#florence pugh imagines
Text
But She’s A Stranger
florence pugh x footballer!reader
summary: originally titled ‘saved’, because that’s what you and this blonde woman seem to be doing for each other
words: 10048
warnings: none (😮)
notes: okay i know i said no more football fics, but i couldn’t help myself. i really couldn’t and you’re going to have to deal with that!
a few of my fav things about writing this include having to check flo’s instagram to see what hairstyle she’s had at what time, creating multiple timelines of club transfers to keep things consistent, and learning catalan! i speak spanish and quite a bit of french so it could have been worse. i also don’t explicitly say this (i think) but the reader played for wolfsburg when she was in germany.
January is fucking freezing. The wind is biting and it rains a lot, clouds lingering, having had to hide for Christmas. The days are grey and dark, trainings are hard, and you’re miserable about being stuck in England after spending a week in Cuba.
You walk down Portobello Road simply because your sister forced you to watch that Hugh Grant rom-com and you’ve got a bit of time before you need to get back to St. Albans. After exploring most of the main road, you stray into a side street, and then another… and another. Until you’re slightly lost (very lost) and in need of food.
Florence Pugh is having a peaceful cup of coffee to make her feel like she’s had a productive day.
Her head snaps to the door when the bell chimes. People don’t often come in here. You sort-of-stumble inside, first looking as if you’re going to walk right out, then settling.
While she is sitting at her usual table (the one in the corner, always with a tulip in the vase), you are aimlessly flitting from seat to seat, deciding on whether this place is worth your precious time. Something about the confusion in your eyes draws Flo in, try as she might to remain incognito. “It’s good,” is all she says, barely looking up from her book, not wanting to have the safety of anonymity stripped away. You glance at the pale blue ceramic mug sitting on her table, and walk to the counter.
“Please could I have whatever she has,” you tell the barista, who takes a moment to understand what you’ve said and then nods with a smug smile. She had been hoping someone would have a little coffee romance in her café.
“Would you like that to go?”
You check your watch.
Hòstia.
Maybe you got carried away on your adventure.
It’s 3.47pm.
Jonas requested everyone meet for team bowling at four, expecting most of you to have been eating lunch together anyway (as that usually happens on Saturdays with the Arsenal women’s football team). Even if you weren’t known to be the most punctual on the squad, getting to St. Albans for that time when it’s 3.47pm now is impossible.
You smile nervously at the woman serving you, and Flo is now intrigued as to why such a beautiful woman looks so terrified.
“Yeah, to go would be great, thanks.” She nods and you are left waiting there, foot tapping, time ticking, nowhere interesting to look other than into those green eyes peering at you from the other side of the room. “Could you… Could you make it quickly, please?”
Flo snorts.
Someone’s just invaded her little sanctuary and then told the barista to hurry up, and she can’t help but find the awkwardness fucking attractive. Like you’re some action in a tranquil day, a rain cloud in a blue sky.
Zach is going to be listening to a very long rant about this later.
It strikes her that you seem different to anyone else she has ever met, though she can barely say to have met you. The way you carry yourself with an air of importance but a dash of humility, the way an accent she can’t place curls around your words, the way you frown at your phone as you furiously type away text after text at the object of your frustration.
The way your eyes meet hers when you realise you’re being stared at.
Before she can defend herself, give you some bullshit about the wall behind you, the barista hands you your coffee. “Thank you,” you say, smiling, though it feels a little ingenuine considering the speed the words tumble out.
As you switch your phone off and reach out to the machine in front of you, the barista grimaces. “Our card machine is broken, sorry. It’s cash only.”
Well she didn’t mention that before.
You gave your last bits of cash to Jordan, having lost some stupid bet about how many of her shots you could save. She said you’d keep a clean sheet; you were humble and said she’d get one past you.
“Merda,” you mutter. Looking up at the barista, you reply, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t have any cash on me,” a little panicked and ready to risk it all by dashing out of the shop.
You and the barista exchange a helpless look. She needs the money, but you don’t have it. It’s frankly super awkward, and makes Flo squirm in her seat. She really has to put a stop to this, she can’t bear to watch you and the barista be struck dumb any longer.
She stands and walks over to you, “here,” handing the barista a fiver and trying her best to ignore how your jaw goes slack. Have you recognised her?
(No, you’re just wondering how it’s possible to be this attracted to a stranger.)
(Like, this is one of those moments when you truly are no better than a man.)
“Oh!” you exclaim, finding words again. “You don’t—”
“It’s okay,” she says calmly, though she feels anything but. You have eyes that seem to pierce through her. “You can just buy me—”
But whatever smooth remark she is about to make is plucked from her tongue and swallowed by an aggressively abnormal ringtone. It’s a new experience to be shut down by a duck quacking, and an unwelcome one too.
You grimace once again, finding that this supposedly simple detour has caused more chaos than £5.00 coffee is worth. The caller in question is Beth Mead, recently granted close-friend status after she found you mid panic attack in the gym having been overwhelmed by the watt bike, having to constantly use your third language, and the fact that Ona was being a little standoffish the last time you spoke (you were being dramatic — she hung up on you in favour of going clubbing with her own team). Beth won’t tell you this, but Jonas realised you were struggling in London at the start of the season and asked her to keep an eye on you.
Keeping an eye on you has, apparently, turned her into your mother.
“Where are you?” is what she greets you with, her annoyance drowning out the faint sounds of a bowling alley in the background. “You can’t skip mandatory team bonding.” After a pause, the woman on the other end of the line seems to soften. “Are you okay? You’re not lost, are you?”
“I’m fine,” you sigh, glancing at the stranger who you are now in debt to. She’s retreated back to her table, accepting defeat, allowing the universe to quell her potential one-night-stand or more. “I’m in Notting Hill. I got distracted by a café, but I’ll be on my way shortly.”
“You’ll be here in an hour, then,” says Beth, unimpressed. “I’m telling Jonas that you got lost, it’ll save you a lecture.”
“Thank you.” You’re grateful for Beth. “I’ll call a taxi now.”
Florence looks at you dumbly. You spare her a concerned look, but then realise she may have been… No, that’s absurd.
“Thank you,” you say once more, this time directed at the blonde, the curve of your lips undeniably attractive and the glint in your eye even more so. Flo nods curtly, attempting to save face, and then forces her eyes back onto Dune. It’s far less interesting than that entire interaction, but what can she do?
The door of the café shuts with a little click, the bell chiming once more, but Flo refuses to watch you leave. That’s creepy, she tells herself.
In truth, as you get into the taxi pulled up outside, you glance back at her, wondering who she is. Why does she look familiar?
You’re seconds away from figuring it out, having a right old lesbian ponder in the car, when Beth pops her head through the abruptly opened car door. “Hola,” she tries, “estas aqui, finalmente.”
“Sí, estoy aqui,” you reply, grinning. She realises your smile might be slightly mocking, pride replaced with slight frustration. “You tried. I’m sure you will improve.”
“It’s not fair if I’m trying to make you more comfortable and you keep talking to me in English,” she groans, but you wave her off.
“I’m grateful, but I need to practice my English.” The pretty blonde woman is worth the struggle. Not that you’re going to talk to her anytime soon. Because you don’t have her number. Or know her name. So really this is all a fantasy, and you’re being a little wistful and probably very horny. Thinking about it, the last time you slept with someone was at least two months ago, and even then it wasn’t the most mind-blowing night of your life. It’s not like the pretty blonde woman is your soulmate.
- - -
She becomes a dream for about a month, something that maybe happened but has become somewhat a fantasy.
As usual, your mother nags you about needing to date someone every time you call her, but unlike previous times where you find it easy to protest and defend your independence (loneliness), you understand what she means.
It’s so fucking stupid that you’re obsessed with a stranger, but it’s the truth.
How embarrassing.
On the 27th February, you forgo playing against Liverpool in favour of attending a big fundraiser for a mental health charity; an event your brother has strongly encouraged you to go to.
You realise why when you get there.
The banner adorning the entrance to the venue clearly states who tonight’s host is: Tomàs L/n. There is the same picture of him plastered around the place; chest puffed out proudly, his Barcelona kit underneath a blazer. No wonder he was so mysterious about this thing. His lack of warning means you actually have to do little interviews, wondering if anyone really cares what you have to say.
“How do you feel about your brother’s recent increase in his involvement with this charity?” a reporter asks you, mic held to your face as if you have an opinion on this.
“I think it’s good,” you reply vaguely. “It’s good to support something you are passionate about.” You can’t say anything else because you haven’t been briefed by his (admittedly over-bearing) publicist.
“You’re missing a match for this, despite playing time being hard to get for goalkeepers. Is family more important to you than your career — seeing as you need the minutes to be selected for the upcoming Euros?”
An odd question, but okay.
Minutes are difficult, but you’ve been first choice all season. The Euros squad will be finalised in early June, though your agent is confident in your selection. “I think that supporting my family should always come first.” You smile. You’re on camera. “And it is a good cause.”
There’s a surge of movement behind you, shuffling and shouting, clamouring for attention. Cameras begin to flash excessively, and before you can turn around, your brother is beside you.
“Hi,” he greets the reporter, grinning with sparkling teeth and a glint in his eye. “Could I borrow her, thanks!” He places a hand on your shoulder and steers you further into the crowd until you reach a corner that isn’t deserted enough to draw attention to the two of you. It being towards the back of the venue makes it somewhere that feels less exposed than the edges nearing the press
“Fuck you,” you hiss in Catalan, happy to switch back to something natural now that you’re alone. “You’re such a dickhead.” He came all the way from Spain to host this event, but you suspect this isn’t the actual reason for his trip.
“Am not,” comes his indignant reply. You scoff, rolling your eyes at his ridiculous ensemble. “Oh, you don’t like the suit? Cèlia said the same. Dolce&Gabbana sent it.”
“Yeah, well, your wife and I are right. It’s awful.” It’s very… loud. Crimson with golden roses. “I’m getting a headache just looking at you.”
