#cara delevingne gif pack | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

randombush3 · 2 years

Text

Not the Only One.

florence pugh x reader

summary: flo isn’t your only girlfriend (if you can even call her that)

word count: 3384

warnings: BRIEF smut at the end, a little bit of drugs, lots of arguing

notes: this was supposed to be light-hearted smut when i originally began months ago, but i just got back to it and decided on this plot (not that i actually plan what i write). don’t cheat.

If you and Florence are anything, it’s passionate. It’s making out in the shower and running away from cameras in the rain; it’s watching the world through the reflection of her eyes. And, with the happiness, comes the darker, uglier side of passion: the arguments, the screaming, the ‘I hate you’s, and ‘stop loving me’s.

She’d known it was probably not her greatest idea becoming entangled with someone whose body count puts Cara Delevingne’s to shame. There were no promises of monogamy, only parties and morning kisses and… breakfast. You love it a little too much when she’s making you breakfast. She likes your smile when you watch.

In the club (some exclusive place that you’ve neglected to remember the name of), she talks to her own friends, this time from her last bloody good movie. The table has been cleared to make room for the lines, and you’re pulling your AmEx out. There’s loud music. Awful music.

Flo catches your gaze — takes it, grabs it for a while. She mouths ‘wait for me’, kisses her friends on the cheek, and is by your side before your company begin to ask if you even want to be high. You don’t really, not tonight. Not when it’s been two years since you’ve allowed yourself this close to her.

“Hello,” Flo murmurs, hands on your waist. She sways you to the music, laughing at your reluctance. She’s not drunk. “There are much healthier things for you to do.” The drugs are her least favourite part of this life. They make you almost insufferable once you’ve come down, and she wants to pursue something. You want to pursue something, too, but it’s not the same.

“Like what?” Her smirk is unmissable. No one else is paying attention.

“I’m standing right here.”

There’s someone waiting for you at home, though, and you haven’t yet told her. It was an unexpected development spearheaded by your mother, and now you’ve found yourself buying her flowers when you pass florists. You ignore this clear and simple fact, tell her that you could so easily get a hotel room, let her kiss you for a taste; a reminder of how good things were and can be. Florence can smell your girlfriend’s perfume on you, but she won’t say anything. If she does she loses you. She can’t bear to lose you.

So she pulls away only to grab the pack of cigarettes from the table, and keeps her hand on your waist as you exit the club.

In the morning, you wake up wearing nothing, covered by sheets and a wash of warmth from the woman beside you. She is sleeping still, peacefully resting against you, and she is naked. You wish you could have a world in which both Flo and your girlfriend were the same people, but it isn’t this one and you have got to tell her. It can wait, you think, as she wakes and is rubbing her hand up and down your thigh.

“I wish you wouldn’t just fuck me and leave me.”

Turns out you both had wishes like that.

“I don’t just ‘fuck’ you,” you reply calmly, basking in the sunlight of London’s May days. You run your fingers through her hair; though she constantly tells you she wants to chop it all off, you’ve convinced her to keep it long and blonde and looking beautiful when sex-teased.

“We make love?” She rolls her eyes. “You can hardly call this love.” Florence gestures to the way you’ve moulded yourself around her, encapsulating her, keeping her there despite her inevitable separation. “Shouldn’t we leave the love-making to you and your girlfriend, anyway, Y/n? The media seems to think it’s heading towards marriage.” It is. You are not going to crush this addictive pill between your fingers naked in bed next to her, though.

“You, too, are in a committed relationship.”

“So it is committed!” It’s adorable; her tone. Like she’s become Sherlock himself.

“I’m to propose in two weeks.” Florence quietens, just for a moment. Zach has already asked her to marry him. She’s not sure what to say to him, doesn’t know if it’s a good idea. He’s a constant — a good boyfriend, kind, loving — and her mother in law would actually like her, but she often catches herself wanting to whisper your name instead. “I don’t know if I can stop this.” The two of you.

“If I marry Zach, I will.” She won’t, but she’d probably try.

