you smile at her brightly, holding your hands up in a heart shape to make her giggle, and it thankfully works. she mimics your gesture, making you giggle as well. you both calmed down after that.

—

the match concludes and she does extremely well, the look of pride on both of your faces was infectious. you cheer loudly when they do a lap of appreciation. and like usual, when she completes her signatures and pictures and walks over to the friends and family section.

she smiles up at you from the bottom of the pitch, ushering with her hand to come down to where she was.

you smile at her shyly, walking around others to reach her, and when you do, you don't think you’ve ever seen her smile so brightly. “hello, beautiful” she pulls you in by your waste to hug you tenderly, kissing your cheek before she rests her head on your shoulder to feel closer to you.

“hi, superstar” you hug her tightly, the barrier making it a little difficult but you both didn’t care. she pulls back to look at you, to really look at you. she may have just debut and reached one of biggest goals of her life, but you’re really the best achievement in her life.

“you’re sure about this?” grace questions, eyes flickering between your own in concern, you smile softly, brushing a stray hair from her forehead and tucking it tenderly behind her ear.

“i’m sure, lovey” she smiles at your words, breathing out happily as she took in your appearance before she placed her hand onto your jaw.

she pulls you into a soft kiss, tame for the public but so incredibly meaningful. you hear the distant cheering of everyone, but it's drowned out with feeling grace’s lips move with yours. it lasts for a couple seconds before she pulls away, resting her forehead on yours.

both of you smile, holding each other tightly, slightly in shock that you were both now official to the public. “finally” she teases, pinching your hip, you laugh, hitting her arm softly before leaning in to peck her lips.

you both see people holding up phones, chattering and talking about the two of you but you both really didn’t care. you had each other and that is all that matters.

though, what you both didn’t expect was the overwhelming amount of support you both gained out of this. the worry was honestly for nothing.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - pretend it’s you!! ily celin

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graceclinton_x: she's a big softy

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yourname: says you!!

↳ graceclinton_x: yeah, yeah!

alessia: can confirm grace is more soft

↳ ellatoone: confirmed!

↳ aggiebjones: confirmed!

↳ mayaletissier: confirmed!

↳ graceclinton_x: thanks guys.

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