“No,” he waves off with a smirk, “that’s from hitting your head against the goalpost.”
“You saw that?” you ask, scrunching your nose up at the memory. You had saved the ball at the price of a few brain cells, luckily scraping a pass in the concussion test you were forced to sit through.
“I’ve started watching your games more,” he admits earnestly. “Barça want you back, you know. You could come home.”
So this is why he’s here.
“To not be played at all?” you retort, walls going right up.
“They’d be crazy to not put you in goal now, and it’s good to play with the national team in the league. That’s easier if you’re actually in the country.” National camps have been going just fine. “I mean, haven’t you had enough of hiding abroad?”
You think about it for a moment. “Not really, no.” An indignant scoff follows, and then, “I have been back, you know. I flew to Barcelona that one time — and then I got the train from there to Madrid.” Plus, your old teammates (and national teammates) go on enough holidays for you to scrape by nervously in Ibiza and Mallorca, and relax in countries further away.
“Y/n, she left the country four years ago. You couldn’t possibly run into her.”
“My chances of that are even smaller in England,” you state firmly. You spent three years in Germany and she still managed to find you twice, conveniently appearing in her stupid, American law firm’s Munich office.. Away from mainland Europe is a safer bet, surely. “Maybe you could copy me and transfer to Arsenal, just like you copied me when I got into the Barcelona academy.”
- - -
Florence hates events held by footballers.
She rarely goes, and doesn’t if avoidable, but the cause is a good one and her publicist wants the media to paint her as a passive advocate for mental health awareness. Nothing too abrasive, but a quiet reminder of her support. It’s quite clever, really.
Sulking in the corner, she sips her martini with a scowl, watching the crowd wearily. The invitees are not her type of people and most seem to have cleared out Dolce&Gabbana’s SALE rack. The guy in front of her is the perfect example, golden roses sprawling across the back of his crimson blazer.
Internally, she rolls her eyes, taking another sip of her drink. This is unbelievable and won’t get interesting until the auction in two hours.
The man in front of her steps to the side slightly, revealing that he hasn’t been talking to himself but rather to someone who looks strangely familiar.
Your eyes meet hers and there’s a moment where you both go into mild panic mode. The recognition in your stare quickly turns into desperation as your mouth moves rapidly to reply to your brother’s opinions. Florence doesn’t understand the conversation at all, but realises she’s being asked for help.
The confidence people see in her usually isn’t real, but she squares her shoulders and walks up to you and the man.
“There you are!” She’s an actress for a reason. “I was just about to get another drink — I’ve been looking for you for ages.”
Your brother’s eyes narrow.
She slips an arm around your waist, hiding any shock about your muscular form, pretending she knows your name. You lean into her.
“Yeah, let’s go.” Flo has half a mind to send him a glare, but you do it for her. “Tomàs, no hi tonaré.”
The venom in your tone does something to Flo’s blood pressure. It’s sort of… sexy.
“What was that about?” she asks once you’re by the bar, snapping you out of a moody trance.
“My brother?” Your brother is Tomàs L/n. Interesting. (If Flo knew the first thing about the football world, she’d have realised who you were by now, but she doesn’t and so you remain nameless.) “He was being stupid. It doesn’t matter now. Thank you for saving me.”
She finds that she would’ve done it again in a heartbeat, which is a little weird considering she doesn’t know who you are. Flo secretly decides to chalk that one down to having just gotten out of a long-term relationship and needing someone to latch onto.
“No problem,” she replies with a smile. “I believe you owe me a drink…”
You smile. “Two martinis, please.” The bartender nods, looking exasperated by the demands of the overflowing bar.
“That’s my favourite,” Flo says — sort of whispers — as she bashfully looks away. The faint blush creeping up her neck and cheeks is hidden well enough by the blue lighting of the place. “How was your coffee?”
For a moment, you look at her blankly and her heart drops with embarrassment. Then, you let out a little laugh.
“I didn’t drink it. It spilled all over me in the taxi!”
“All that stress for nothing, huh?”
Not nothing, you think, but you’re not brave enough to tell her that. “I was recently introduced to Café Nero, and that tastes the most—”
“No!” Flo explains, pressing her hand to her heart. “That’s unacceptable.” You shake your head, laughing more, and she wants nothing but to hear it on repeat for the rest of her life.
“British coffee is unacceptable,” you answer, rolling your eyes. “But I found this place called Reinetta the other day. Very Spanish, very brilliant.”
“Are you from Spain?”
What a genius.
Your incredulous look quickly goes when you realise she’s serious.
“Yeah!” She notices how your smile grows wider but your eyes become a little haunted. “Hablo español,” you say with a smirk, sending her a superfluous wink.
And, if the bartender hadn’t interrupted by serving you your drinks, you would be well aware of how red she goes.
She takes a sip, groaning in appreciation. “This is a good—” She turns around suddenly, squinting at the woman waving at her in the crowd looking furious. “Fuck, I can’t believe I forgot. I’ve got to go.” You catch sight of the person she’s looking at; a stern-faced publicist wading her way through the mass of people to get to her client. In a last ditch attempt of actually getting to know you, she throws out, “you should totally show me this Spanish coffee place,” and rushes off to meet her publicist.
You stand stock-still. Stunned. Oh, that definitely gave you goosebumps.
The rest of your evening is mostly passive aggressive. With hardly anyone else to talk to, you end up hovering in whatever conversation circle your brother is in.
At the soonest possible moment, you leave and join the late-night recovery dinner at Beth’s house, earning wolf-whistles from everyone as you bundle through the door in your formal attire. Beth tells you to change almost immediately, throwing you a t-shirt and jog pants. “Recovery is all about wearing pyjamas,” she says, matter-of-fact. “And eating.”
“What have you made?”
She gives you a wry grin. “Come find out.”
The girls are sitting around her table, eagerly awaiting your arrival so they can tuck in. Jordan, Katie, Jen, Steph, and (surprisingly) Viv are all eyeing the food like starving wolves would look at a herd of sheep. It smells good and familiar and like Beth has kidnapped your abuela and chained her to a paella pan…?
You seem to fill with energy at the sight of the dish, and Katie announces she’s done being patient, spooning a hefty portion onto her plate and prompting Steph to do the same. They begin eating while you remain a little taken aback.
Beth nudges you. “I called Less and practically begged her to give me Ona’s number last week, sending her a text once I got it — to which your friend took bloody ages to reply. And then she was very difficult about when she could FaceTime, so when we eventually could I ended up making a mini version of her paella and memorising the recipe.” Her rambling is nervous. “But I sent her a picture of this one and she said it looked delicious.”
“Déu n’hi do, it looks delicious,” you agree, sitting down as quickly as possible and piling some onto your plate. Mouth now full, you continue, “it tastes like my mother’s cooking! It’s great, Beth, really.”
“She can cook,” Katie proclaims proudly, directing her statement at Viv; you think, for a moment, that she is going to list all of her positive qualities. Your eyes narrow and Beth shoots you a look that says ‘later’. “Y/n, can you cook?”
You almost choke on a prawn. “I can make pesto pasta. That’s it.”
Jen’s jaw drops. “You’ve only been eating pesto pasta this season?!” she asks, sounding scared.
“Yes, because I chose a club without Ona.” At Wolfsburg, you didn’t live on your own. Here you do. “I don’t mind. But Beth might have to make this weekly.”
“Absolutely not. This drained me more than any game of football ever could.” Beth motions at everyone to keep on eating, feeling accomplished that the meal is good. “Katie scored twice today.”
“Did you now?” She nods her head very proudly. “I bet I could’ve scored today.”
The laughter turns into silence as you eat contently, something that is broken when Jen goes, “where were you?”
The thought of having to talk about it causes you to grip your fork tighter, earning Beth’s hand on your shoulder. “Some charity event, right?” she replies for you. “Tomàs hosted it.”
“He came from Spain?”
“Yes,” you answer, and the girls hear how badly you don’t want to talk about this.
No one here knows exactly what happened, but when you abruptly transferred from Barcelona to Wolfsburg four years ago, you allegedly haven’t been back to Barcelona for longer than a day. Ona was saying to Beth the other day that with some convincing you can be persuaded to Ibiza (you’re about to be invited to two trips to the Balearic Islands), but anything on the mainland is strictly business — camps, games, the like.
Everyone has their theories, but Katie and Jenny think something happened between you and your brother. It’s not like you didn’t say outright in an interview that you have had a far better career than him despite being younger, yet he’s the one being paid €12 million a year.
“Guess what Ruesha fucking did yesterday,” Katie changes the topic.
Everyone groans.
“No one cares, Katie. Like I couldn’t care less.” Beth bites her lip to not laugh at Jen’s words. “Y/n, what’s happening in your love life? Got a girl, boy, cat?”
Feeling a bit like a deer caught in headlights, you look up from your plate. “I met a girl in a coffee shop in January. She was pretty.” You wonder how her interviews went. “I saw her today, actually. But I don’t date so—”
“You don’t date?” Steph asks, eyes widened a little.
“Yeah, because, like, it’s hard… with football.” They look at you like you’re a dog tearing apart a slipper: so unbelievably unimpressed. “Because it’s time consuming?”
In reality, you don’t date because your ex is the reason you can’t even be in mainland Europe, but they do not have to know that.
“So what’s this girl’s name and how did you go out with her if you were at an event?” Beth asks and it sounds a bit too much like a police interrogation for you to feel comfortable.
You shift your weight in your seat.
“I don’t know. She was just there.”
- - -
It’s the middle of March when you’re back in Notting Hill. With training sessions left, right, and centre, you’d been pretty much confined to St. Alban’s and Beth’s house for social activity. Today is a rare day-off, coincidentally aligning with both Manchester United’s schedule and Manchester City’s. Ona has dragged Leila, Laia, and Vicky down to London to see you.
“I can’t believe we had to come to you,” is the first thing Vicky says when you meet them at Euston.
“Wow, not even a ‘hello’,” you say back. “Come on, we’re going to a market.”