You rest your chin on her shoulder. Her hair smells like her blue shampoo, something she keeps using although she’s still scared it will dye her hair. “Then I hope you do not marry Zach.”

- - -

Your girlfriend says yes and Florence cannot escape it. She opens Instagram and is punched in the gut with your own post; her and you — obviously taken by the paparazzi — on the yacht that you’d once told Flo you’d marry her one day on, captioned ‘engagement sex was good, thanks for asking’. She would have laughed if she wasn’t trying not to start sobbing. Zach would be woken up if she did. But Zach loves his girlfriend and can tell she’s silently distraught. At her failure to make any food for them, he swoops in with bacon and eggs, kisses her cheek, her neck, her nose. A tear slips from her almost-composure. He wipes it for her.

After breakfast, he sits next to her on the sofa and cradles her when she can no longer not be heartbroken. He’s noticed the love bites on her collarbones, and he knows exactly the reason his love is struggling to love him back. Zach has decided to be mature about this. He thinks Florence would benefit from the stability of their relationship; he knows your game, he’s not living under a rock. “Will you marry me?” he asks, something that should have been absurd to do given the situation at hand.

Florence nods, then says she will, and Zach knows he is her second choice. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, “for not…”

“It’s okay,” he replies, at ease with the feeling of never being just quite enough for her. You’re the only one who can be that, and you have chosen to be that for someone else. “All I ask is that it stops now, that you say no to her now.” Like she promised you, she will. Even if you coax her out of her marriage. Marriage feels weird to think about when it’s not you she’s picturing. She’ll get used to it.

- - -

Nina slaps you when she finds out. Hard, unforgiving, the ring still on her finger. “And you love her,” she mutters, not caring if the cleaner is watching your argument attentively. “I feel so stupid.”

“I love you.”

“Are you expecting me to suddenly engage in polyamory?” She waits for an answer. “Is her boyfriend involved, too? Do you all just get high and fuck each other?” The cleaner is neglecting her duties, leaving the spilt champagne to ruin the floors and make them sticky.

“I want to get married.”

“To her.”

“It’s not going to happen!” Acceptance wasn’t a breeze, but you’ve found yourself enjoying Nina’s company. She’s beautiful — a runway model — and funny. She has self-respect, she cares, she wants you to be happy. You could be happy. But not with her. Not that you don’t think she’s deserving of a good life and a much better girlfriend, not that the slap stings. Why should it sting when it was totally deserved?

If you were in Nina’s position you’d be devastated. Devastated that this was all a lie, devastated that you will never be good enough for her. Maybe it’s your unexpected lust that clouds your empathy, but you find yourself wondering if Nina will still sleep with you after this. (She will — she can’t leave you.)

She really does consider it though, especially after your argument gets leaked and published in every tabloid possible. It becomes so obvious to do so in her mind that one morning you wake up to the engagement ring on your bedside table, only to find her sitting fully dressed on the sofa, unmoving, unresponsive. She is completely heartbroken.

It’s this that spurs an elopement, something that gets it done quickly and romantically enough. You’ve broken two hearts, not one, and so time is of the essence before you’re left alone to die without sex or love or whatever comes in between. Because Nina is permanently on the brink of leaving you, or at least moving away.

- - -

Over the course of the next two years, you let her delete Florence’s number from your phone, watch her unfollow her instagram, drive her to therapy, and drive you both to couples therapy. It’s going well. You haven’t forgotten Flo, and you don’t miss her any less than you did the last time you saw her, but your thoughts about her aren’t as important now that Nina has started to drag you to your son’s water babies class. You suggested it could be done in your very large pool (one supermodel + one actress = big, big house in LA) but your wife was adamant. The instructor is pretty and wears a tight rash vest that Nina clearly wishes she could tear off, but considering you consistently fucked someone else during the start of your relationship, it’s okay.

You’ve decided you’re happy enough. With her, with the baby. It will never quite amount to the taste of vanilla lip balm on Florence’s lips after a long day or the orgasmic feeling of seeing her for the first time in months, but will anything ever do that? You’d give five thousand lifetimes to have one more conversation with her, to make her laugh, to hear her laugh. Nina tries to forget but never can because you stare wistfully at her during events and desire radiates off you in a way that will never be for her.