They roll their eyes. All of them. At the same time.
You wonder why you ever missed them.
Laia is the only one interested in Portobello, darting from stall to stall to another, excitedly giving you a rundown on her life while she does. Leila is hungry, and ruthlessly cuts her off.
“We get it. You felt sad for a week. I need coffee, Y/n, take me to a coffee shop.”
“It was more than sad,” Laia protests, but acquiesces to the group’s change of plans.
You lead them to the place you found in January — maybe this time you’ll actually get to try the coffee. But on the way there, Laia finds a mildly creepy clothes shop and manages to herd you inside. She flings clothes at the girls, while glaring at you for flirting with the shop assistant instead of letting the woman do her job and help.
You’re halfway to getting her number when there’s a commotion outside and the mood lighting of the shop is ruined by bright camera flashes.
For a moment, you wonder if they’re for you. People could have thought your brother was here, and the paparazzi love him.
But there’s something familiar about the voice shouting at them to back off; the rasp, the accent. Curiously, you look out of the window.
It’s her.
With brown hair?
Flo catches your eye immediately, and it doesn’t take much thinking for you to dash out of the shop to grab her hand and pull her inside.
The paparazzi have no choice but to crowd around the window, except none of their shots will turn out well once the shop assistant closes the blinds.
“Gracias,” Flo pants, out of breath.
Leila’s eyebrows shoot right up, closely followed by the rest of the girls. “Y/n, that’s Florence Pugh,” she blurts, thankfully in Spanish.
“Y/n?” Flo tries. Now she knows your name and her stomach feels settled with endearance. Your name suits you. “Thank you for saving me. I needed it.”
“I owed you,” comes your reply as you shrug.
“Y/n saves things for a living!” Ona butts in.
(Is she sabotaging you or being your wingwoman?)
There’s a tense silence, of which no one knows what to fill it with, until the shop assistant opens the blinds and informs Flo that the coast is clear. It takes that statement then to be repeated to snap you and Flo out of the mildly creepy eye contact you’re sharing, but once it does she can’t seem to look at you again.
She inhales and resets herself. “Right. I’ll be off. Things to do, people to see.”
“Yes,” you reply, beginning to feel embarrassed in front of your friends’ keen and watchful eyes. “Yes, yeah. Bye.”
“Bye, Y/n.”
With that, you let the woman you’ve been thinking about for months walk away, out of the shop, and down the street. You give yourself an internal kick for lacking the game you know you have in three other languages, but rub it better because now you know her name.
Florence Pugh. Like the actress from that creepy cult film Obi was obsessed with. And the girl from that Marvel movie.
You pause.
“The actress Florence Pugh?” Your question has Leila shoving her Wikipedia in your face. British actress, born in Oxford on 3rd January 1996. Florence Rose Pugh. Maybe you’d heard someone call her Flo before? “Oh, this is the girl I’ve been meaning to tell you about.”
“The girl with no name is Florence fucking Pugh?” Leila shrieks, hands on your shoulders, shaking you. “You know I love Marvel!”
“Sorry,” you chuckle, amused by her overreaction.
Vicky catches your eye, looking like she wants to say something.
Laia does it for her.
“You need to learn how to flirt in English, because that was atrocious.”
You glare at them both. Partly because it’s true.
“The Y/n who fucked four women in a week at the grand old age of eighteen did not just say — no, splutter — ‘yes, yeah, bye’ because she was looking at a pretty girl,” Vicky adds, smugly. “We have finally found the language barrier between Y/n and sex! Round of applause please!”
“Alright, alright,” Ona says, coming to the rescue. “Stop teasing her when she looks like a lovesick puppy.”
Fuck you too, Ona.
“Florence Pugh is practically a stranger.” You look at Leila, “we are not getting married.” You look at Vicky, “she is not being invited to dinner tonight.” You look at Laia, “she will not be upgrading your train tickets to first class.” And finally, you look at Señorita Ona Battle; the woman who has been your closest friend for years. “I am not in love.”
“I’m sure she’s in love too,” Ona says, pushing it.
“But she’s a stranger!”
Your friends are delusional because you’ve been over it in your head millions of times, clinging onto the shreds of interaction, and you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve met the woman. Florence Pugh can possibly be categorised as a celebrity crush at best. What Ona is talking about is way too serious.
- - -
Flo is certain that Ibiza is a good idea. Or so she tells herself.
And, well, Harris tells her.
He thinks she’s been in a bit of a slump since she and Zach broke up. While Flo can barely talk about it without wanting to cry, she mourns the loss in a very vocal manner to her closest friends. She misses him quite a bit.
Harris allows her a month of moaning before putting his foot down; vetoing Flo not joining them in Ibiza because she is sad. “You’re single, you’re hot, and you’re one of the most sought-after actresses and you don’t want to go on a hot-girl vacation…?” His puzzlement is almost comical when he asks. “It’s for my birthday, babe. You can’t not come.”
Her valid apprehension is quelled with the promise of lots of alcohol and sun, and so this is how she ends up on the Spanish island. Harris calls this a ‘come-back curve’ — when you let loose again after being in a long-term relationship.
It’s fun, really. The beach, the time with friends, the drinking. This is the kind of life she had coveted during her youth; the one most believe comes with the fame. When there aren’t any cameras in her face, she feels at peace with her situation.
(Is this what getting over someone feels like?)
Except for one, tiny problem.
Whenever Will drags them all to a nightclub and pumps her full of vodka, she manages to avoid the gaze of every pair of eyes looking for someone to sleep with. Usually, Flo after ten vodka shots would be on top of someone or on her way out, but the days go by and she can’t help but cockblock herself.
She racks her brains to figure out the cause, the reason, but there is nothing in it apart from the echo of your laughter and the sound of you speaking Spanish. She closes her eyes and she can picture you, clear as day, grinning right back at her. She is not okay with it.
Obviously.
Despite the idea of you throwing her off her game, she is still easily convinced to venture out to nightclubs. Leading her here.
Paraíso.
It’s sticky inside; surfaces, people, floor. And packed. Bodies pressed to other bodies, hair trapped, shouting, screaming, singing.
For an already drunk group of people, it’s perfect.
Crammed into a booth in the heart of the club, Flo and her friends do two rounds of lemon drops, the sugar going everywhere. When her nose scrunches at the bitter taste of the rind, Harris snaps a picture, says he’ll post it later.
Good, she thinks. Maybe you will see her having fun.
If one was to ask, and Flo decided not to lie, it would be revealed that she has spent every night this week making her way through articles about you. Your Instagram didn’t take long to find, nor to scroll through, but it saddens her slightly to discover how little people write about you, and how much they write about your brother.
She is dignified enough to refrain from scouring your Wikipedia page.
Funnily enough, you have been doing the same, though the material to get through is significantly more substantial. Mapi has taken to calling it your ‘bedtime reading’, prompting you to announce very loudly to every guest sitting in your family villa in Ibiza that you own the place.
Well, your dad does. (Same thing though.)
Housed in said villa are Mapi and Ingrid, Ona, Laia, Leila, Patri, and Pina. Beth, Jordan, Leah and a few of their England teammates have come along too, staying in a boutique hotel not far away; about a fifteen minute walk. The groups merged very quickly after a bottle of wine.
As you get further into the holiday, you dive deeper into Florence Pugh’s digital footprint, and everyone else is very over it.
“This obsession isn’t cute,” Patri teases, snatching your phone as you spread out on the sofa. “But Leila wanted me to let you know that Florence Pugh is in Ibiza.” Your heart clenches hard; this could be a heart attack. “Oh, and we’re all going out tonight. England girls and us lot. Ingrid is also banning Spanish in case they think we’re talking about them, Pina broke the shower on the third floor, and Laia has fed that stray cat so much that it is now curled up in her bed.”
You glare.
Many of those things are so unbelievably far from ideal.
Patri raises her hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
In time, you wish you had and that your evening was being wasted away in jail, because this place is loud and busy and it is far from acceptable for you to go back to internet-stalking Florence Pugh around such interesting company.
The England girls have chosen a club called Paraíso, though you wouldn’t have known from the way they pronounced it. Most of them are dancing, but Beth, cheeks flushed from a few vodka sodas, has sat next to you in the booth, looking like she’s about to pour her heart out.
You turn to her. “Go on, then. Tell me about you and Viv.” And she grins like that’s the best thing she’s ever heard, launching you into a timeline of events that have you feeling disappointed in yourself about your situation.
If it all hadn’t been ruined, you could have been able to reciprocate the conversation.
It’s a bit like a knife to the stomach to be reminded of something you don’t have.
Eventually, Beth is finished, eyes shining because she is so happy with her and you are so supportive of it. She cares what you think, and is glad you approve.
“I’m going to get a drink,” you say, deciding there’s not enough alcohol in the world to make you feel better but that you can at least try. Beth nods and finds the others on the dance floor.
The bar is well staffed, and it takes all of two minutes for you to place an order of three Jägerbombs. All for you, but you hesitate to tell the bartender that.
Someone brushes your arm and your stomach drops to the floor.
“Hi,” she says, practically sparkling under the club lighting.
This is why you don’t come home. Fucking hell.
“¿Inglés?” you question, raising an eyebrow. Adela used to hate having to learn the language.
“Vivo en Nueva York en la actualidad.”
Tomàs was right. She doesn’t live in Spain anymore. So why is she here? Why is she in the last slice of your home country you can be persuaded to let loose in? Why does she have to ruin everything?
Though time feels frozen, someone else has placed their hand on your waist. You tense as you turn around, but hope Adela doesn’t see it.
When you realise it’s Florence Pugh, you are very close to running away to Australia in search of complete isolation.
“Hey, babe,” Florence drawls casually. She’s an actress, you remind yourself. Improvisation is a skill she’ll be great at. “You alright?” Her hand squeezes your waist in reassurance.
Flo’s hair is blonde again. It looks nice.
“Yeah,” you breathe, feeling a heat pulse through your body. “Just waiting on some Jägerbombs.”