After Milo has finished his nightly mission to cry himself to sleep and Nina has ended her assault on the dirty dishes, you let her sigh into your shoulder and rest her head against you. Watching the TV in silence is usually what happens to a marriage exhausted by a baby.

Once the adverts are playing, you sit up. Nina frowns. “Are you going to Ibiza then?” she asks, heart sinking further than you should make it. She hasn’t been keen on you going away with the friends Florence and you share, but Harris invited you in person. Harris desperately wants you there.

“I can’t say no.” You could see Florence. Just seeing her close up might be enough. “My mother has invited you to stay the month at hers anyway. Just you and Milo — I’ve got to film after I come back.”

“You know I dislike being separated unnecessarily. If you’re filming here, why can’t we stay?” She’s hurt. You always seem to hurt her.

“Nina, you’d stay up until I came home. It’s not fair on you.”

“This life isn’t fair on me, but I’m still here,” she mutters. “Carried your fucking child but you’d run off with a happily taken woman given the chance.” You wince. Florence can’t be truly happy. Right? “Yeah, Y/n, I’m not stupid. And she’s extremely happy. They’re happy.”

“We’re happy,” you lie. It’s so blatantly untrue that she laughs. “What? Nina, I’m happy. I love Milo, I love you.”

She worked out that you treat her like your best friend. Most of the time, you can tell her anything. Nina and you are actually close, just not in the way she’d like. At least the rest of the world is buying it.

- - -

“I’m not buying it.”

Okay, so the rest of the world except Harris.

He offered to fly with you from LAX in a rented private plane. The others are meeting you there, and you suspect Harris wanted to get you alone for a good twelve hours before he loses you to the resurfacing party girl he made friends with. She was locked in a cupboard when Milo was born.

“You were so in love with Flo. I thought you’d figure it out eventually.” He scoffs at your obvious boredom of the topic (an act to get him to shut the fuck up). “I genuinely don’t see why you guys kept it a secret. It’s not like either of you are closeted, no one was in danger. You were together before she met Zach, and she only looked for a Zach because you told her you couldn’t do it and wouldn’t do it. And then you continued to fuck and hurt each other’s feelings until Nina tied you up, married you, and gave you a kid as a distraction.”

“My mother threatened to ruin her career, you left that out.” And Florence didn’t want to commit to you before you could commit to her. You’re not a committed person, however, so it was doomed from takeoff. Just like a faulty rocket that they still let launch, everything always exploded and killed and caused suffering. The journey upwards was always fun, though.

“But it’s Flo. I’ve spoken to her, and you’re gonna want to talk. It’s over with Zach. They were both devastated.” You remember that word: devastated. Just like Nina was.You can’t bear the idea of Florence being devastated. “And, like, I get that you're married…”

“No.”

“You told me that Nina talks herself out of filing for divorce every other week!”

“I was being hyperbolic.” You weren’t. “Nina is second only to Florence, but so is everyone else. She’s the next best thing.” She must be okay with it by now.

But Harris shakes his head, “No one wants to be someone’s next best thing.” He begins to get frustrated. He hates that you choose to be so oblivious to the issues in your marriage. Flo hates that you’re married. You hate that she never tried to talk to you after Nina deleted her number. All three of you hate the idea of being in Ibiza and having to not sleep together (Harris always feels like a third wheel when he is in the room but you two have forgotten about it).

Second best echoes in your mind once you reach the hotel. Harris checks in for you both while you take a minute to internally commit suicide in the lobby toilets. Everyone else is checking in at the same time. Florence is included in that party.

She’s excited to be here with her friends, with the people she finds happiness and fun in. Since the mutual ending of her and Zach’s relationship she has realised that everything feels sharper without the safety net of welcoming arms and knowing words. Zach always knew what to say, even if it seemed inappropriate to everyone else. She liked that best: his timing. When she catches a glimpse of your face in the queue before you hurry off on your own, she chuckles to herself. Zach has perfect timing.

You jump when the door opens. The thud that follows the sound of curious footsteps drowns out Florence’s initial greeting, leaving the two of you staring at each other in a bitter concoction of desire and horror and most things inbetween. You’re about to say hello after a good three minutes of silence but Florence walks out before you can.

Her bum looks really good.

“Am I technically a voyeur now…?” A woman exits the stall in the far corner that you hadn’t noticed was occupied. She’s just a normal person. “Are you, um, okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing.” If only she knew. “I— I didn’t know there was anyone else in here.” Laugh it off.

“Well, whoever that was, I hope you hook up tonight.” She glances at your wedding ring, raising an eyebrow. “Or every night.” With a playful smirk she leaves the bathroom and you end up feeling worse than you did before.

- - -

Harris does your makeup for you when it processes and your hands won’t stop shaking. He’s slightly terrified by the storm two of his best friends are caught up in, but you could only be in the eye of it for so long. Temporarily, you built a white picket fence around a life that was a second choice — if it was at all a choice — but forgot to bolt down the hatches. Seeing her has made the fences age and rot. Better yet, you find that you are consciously stopping yourself from hacking the white bars to your cage down with an axe.

And so your shaking is reasonable. To feel so overcome with many different emotions is something you are most definitely not built for, but it’s Florence. Isn’t she everything you’ve ever wanted?

But it’s not just about you. Not anymore. Two more people will lose their life to the storm, though one has tried her hardest to find shelter. The other was at no fault and is not deserving of such a cruel mother. You were never deserving of a cruel mother, yet she somehow ruined your life from her exiled position of power. Leaving home clearly wasn’t enough.

Florence met your mother once, before you’d realised actually dating her didn’t seem to work. You’d introduced her as your girlfriend, and while her cheeks were red with embarrassment, your mother’s flared with anger. It wasn’t to do with Flo personally, you’re almost certain, but rather the fact that you displayed the fact you now had a choice. To your mother, control had slipped through her fingers the moment you chose her, because you chose her. So she chose an alternative. Obviously one that you’d find attractive and lust after and… forget about Florence. Nina wasn’t any different to her predecessor, but your mother’s attitude towards her was different.

Nothing has ever been to spite Flo. It’s always for you. And to say that you end up looking like an extreme narcissist is an under exaggeration. She wants you to love her back and to tell her that; Nina wants the same but will never quite get it. You look like you’re incredibly selfish to everyone else.

“It’ll be fine,” Harris comforts quietly. He pats your shoulder as the lift door opens and the restaurant gets far closer than you’re mentally prepared for. “Just don’t sit next to her if...”

But, like every other time, you leave holding Flo’s hand and kissing her neck. Your room is way too close to most of the friend group, but she’s on the next floor up and that’s safer, that’s easier on the conscience.

She undresses you like she zipped your dress up herself, knowing every dip and curve of your body having mapped you and explored you and loved you. She loves you. She almost lets it slip through the net of her lips, but catches it before it drops and buries it at the back of her throat for later.

You’ve missed her touch. You’ve missed touching her. She is the melted wax from a burnt out candle; hot, used. She doesn’t care if you use her anymore, because no one can ever make her feel as good as you do and she needs that feeling to bring her back to life. Florence needs you to bring her back to life, but she won’t admit to loving a married woman. Not when the married woman has a baby whose mothers love him dearly. Not when Nina sent her flowers for every birthday and personally told her you had become a mother to a beautiful boy who doesn’t need to know about affairs until he reads romance novels.

Florence feels guilty as you kiss the valley between her breasts. How can she resent Nina the way she does? You, clearly, are the one she should hate, but she cannot bring herself to ever say no.

She doesn’t say no when you remove her underwear, or ask for permission. Once your tongue swirls her clit and your fingers curl inside her, she forgets you’re not hers, that you live another life in which she has no place nor part in. But you are hers, though not only hers. Despite this, Florence decides she is yours.

tags: @pewpughpew @ridlz @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore

If you want to be tagged in my posts, please send me a message!

161 notes · View notes