Flo stands her ground. She wants to wait with you. She doesn’t want to leave you alone with the beautiful woman who’s got you on edge.
Is it wrong to feel protective over a stranger?
(Neither of you feel like such — a consequence of extreme internet-stalking on both ends.)
“¿Tu novia?” Adela asks. You smirk at the flash of jealousy in her eyes. “Pensé que estabas follando a todos a la vista como siempre.”
“No, es mi novia. ¿Tienes un problema con eso?” She shakes her head. “Bueno.”
“Sí.” She looks Flo dead in the eyes. “Adiós.”
The two of you let the silence take over, both aware of how she’s still got her hand on your waist, now with her body pressed up against yours.
“Your ex?” Flo asks, praying it doesn’t sound hopeful. There’s no way you’re not into women, right?
“Yeah,” you answer miserably.
She adjusts herself so that you’re now facing each other, but it only aids you both in feeling a little turned on. Seeing the other looking just as flustered does nothing to quell the possibility of where this night is going.
“Want to get out of here?”
She grins. You take that as a yes.
Her hands are sweaty as they cling to yours, but the club is packed now and she’d get lost if she didn’t hold on. Getting outside is like a rebirth, fresh air washing away the grime and a soft breeze cooling her down. That is until you look at her, biting your bottom lip.
“You can if you want,” she whispers as you sort of back yourselves into the alley beside the building. You place your hands firmly on her waist.
You smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” And with that you close the space between you, pressing your lips against hers and a hand against the wall to support you both. She kisses back desperately, opening her mouth, clashing her teeth on yours. Her hands run up your back, wrapping around your neck.
You make out for a while, before she pulls away.
“I’ll call a taxi to my hotel.” She gives you the opportunity to text Ona.
You: no volveré esta noche
You’re about to tell your friend where the spare keys to your villa are, before Flo kisses you again, capturing your attention in order to direct you to the taxi.
From there, it’s a downhill slope of ripped clothing, walking into things, and being fucked into oblivion.
The morning comes brightly, unforgiving of any hangovers.
Her suite is really nice, but is partially destroyed by last night’s storm of a hookup. The sofa cushions litter the living area’s floor when you try to find her.
She is sitting on the sofa, hair wet, lazily watching the TV. As you laugh at the program, she snaps out of her brood.
“Do you understand what they’re saying?” you ask through your giggles. It’s a pretty crass show to have on at 10am.
“No,” she sheepishly replies. Her eyes tear from the screen to focus on you, examining your body from head to toe, resulting in a frown. “I went out and bought you something to wear.” She directs your attention to a shopping bag on the coffee table.
“You didn’t have to.”
“It was nothing, really.”
You pause.
She looks beautiful. You wish you hadn’t been so drunk. Now all this will be is a one-night stand.
“I’ve got to go. I thought I texted my friend where the spare keys were but I didn't, so they've all crashed at our friends’ hotel, and they’re not happy about it.” Flo laughs, recalling giving you enough time to let everyone know of your changed plans. Maybe you were too caught up in staring at her.
“No worries,” she says easily. “I’m headed to breakfast, but feel free to use the bathroom to clean up.”
There’s a stagnant silence.
Neither of you are going to further this interaction. Alright.
It will be fine. She’s less of a stranger now, and no interview could ever inform you on what your name sounds like as she moans it over and over again.
You tell yourself this again as you approach the England girls’ hotel, bar the last bit. (Though it does remind you of the game you once had.)
Everybody is waiting for you in the small restaurant, the group practically filling the space. There are many colourful words, both in Spanish and Catalan, being muttered as you walk in.
It’s fair for them to feel irritated, and you did leave as soon as possible to allow them back in. You probably would have slept in that expensive hotel bed for the rest of the day if Pina’s seventh phone call hadn’t awoken you.
“You are unbelievable,” is the first thing Mapi says, ignoring the questioning looks from the English girls. None of them speak Spanish, though you’ve heard that Lucy is learning. “Where were you? Pina says she saw Adela as soon as we walked in, and was about to go looking for you to get you out of there.”
“Well Pina didn’t do that,” you reply, folding your arms. Clàudia looks away guiltily. “And I spoke to Adela.”
“So you have a run-in with her and you take off? As if the years haven’t made a difference? As if you’re not over her?”
You clench your fists. “No, I was with a girl.”
“Which girl?” Ona excitedly interjects. “Do we know her?”
“Yeah,” you say, but intend to give them nothing else. “I just came back from her hotel. Would you like to get back to the villa or not?”
“Y/n, you’re such a dickhead.”
Beth asks for a translation.
Before you can omit the parts you don’t want her to hear, the whole of the group is made aware of what you got up to last night. Patri skips over the background information about Adela once she catches the way you are looking at her. If looks could kill, she’d be long gone by now.
The conversation evolves naturally into something more general, until everyone is gathering their things and leaving the hotel to walk to your place. With a group of fifteen, the pavement is cramped, meaning Ona and you pull ahead.
She nudges you when you go quiet for a bit.
“So…” Ona begins, smirking. “Tell me about your night.”
“My night was too scandalous for Onita to handle,” you tease, ultimately avoiding the question. Her eyes narrow and she grabs your wrist to stop you from crossing the road. “I’m not going to run away.”
“But you love running away!”
You sigh. “My night was good, Ona. Really good.”
Ona is clever enough to piece together a story in her head. Adela has a way of disrupting the flow of your life, and a certain someone is in town.
“Fucking hell, Y/n. You slept with Florence Pugh?!” she exclaims.
“Keep your voice down,” you say loudly, shaking your head as to not let the others know. “It was a one-time thing. A mistake.”
She studies your expression, realising how your regret was easily confused for sternness earlier. “You wanted it.”
“It’s a celebrity crush!”
“Not if you’ve actually met her. Then it’s just a crush.”
“You’re just a crush,” you retort. Ona bursts out laughing.
“You slept with your crush and it’s a mistake because she thinks it’s a one-night stand.” Your friend shakes her head in disbelief. “Now I remember why we stopped talking about your love life. It’s chaos!”
Technically, it’s because your love life went very dry once you reached Germany, but you laugh along with Ona because she’s right.
Your hushed Spanish is safe from the ears of the others, but when you lay your phone on the kitchen worktop in the villa, Beth notices two Instagram notifications.
@florencepugh has started following you.
And a DM.
+44 7701 923892 xx
Flo throws her phone across the room once she clicks send, and hides under the covers from a cackling huddle of her best friends.
- - -
Somehow, you are persuaded to cancel your flight to Gatwick and follow the girls to Barcelona. Now that Adela herself has told you she isn’t in your home city anymore, maybe you can visit for longer than five hours again.
When you knock on the door of your family home, you’re tackled to the ground by your mother. Though you didn’t go radio silent on them, the only time they really get to see you is when you’re playing a home game for the national team. Even then, it isn’t guaranteed.
“You’re home?” she asks, pinching your arm to see if you’re real. “My baby was driven out of the country by some stupid girl, so is this stupid girl dead or…”
“Mamá!” You frown and step past her to get inside. It smells like your little sister has found out what incense sticks are and burnt them everywhere. “I thought I’d visit before the Euros. I was in Ibiza anyway.”
“I know,” she says matter-of-factly, making your stomach turn with guilt. “Eva showed me how to work the Instagram.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise you checked.”
She smiles softly and it feels like everything you have been missing has always been here.
“Of course I check to see what you’re up to. Wherever you are. Especially since you stopped calling as much.” You shake your head as if it will make it better. You’ve been busy in a new country. You assumed having Eva and Tomàs was enough to keep her hands full. She seems to read your mind. “While your brother and sister are a lot, I’ve missed you.”
You’re suddenly fighting back tears.
“I’ve missed you too, Mamá.”
She pulls you into a calmer, firmer hug. The moment is ruined when Eva comes charging down the stairs, screaming at the sight of you.
The last time you saw her in person was when the Barça academy took her team on tour to Germany last year, but she’s acting as if you’ve come back from the dead.
She alerts the attention of everyone else in the house, meaning your grandma and dad flock to the kitchen, dropping whatever they’re doing. You can hardly blame them. You must have become a myth.
Plans are quickly made to go out to the usual spot for dinner with Tomàs and his family. Your older brother has a wife and three children that you never actually see. You haven’t met his youngest because he was born just before the pandemic started (as if you’d have visited anyway).
With that, you are integrated back into your old life.
You dust off your motorbike from the garage and go on rides through your city, watching the sunset from the rooftop of your friend’s old apartment building with Eva. She tells you about how her football is going; how everyone thinks it’s odd she plays neither in goal nor as a striker.
Growing up, you were forced to save Tomàs’ incessant (but increasingly more accurate) shots, meaning you’d had a fair amount of goalkeeping experience by the time your dad put you onto the football team he coached. You played what you knew. Tomàs hated being on the same team as you, but it didn’t last long when you were scouted and put in Barça’s academy. He followed soon after.
Eva, however, decided to stay away from her older brother and sister’s constant practice. She ended up on your dad’s football team too, scouted again by Barça, her name written down like you and Tomàs had done before her. At seventeen, she might be on track to be signing for the senior team next season. You promise to get the girls round and introduce her to them.
In turn, you tell your sister about the woman you keep on running into. How her eyes looked more grey in January than they did in May. How she makes you nervous, makes you forget how to do things. How you slept together five days before you arrived home.
You have her number, and you show your little sister. She begs you to call it, but you quietly admit you’re scared. She leaves you to move at your own pace, even if she finds it painfully slow.
As the days go by, you become Eva’s chauffeur. She finds it exciting to be driven about on your motorbike, and you have nothing to do but wait for the final Euros squads to be announced.
Your little sister often has places to be. Today it’s The Museu Picasso. Apparently, she’s ‘cultured’ and ‘sophisticated’ and will be getting high as a kite before entry. Makes the experience better.
As you weave through taxis and try not to run over any tourists, a certain blonde catches your eye. She sits dejectedly on a bench with her phone held loosely in her hand. You pull over without a second thought.
“Lost?” you tease, taking off your helmet. Florence startles and almost drops her phone, before coming to her senses and recognising you.
“Very,” she sighs. “My driver cancelled and I’m stranded.”
“Need a ride? She’s getting off here anyway.” You nod to Eva, who is looking affronted by the suggestion of that.
“Jo sóc?”
“Sí, Eva.” She stares at you blankly. “Baixes de la puta moto.”
“Ah. Aquesta és ella.”
You hum in confirmation. “Ara aneu a escampar la boira.”
Flo watches the conversation trying not to blush. The Catalan might be sexier than the Spanish.
After a second of rebellion, Eva gives in and gets off the bike, thrusting her helmet into your stomach bitterly. The museum really isn’t far away — about a ten minute walk — but it’s the principle. What happened to sisterhood?
You get off as well, unsure of whether Flo knows how to get on. She does, thankfully, meaning you don’t have to fumble your way through that. Dodged a bullet there.
At first she keeps her arms loosely wrapped around you, awkwardly holding on. When you speed up, she squeezes you tighter. If she hadn’t squeezed tighter and pulled you out of thought, you’d have been pancaked by an oncoming lorry (they’re memories — it makes it worse).
“Where am I taking you?” you ask, shouting to be heard.
“Coffee!” she replies, amusement audible. “There’s this woman I like who owes me one!”
You pretend you didn’t hear her second sentence, focusing on the road in front of you instead.
Florence relaxes quickly, enjoying the way the people change from tourists to locals; the buildings become more homely and less commercial. Barcelona is beautiful. Your eyes are brighter than when she last looked in them.
The coffee shop you take her to is the one you’ve been going to for years, though the colour scheme has changed from blue to red since the last time you came. The staff are fresh-faced and young, but the manager pulls you into a hug immediately. Flo hangs back, feeling like an elephant among the mice. She doesn’t understand what you say, and takes a minute to realise you want to know her order. Even then, she’s uncomfortable with reading anything off the menu and shrugs.
The manager, Pablo, is the son of the owner, and has worked here longer than you’ve been alive. When you first sat down for a coffee fifteen years ago, exhausted from a 10k run, he gave you a free biscuit on the side. You’ve been close ever since.
Naturally he asks who Flo is. Why is she here?
You can only shrug, say she’s a friend, and deal with his unconvinced expression.
Sitting opposite her on a wobbly table starts the first conversation you have intentionally had. One not tainted by alcohol or put in place to distract from an unwanted discussion. It’s now not a failsafe or emergency, but something you want to happen. It’s weird.
“Thank you,” she says earnestly. “I was a lot more panicked than I looked.”
You laugh. “You looked pretty panicked.”
“New city. Haven’t had a chance to get my bearings.” You wonder why she’s here. What do actresses do for fun? Would Florence go to a museum? “My flight got in yesterday, so it’s really new.”
“This is where I grew up.” She figured as such.
“I went to one of your games, you know,” she blurts. “The last one of the season. My friend was looking to invest, and I only put the pieces together once I saw you from the stands.”
“So you don’t know who Tomàs is?” She shakes her head and you look at her with horror. “Do you not like football?” you ask, eyes wide.
“Do you like musicals?”
“Touché.”
The corners of her lips twitch upwards into a smile. “French as well?”
“My talents don’t extend that far.” Innuendo settles in your words. Oh, she knows exactly where your talents lie. “In Ibiza…”
“Who was she?”
“An ex-girlfriend.” She raises her eyebrows. “The ex-girlfriend.”
“We all have one of those,” Flo says with a sly smile. “Mine got me kicked out of the school choir when I was fifteen. Yours?”
Your leg shakes anxiously. There is something so incredibly unfair about having to feel so horrible every time she’s brought up. As if she feels the same way. Your life was the one that was obliterated; the collateral damage.
Flo listens carefully when you talk about signing for Barça’s senior team and moving out. About the lifestyle you adopted from your brother; the parties and the drinking and the constant meaningless sex. And then, when you tell her that Adela seemed so mature, that she had her own place that was quiet, she actually understands. Zach felt like that. An example, a teacher. Someone who was safe and quiet and knew what they were doing.
You would sit quietly in Adela’s little flat while she did her work for her law degree, unwinding and relaxing. She’d stroke your hair and do yoga with you after rough games.
But Adela got tired of it. She was sick of always coming home to either an empty flat or you being exhausted, and she couldn’t handle how much she had to put her own life on hold because of your football. She had been offered a training contract at a big American law firm’s Spanish branch, which would require her to move to Madrid and work like a dog.
She said you were holding her back.
It was the most heartbreaking thing you ever had to do, because she gave you a choice: her or football. And you chose football. But you loved her a lot, and her leaving was like losing your favourite teddy. You became stuck in a dark place; you couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Barça became concerned by your playing standard and you were replaced by another keeper. When the transfer window came, you ran off to Germany without so much as a goodbye to Barcelona and hoped to never have to run into Adela again.
“Good thing she now thinks you’ve got a super sexy, hot, famous new girlfriend,” Flo jokes when you finish, attempting to diffuse the tension.
It only adds to it.
“Did Ibiza mean anything to you?” you ask quietly, nervously. She catches your eyes and holds them, trying to make you feel better. Safer. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you for months,” she confesses, almost a whisper. “Before I even knew your name.”
“I should have called.”
“No, it’s okay. That was very bold of me.” She took a shot before sending it. “I’m not in Barcelona very long, but I have a hotel room and my hotel room has wine. And a—”
“Do we need a bed?” Your wink makes her cross her legs. “First, let me introduce myself, yeah? So we’re not strangers.” She nods. “I’m Y/n, and I saw you in that overpriced coffee shop in Notting Hill.” Pablo pretends to not be listening.
“Hola,” she tries valiantly. “Soy Florence. Call me Flo. Um, that’s the extent of my Spanish.”
“It was good,” you lie. She hits your arm lightly. “No, really! I’m sure you’ll learn some.”
“Oh, I did.” Her smirk is unsettling. “Dámelo más duro,” she moans, imitating you.
Your blush makes your face feel like it is on fire.
“We have got to leave this place right now, oh my god.” She gladly stands. You hand Pablo €20 because you’re not focused on how much money this will cost you. “You’ve got to never do that again. Especially not on the motorcycle. I’ll crash.”
“Yeah, I noticed how you nearly killed us earlier.” You don’t get to make a witty comeback, because she firmly plants her hands on your waist and kisses you hard.
Your heart soars.
- - -
It has taken six months for you and the mystery blonde woman to go on a date, but it’s perfect. You eat out at an Italian place, followed by a different kind of eating out later into the night.
On the 15th June the national team for the Euros is confirmed, she is at your family home, halfway through helping your mother to prepare lunch. The whole family swarm the kitchen to congratulate you on being the first choice of goalkeeper. They couldn’t be prouder.
When you kiss her in front of most of the crowd at the last game of the group stages, she has to wipe away your tears. While everyone else appreciates the effort of your clean sheet, your teammates are thankful you’ve found someone. They knew you seemed different the whole tournament.
Obviously, the quarter-finals are conflicting for Flo. She dons an England shirt, but while her friends seek out their Lionesses afterwards (famous people always think sports teams want to see them), she searches for you instead. You sob into her embrace and she knows how stressful the tournament has been for the whole squad. She supports you fully when you and fifteen other Spanish players email the Football Federation with complaints of the manager.
In September, she’s thrown into the middle of the current hottest scandal in Hollywood. You’re there for her to rant to, scream at, and talk with — even if most of the time it’s over the phone. She misses you the most when you’re away for matches, so for her to be filming in Budapest takes a toll.
Flo tells you that she loves you when you pick her up from Heathrow terminal three, something your little sister goes feral over (another Hugh Grant romcom, apparently).
You say it back without hesitating.
You say it over and over again until it’s your most commonly said phrase. The girls tease you for being obvious about when you get laid, because you can’t keep the smile off your face the next day. In truth, you grin anytime you see her.
Christmas and New Year’s with the Pughs makes you love her more, and you reflect on how far you’ve come since January. How she once didn’t know your name, but now can sort out your bills if you asked. Florence Rose Pugh means more than a Wikipedia page because you say it when you propose, and she manages to say yes in Spanish through her tears. It makes the 29th December a special day forever, and it’s still too cold in England for your liking but it’s an excuse to bury yourselves in blankets that night. And for all the nights to come.
She’s no longer a stranger but she has always been so much more than that anyway.
tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @karsonromanoff
#florence pugh fanfiction#florence pugh x reader#randombush3#woso x reader#florence pugh one shot#florence pugh fluff#florence pugh imagine#florence pugh imagines#florence x reader#florence pugh x you#florence pugh x y/n#florence pugh angst#florence pugh#arsenal wfc#mapi leon#beth mead#vfl wolfsburg frauen
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florence pugh fic recs
you are responsible for the content you consume‼️
✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚
✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚
✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚
✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚
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┈୨♡୧┈ she's jealous by @flosbelova florence pugh x fem!reader | 1k
-you visit florence on set and you bump into a crew member who is slightly flirtatious. florence sees the interaction and gets jealous.
┈୨♡୧┈ whatever you want us to be by @flosbelova florence pugh x actress!reader | suggestive content, 2.6k
-you’re an actress and florence pugh is one of your competitors. you’re both really good actors, but one tends to outact the other during auditions. this creates a small competition between the two of you. when you both get cast in a film where you both play a couple, your world turns upside down.
┈୨♡୧┈ touch by @flosbelova florence pugh x fem!reader | 1k, smut (+18), cursing, fingering
-florence has been away and you miss her. when you get intimate with yourself, she catches you and finishes whatever you started
┈୨♡୧┈ friendly competition by @rollingsins harry styles x florence pugh x reader | smut, oral, strap-ons (seriously, this is filthy. read at your own peril)
-harry and florence are competitive. a little too competitive, when it comes to you.
┈୨♡୧┈ lights camera action by @rollingsins florence pugh x reader | smut (oral, fingering), 4.8k
-you catch florence’s eye on the set of her latest movie.
┈୨♡୧┈ love scenes by @rollingsins florence pugh x reader | smut (oral, fingering, dirty talk, face-sitting, f/f), 2.1k
- florence gets jealous after you film a love scene.
┈୨♡୧┈ the don't know about us by @flosbelova florence pugh x reader | fluffy with a hint of angst, smutt-ish (18+), 3.2k+
-you and florence have been dating in secret. however, when she’s involved in a dating pr stunt to promote her new movie, you start to get worried and wonder if your relationship will ever meet the public eye.
┈୨♡୧┈ three's company by @meetmymouth florence pugh x reader x harry styles | polyamory relationship, 2k
-you liked the attention.
┈୨♡୧┈ cute fic by @marvelous-harry florence pugh x reader x harry styles | polyamory relationship, 1k
-harry and florence taking reader or for a bath
┈୨♡୧┈ cooking with flo by @marvelous-harry florence pugh x reader x harry styles | mentions of blood, passing out, Little angst/fluff, 2.5k
-you join florence for a 'cooking with flo' livestream... It ends in tears, blood, and lots of cuddles.
┈୨♡୧┈ cute blurb by @marvelous-harry florence pugh x reader x harry styles
-someone says something mean to the reader about her relationship with harry and floss and they comfort her
┈୨♡୧┈ your lips are my comfort by @flosbelova florence pugh x reader | mention of anxiety and school, 1k+
-college has been stressful and because of it, your mental health hasn’t been the best. your girlfriend, florence, comes over to comfort you.
┈୨♡୧┈ mine by @flosbelova florence pugh x actress!reader | implied sexual themes (?), 1.6k+
-you’re a lead actress in a movie and one of your male co-stars keeps on flirting with you. you tell your girlfriend, florence, about it and she insists on showing him who you belong to.
┈୨♡୧┈ three's company pt: 2 by @harrysgloves harry styles x reader x florence pugh | language, angst, pretty sure I made the reader an alcoholic, smut!! (threesome so proceed with caution, thanks), 5.5k
-you deal with your breakup.
#florence pugh#florence pugh x reader#florence pugh imagine#florence pugh imagines#florence pugh x you#fic recs#fic rec#smut
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impressions from another time
pairing: florence pugh x reader
synopsis: you and florence start filming a movie together whilst going through a rough patch in your relationship.
a/n: i was sleep-deprived writing most of this.
warnings: y/n being frustratingly bad at communicating.
word count: 4.0k
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You walked through door, and shut it behind you. Your eyes were glued to your phone, reading an article about some politician coming under fire for saying the wrong thing. The living room was alight when you came in, which you were surprised about. The TV was on too. Florence didn’t make the effort to look at you when you walked past to get to the kitchen.
“How was dinner?”
“It was fine.” You answered, opening the fridge and looking through it halfheartedly.
You hated that you didn’t know what else to say next. You used to be able to have conversations for hours; two glasses of wine on a winter night, you and Florence talked until morning, and that was way before you started actually going out.
You heard the soft tapping of her fingernails on glass, as if she wanted to say something too, but couldn’t.
“You shouldn’t be drinking so late.” You commented, plopping a grape in your mouth and cupping some more in your left hand before shutting the fridge. “You know your stomach always gets weird after alcohol at night. We have an early flight tomorrow.”
You headed for the bedroom, but she spoke first. “You know you can still pull out.”
Letting out an exhausted breath, you stopped in the middle of the stairs. You didn’t have the energy to fight with her today. “Don’t stay up too late,” you only said, and left her there in the living room.
You had signed the contract months prior agreeing to appear in the movie. The original actor intended for Florence’s role couldn’t make it due to scheduling conflicts, so they made her get on board. At first you were ecstatic, getting to work with your longtime girlfriend, but you didn’t know when the relationship soured. All you knew was there had been way too many fights, and something has wedged itself between your bodies and your spirits.
You helped Florence bring her essentials into her trailer, all the while signing off any paperwork before the first day with a production assistant.
“I’ll have some of my stuff dropped back off in the apartment tomorrow. I’m probably not gonna need most of it anyway.” She said, after having loaded the bathroom with her things.
“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just put my stuff in my trailer.” You said.
Protocol said that you would each get your own trailer, as the other actors did, but people didn’t actually expect you both to use your own. Most people on the crew knew of your relationship, hence why yours was right next to hers.
“Right,” Flo nodded pointedly.
You recognized her attitude, but you really didn’t want to fight, so you ignored it and left her trailer.
That evening you headed out, and took time to walk around town. Dubrovnik by night quickly became one of your favorite places to be. In another life, if you worked as art connoisseur you’d definitely live here, you think. You told Florence you wouldn’t coming back for dinner, and you didn’t miss the disappointment on her face. It was something you learned to deal with, or else you wouldn’t have survived this long.
Settling into an outdoor table at a restaurant in the town square, you asked for the kitchen’s most popular dish once you’ve caught a waiter walking by. Halfway through the meal, you pulled your phone out to see if you’ve had any messages. There were only a couple of work emails and texts from your friends back home checking in. None from Flo, though.
“Sorry?” You looked up and saw a couple of young women smiling eagerly down at you. “Are you Y/N Y/L/N?”
“Yeah.” You mustered your best smile.
“We’re really big fans of yours. Can we take a picture with you?”
You had hoped to not be disturbed this evening, but to preserve your public image you stood up and smiled as one of the girls pointed her phone camera at all of you.
“And um . . .” she started fishing in her bag, “is it okay if you give this to Florence?”
“Yeah, no problem. Have a good night, ladies.” With giggles behind their hands, they scuttled away.
It was a greeting-card sized booklet with Florence’s character from Black Widow hand-drawn on one side, and a letter addressed to her on the other. You studied the drawing for a bit, then put it away and finished your meal.
When you got back to your shared apartment, the lights were all off. Flo was laying in bed when you peaked in. You quietly placed the card on her nightstand and went to the bathroom to shower. Slipping into bed quietly so as not to wake Flo, you watched her for a moment, her back facing you, her shoulder rising and falling with every breathe of sleep she took.
Suddenly her smell overtook your senses, and you instantly felt at ease. Somehow you thought that as long as she was with you, it was going to be okay. You were Florence and Y/N, you would work it out one way or another.
Gently wrapping your arm around her, you placed a small kiss on her cheek and retracted to your side of the bed.
Staring at the card you had placed in front of her, Florence was squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears, as she listened to your breathing even out.
Until then, Florence was ready to ignore that there was something wrong with your relationship. All great couples go through stuff, and they are great because they fix it together. She’s seen it in her own parents and they were the sole reason she believed in true love. She thought she had found it with you.
Until she saw you mingling with one of your new castmates. She felt jealousy building in the pit of her stomach, watching you laugh and converse the way that she wished you would with her.
Florence had met Hoyeon before during rehearsals. Her smiley and amiable nature made her sure that they would get along well, and maybe even form a friendship outside of work. So Flo couldn’t just start hating Hoyeon now that she’s unknowingly put herself between her and you.
She pulled out her phone, staring at the message she wrote but didn’t send to you.
Good luck today!! 💕
Florence deleted the text and headed into the hair-and-makeup trailer.
It became worse the longer the shoot went on. She felt like with every passing day it was getting harder to talk to you, as every time she did you would only answer with a word or two.
She never let this deter her from work, though. She felt like letting it show would be letting you get the last laugh, and until she figured out when the hell it all went wrong, it was not going to happen.
“‘S so nice to have another Brit on-set. In a sea of coffee drinkers, I don’t feel so alone drinking my tea.”
“It’s amazing how a cup of tea can make you feel so patriotic.” She laughed, watching her colleague settle down in the chair next to her.
Sam laughed and sipped from his mug. From where she sat, she could see the tea wetting his mustache and deflating slightly when he pulled it away.
“It’s crazy that it’s taken me this long to do a film with you.” He told her. “It felt like forever ago when we came in to read for Lady Macbeth. I was so hoping that you got the part, and then you did.”
“I’m pretty sure Will Oldroyd tore his hair out trying to decide for the Sebastian part. There were definitely several mental breakdowns.” She turned towards him in her chair, holding your gaze for a split second as you followed the director out from set.
“I adored that project. I was gutted, but it turned out great so no complaints from me there.”
Sam Claflin was a charming man. There were times when Flo had thought back to him after the Lady Macbeth chemistry read. He was married then, but she found herself slightly disappointed when he wasn’t chosen opposite her for the film in the end. The actor circle was small enough, even more so among British actors. She knew Aaron T-J. who knew Richard M. who knew Lily J. who knew Sam.
“But here we are again,” she said.
“So we are,” he flashed a smile at her. “Hey, some of us are gonna go to the pub down the street this weekend. You should come, bring Y/N too while you’re at it.”
“Yeah,” Flo nodded, her smile less now. “I think that’d be good for us.”
You were home by the time that she was. You were on the couch watching a movie, and gave her a small nod with your head turned to her.
“You’re not in bed.” To her surprise.
“Just wanted to wait for you.”
Flo didn’t say a word after that, then set her things aside to go wash up.
She showered, brushed her teeth, them began her nightly skincare routine. In the reflection, she spotted you sauntering into the bathroom, coming up behind her. Wordlessly, you proceeded to place small kisses on her shoulder where her skin wasn’t covered by her tank top.
Letting out a low sigh, she let you continue to trail kisses along her neck, up her jaw, whilst your hands coaxed her waist eagerly. You swiftly turned her around, finding her lips.
Short gasps and throaty moans filled the room as you continued making out, the physical contact dearly missed by Florence. She wanted to pretend like everything was okay, and it would be so much easier to let you carry her to the bed and fuck her like she’s been wanting for a while, but she couldn’t.
“What’s the occasion?” She asked.
“Hmm?”
“You haven’t touched me in ages.” Flo said breathlessly, feeling your kisses on her neck stop. “What’s all this for?”
You sighed, and let her go. Only then did she notice her heavy breaths, and her heart hammering in her chest.
“Do you not want to do this?” You asked. “We don’t have to.”
“I’m just tired today, that’s all.” Florence lied, partially. She just didn’t have the energy to do this today.
“Okay,” you said quietly, and put some toothpaste on your brush.
“Sam invited us to go down to the pub on Saturday. You wanna go?”
She didn’t miss the slight flare of your nose at the mention of Sam. “Yeah, sure.”
Flo went to bed, feeling a headache already brewing.
On the day, you came up with some half-assed excuse to not go. You couldn’t stand seeing Sam Claflin blatantly flirting with your girlfriend, just the thought of it made your stomach churn.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
There was a difficult scene coming up, one that would certainly attract attention from critics and make Florence shine during award season.
“Morning, Pam.” You entered the makeup trailer.
“Look who showed up, huh?” You giggled, and kissed the old woman on the cheek.
“Traffic.” You smirked, sipping on your coffee.
“Oh, please. Like I haven’t heard that excuse a million times before. It’s you putting that caffeinated stuff in your body every single time I see you. Sit down.” She teased, gesturing you towards the chair.
“You sound like my mother, Pam.” You said, making her roll her eyes. “Hey, where’s Flo?”
“Flo? She had to go to rehearsals early, for that big scene, remember? She didn’t tell you?”
When you woke up this morning, the other side of the bed was empty. You knew that about the scene, of course, just not that she’d be leaving early. There might have been a last-minute notice that you didn’t know about, Flo didn’t tell you.
“I guess not.”
When you were finished with makeup, you were told you had a few hours until your scene would be shot. You’d have some time to rest, but you soon left the makeup trailer and headed to where you knew Flo’s scene would be shot.
You stood on the side watching Flo hit her mark, as the director got behind the camera. There was a hint of nervousness on her face as she breathed in and out that you normally didn’t see. But you didn’t fret because this was Flo—Florence Pugh—and acting was like second nature to her.
A few steps away, there he was—Sam—standing on his own cue, getting ready for the scene.
“And . . . action!”
“You know everyone told me this would past, that I’d move past this—“
“Hey, let’s do that with some more emotions, yeah? Feel the grief, Florence.”
“O-Okay.” She was surprised at his remark, yet she was quick to shake it off with a few sobering blinks. Her eyes caught yours for a split second as she scanned the set.
You could see Sam’s mouth moving, “you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Action!”
“You know everyone told me this would past, that I’d move past this.” She looked more grim than the last take, eyes far in the distance.
No matter how long you’ve known Flo, how many times you watch her work, you’d never get tired of seeing her act. It was as if acting was her life force, and she always gave her all and more into every take. You were sure someone like her would go down as one of the industry’s best one day, and here you were getting to witness it first-hand, and to see the person she was behind the camera too.
“Cut!” The director, Julian pulled off his headset in frustration. “I need more, Florence! More! Come on, I know you can do it!”
“I-I’m sorry, I’ve just been—“ You watched her through the monitor. “Let me do it again.”
Her chest was rising and falling heavily, so much so that you were afraid she might run out of breath. She started her monologue.
“You know everyone told me this would past, that I’d move past this. But how can I? How can I when he’s still out there? My precious baby boy. The police can think he ran away all he wants, but I know Liam. I know he would never, ever run away like that. Something happened to him, I know it! Something awful’s happened to my baby, and I can’t fucking do anything about it! How am I supposed to move past this when my only son is missing?!”
“Cut!” Julian yelled. “Brilliant! Brilliant, Florence!”
Despite your current situation with her, you could only smile watching her sweep the entire crew off their feet with her performance. The emotions hung so heavily on each word that made you almost believe she had lived through the torment of losing a child.
The take had been called, yet the tears never stopped, and her sobs never ceased. She was kneeling on the floor, holding her chest as her cries choked back painfully. She was crying and crying without cessation. She couldn’t stop.
“What happened?” You heard the director murmured to his assistant, and she only shrugged, puzzled.
The set was dead-silent, yet no one came by Flo’s aid, as she curled in on herself, still sobbing. Sam was dumbfounded too, and hovered over her like a powerless spring toy.
For a split second, Julian caught your eyes, just before you had taken off running to where she was. You quickly knelt on the floor, and brought her to your chest.
Her face buried itself in your neck, as her arms came to wrap around your torso. You had asked the director for a break to which he hesitated, but ultimately agreed, because he knew too—Florence was in no shape to work for the rest of the day.
“I’m here, love.” You brought her to her feet. ”Come on, let’s get out of here.”
By the time you got to her trailer, only quiet sniffle remained as a result of her uncontrollable breakdown minutes before. You guided her towards the couch at the back of the trailer, and kneeled in front of her.
“Take deep breaths for me, okay?” You said, standing up to fetch the half-drunk water bottle on the table.
You opened the bottle and handed it to her, when she swatted your hand away with a frustrated click of the tongue.
“What are you doing?” She shook her head, eyeing you. “It’s been weeks since we last had a real conversation, and now you pretend like you care.”
“No, don’t start.” You stood up, wanting nothing more than to be done with this conversation.
“When, then?” She held you back by your arm. “When we’ve already broken up, you move out, and spend your time bed-hopping or whatever it is that you’ve been doing away from me?”
“That’s not fair,” you shook your head, your eyebrows furrowed, “no, you can’t talk.”
“This was a mistake. I knew I shouldn’t have done this movie with you. I knew it would cause tension or amplify whatever the fuck has been going on between us.” Her voice cracked. “So what the fuck is going on between us, Y/N, because I cannot stand another day of this.”
You had been gritting your teeth this entire time, wanting nothing to do with this anymore, because the truth was you’ve been avoiding the elephant in the room ever since you first felt it. This rift between you two, like you were both standing on pieces of ice, drifting further away from each other. And like standing on ice in the Arctic, it was cold, disorienting, and isolating.
“I don’t know.” You said simply.
Flo scoffed quietly.
“Y/N, do you still want to be with me?”
You bit the inside of your cheeks hard. The truth was you didn’t quite know.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
You let yourself have one finally meal in Croatia before you had to leave. It was a Wednesday afternoon, even for this time of year it was most quiet downtown. A short walk down the square you would reach the restaurant that you dined at the first time you explored the city. Flo had flown back to LA days before, as soon as filming wrapped. You thought it must have been her trying to get away from you as quickly as possible. The conversation was left on-hold after that day, and neither of you spoke about it, or to each other for that matter other than for work.
Just before you sat down, you spotted the director with a meal of his own, sunglasses on and a cigarette in hand.
“Y/N! Come, join me!” He called before you could turn the other way.
“Hey, Julian.” You smiled. He offered you to take from his pack, but you refused.
“Have you seen much of the city while we’ve been here?“ You felt like a little kid having to sit by its guardian so as not to cause a disturbance.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “I ate here the first day I came, actually.”
“Good, good. To travel is to open your mind to adventure. And for artists, that is important.” Julian took a drag, the blunt shining red at the tip. “You’re a great artist, Y/N. Your generation needs more people like you. Florence, too. I’m glad you two found each other.”
Across the square, the busker playing the trumpet had finished a song, and everybody around began to clap and drop money into the hat he put in front of himself.
“I think Flo’s better than me,” you said.
You didn’t look up, but from the corner of your eyes you could see him study you for a moment.
“There’s poise in you, Y/N. A tight-lipped coldness that made you perfect for this role. Now, I don’t know how it serves you in your day-to-day life, but that’s what makes you a great artist.”
It was easy to blame all of your problems on a single character flaw, to pretend that it’s a rotten part of you that couldn’t be fixed and people would just have to accept that part of you, because that was just who you are. But you saw how the rotten part of you—the one that Julian so highly praises—was poisoning your relationship, it was poisoning her.
“Where is Florence, Y/N?”
“She flew back home a couple of days ago.” You fumbled with your fingers.
“Listen,” Julian sat up. “Can I give you a word of guidance?” You nodded. “Sometimes we find ourselves at crossroads from which our lives would change forever once we’ve crossed them. Regret is a vicious predator, Y/N. It sneaks up on you like a ghost, when you’re eating, when you’re out running errands, when you’re making love. Once it’s got you, it sinks its teeth in and you’ll feel the pain soaking in slowly, agonizingly so. I’m proud to have done this film with you, Y/N, I really am. I just hope it wouldn’t be the end of another beautiful thing in your life.”
Your lower lip trembled, feeling Julian put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You feared the animal had already sunken its teeth into you.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
Your muscles ached from immobility, having sat on a plane for 14 hours. The sun had just risen by the time you were at your front door.
Billie was the only one to greet you with a wagging tail when you were inside.
“Hi, baby,” you whispered, scratching the spot at the back of her head that the dog so loved.
Wheeling your suitcases further inside, you left them in the living room before ascending the stairs.
You had had your thoughts written down in an unwinding Notes page, something you did on the plane. But when you saw her resting figure on the bed, tightly curled under the sheets, the words died in your throat.
You felt it again as you slowly sat at the edge of the bed, that warm feeling spreading all over your body whenever you see her, the urge to reach out and touch her. But you were afraid she would be maimed by your poison.
“Hey, you’re back.” She rubbed her eyes, sitting up.
“I’m sorry I woke you.” You said.
“It’s okay.” Flo shook her head softly, itching a spot on her forearm. “How was the flight—“
“I’m sorry, for everything. I shouldn’t ‘ve . . .” You swallowed. “I hate that this is our reality now. I care about you, and I hate that we’re like this.”
Everything you wrote in your Notes app had seemingly vanished out the window. Flo, with sleepy eyes and furrowed eyebrows, listened.
“I felt as if . . . you’d been distant, that you’d rather spend your time with others—your friends—rather than with me. And I should have gone to you about it, instead I let my jealousy and insecurities dictate the way I acted.”
“You hurt me a lot, Y/N.”
“I know.” You whispered, wiping tears away harshly. “If you don’t wish to be with me anymore—“
“That’s not what I want.” Flo said firmly. “I want you to tell me what’s in that head of yours. Lately, it feels like you’ve blocked me out. I don’t want you to run away, but I can’t keep going if you continue to stray away from me. Breaking up would be so much easier, but I don’t want easy. I want you.”
You nodded frantically, a loud sob ripping through your throat. In that moment, you could only do what your most human desires told you to do. You sought comfort in her arms, knowing that no matter how hard you collided into her, she’d be willing to catch you. And then you weren’t so afraid anymore.
“I’m sorry,” you kept mumbling over and over.
Flo was crying too, and kissed the top of your head. “For the record, I’m never working with you again.”
“Deal.”
One taste of loneliness was enough.
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Yelena: my parents think we would make a great couple
Y/N: your parents? Alexei likes me?
Yelena points to a nearby window…
Alexei stands there holding a sign: Y/N + Yelena 4Ever ❤️💕
Y/N: well he’s right
Melina: darling leave them alone!
Alexei: but it’s true!
#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel fluff#mcu#mcu imagine#mcu fandom#marvel incorrect quotes#incorrect marvel quotes#yelena belova#yelena x reader#yelena belova x reader#black widow#florence pugh#black widow x reader
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sand walking?
pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic!!)
synopsis: requested by this ask!
⤷ alt: how to seduce someone walking on sand.
notes: there hasn't been confirmed for dune 3 yet but denise villeneuve has said he's writing for it to happen. ill patiently wait for the day it's confirmed :) ALSO there are fictional/made-up mentions of the novel for the sake of the reader. they're made to be gender-neutral!! and this includes platonic flirting between cast members. i MAY have gotten carried lmaoo
“I mean- what do you think of the character? Do you think they deserved more screen time?” The clip starts off with you comfortably conversing with the interviewer. To say you weren’t deflecting their curiosity. In actuality, you were eager to learn what others thought about your performance and take on the character. The only other interpretation had on-screen was from the classic 1984 film by David Lynch.
The clip that has been widely retweeted back is of a cute moment you had from the first film of Dune (2021). Before release, little was known about your character’s potential. Apart from the enthusiastic book lovers, film viewers were clueless about what role your character would play after the first movie.
Denise Villeneuve didn’t reveal much to you in person. He wanted to keep ideas confidential until he was 100% on board making the project come to life. Still, rumors sparked through speculation and interviews with the cast members of Dune. Including an infamous short, that you forgot about, of yourself boasting about your hopes and wishes for your character.
“Yes! How could we not!” On the opposite side, the interviewer exclaimed as they leaned forward from their chair, closing into your proximity. Their hands clenched, tightening their grip on the flash card, full of questions. “The movie left us on such a cliffhanger. I think everyone would want to know what happened to Nerre,”
“That’s for Denise to decide,” Nodding you gave a relaxed smile while lifting one leg over the other. Your shoulders relaxed, feeling content and ecstatic about their response. “I can’t confirm anything until he gives me the green light to say anything,”
“I’ve also talked to Timothée this morning,” A shift in gears as the journalist flipped over another flashcard. You two had just fussed about the finale and its dramatic cliffhanger. “And all he had to say were the sweetest things about you,” At the mention of your costar compliments, you felt your skin heat up.
Your eyes soften, expressing only fondness for the lovely message. A soft awh escaped your breath. “He’s very sweet. Timothee's always been fun to be around.”
A fervent chuckle from the interviewer sends them into a feverish excitement. “And- he said- you had great flirting skills!” It was then your face morphed into complete shock and giddiness .
“Really?!” The camera pans up on your initial reaction, eyes popping out in surprise and a bubbling laugh slowly erupting. “I’m glad someone appreciates my talents!”
Without context, the short clip seemed harmless. Your sheer reaction to Timothee's comment emphasized the fun chemistry the two of you had on set. Mirroring much of Paul and Nerre's friendship, you both complimented each other well in the first film, being the youngest surrounded by well-renowned actors. But the reason for the recent spike of interest was partially from Dune: Part Two and their interviews.
Fast forward to the debut of Dune: Part Two, it made success at the box office. Even surpassing the first film altogether. The entire cast of Dune was proud of the work they've made. The introduction of new characters played by wonderful actors and actresses all around.
Weeks after the early IMAX screenings, press interviews were being published amongst of the young cast members. A particular interview by IGV Presents brings together Timothee Chalamet, Zendaya, Florence Pugh, Austin Butler, and yourself.
This would be considered to be one of your first interviews with the Dune cast after the box office release. You felt nervous yet overjoyed at the same time to be meeting your co-actors again after the conclusion of filming had taken place.
The spokesperson of IGV, Simon Harkness starts off the interview strong with a pleasant greeting. "Congratulations on an incredible movie. Uhm it is the definition of a sci-fi blockbuster and is absolutely phenomenal, so huge congratulations to you all!"
"Thank you!" The five of you all politely cherish his kind words.
"It's so lovely to talk to you. Um- Timothee, Zendaya, I'm going to start with you. This is probably the hardest question I've ever asked in an interview so you've been warned." An endearing giggle can be seen from Zendaya before allowing him to continue. "Sand walking, who does it better?"
Timothee immediately lifts up his microphone. "I'm going to give it to Zendaya here." Without glancing at her, you could tell Zendaya was happily smiling at his compliments. How quick he was to answer made it seem how well connected the cast was even given the amount of time spent together. The main lead continues very swiftly, diving more into how cinematic the shot was from an outside perspective, "I think it's the most- one of the most cinematic shots in the movie and she really has it very precisely down but it's the nature of the movie too that she's supposed to be better than Paul,"
"Is that what it is?" In return, Zendaya who sat next to him gave him a teasing look.
Quietly from afar where you sat, next to Austin Butler, you whispered. "He acted like he couldn't do it but," Soft snickering can be heard across the room.
"In fairness to me, I was going 65%- 65 to 70 too hard," Chalamet reasons justly as he glances in your direction before looking back to the interviewer.
"You dumbed it down," Harkness nods in a high-spirited manner. Right after, Timothee reluctantly agrees, keeping the mood light-hearted.
"I had to!"
"Just how committed you are!" Austin steps in, joining in on the joke.
"Zendaya, you can take that crown. I love that," The brown-haired man reassures as she recuperates with appreciative laughter. In truth, it was a beautiful scene between Paul and Chani you were lucky enough to witness behind the camera. And contrary to their light banter, you thought both actors did well at accomplishing what it was meant sand walk. Truthfully you had no scenes beyond walking through the desert but understanding the mechanics and traditions of the Fremen was as fascinating as it was watching it up close.
Suddenly it was Florence's turn to speak, "Zendaya taught me the other day and I had to just stop to stare at her feet."
"The swoopy swoop?" You asked in a cutesy tone, with furrowed eyebrows. You couldn't help but remember the few instances you witnessed your costars practice the sand walk to be one of the more adorable rehearsals you've seen on the sand.
"Yeah, her feet were so pretty! She was doing the swoopy swoops," The blonde acknowledges, waving her hands in a zig-zag pattern. As the replication of water and how her feet moved.
The interviewer's eyes light up, "Honestly I tried to swoopy swoop at home- um because we have a carpet in the bedroom."
"How did it go?" The mixed actress puts forward.
"Awful!" An assembly of bewilderment is seen between Zendaya and Florence as they quickly question why. However, they reassure him in the end that they would practice together in hopes of him archiving the sand walk.
Talks with simple questions went down the row. Florence discusses her experience from her beginnings, starring in Little Women, comparing those scenes in terms of royalty to Dune. In both films, she's worked with well-known actors and now Christopher Walken as the emperor and her father. She raves about how it was a dream come true. A dream she had when she was little. From this experience, Florence emphasizes the concept of learning and observing her fellow actors.
Another intriguing topic follows Austin for his experience between learning choreography fighting and Elvis's iconic rubber legs. In a sense, as you leaned forward on one of your seats, you became fascinated by the Elvis actor's comparison of it all. While Elvis's moves were televised and had to be precise for the camera, being a Harkonnens gave him more leverage in the freedom to move. It was a captivating question that you couldn't help but want to listen to more.
Comparisons aside, you didn't have much to note for your upcoming question. Which is exactly why you felt unprepared for what he was going to ask.
Harkness brings up your name for the finale. "You have done stunt work before. For the first and now second film, I've heard you compared it to rather- dancing. Is that what you think your relationship with the choreography has been?"
You gave a content hum, "You see it with the Fremen or Harkonnens right? Everyone moves so differently and for the course for me, I've had to adjust my choreo little by little. And I think that analogy you mentioned really does relate back to dancing. I don't know if it's because I was once a dancer or that I'm a visual learner," You shrug your shoulders, "But I see the choreography as a dance routine. You're moving alongside people, doing hits and jabs. Both are very hands-on so I would like to approach it as something I can always work on." Satisfied with your answer, you clapped your hands together.
"Kind of like sand walking no?" It was then that Zendaya swerved counterclockwise to face you.
Bringing back the conversation they had in the beginning about sand walking, your eyes instantly brighten. "Exactly like that!"
"I feel like you would be great at sand walking," Florence puffs, mindlessly shaking her microphone back and forth. "You- You already got the moves." Even Timothee came into agreement, humming and commenting you worked well with the choreography.
Austin Butler raises his microphone. "I think you gotta learn with me because I don't think I could,"
"Nonsense!" You give him a silly glare. "If you can do a killer rubber leg, I think you can sand walk." Florence and Zendaya both mumble their support and your male costar leans to have his arm around the back of your chair, warmly.
"Is that an open invitation I see?" The spokesperson, Harkness giggly pokes at than the rest of the cast turns to look at you. Your scowl morphs into an innocent one.
"Hm?" As you squint your eyes in hesitation.
"I feel like you could have the potential to sand walk but just with the right partner," Timothee chimes in, spreading his arms over his chair as well. Your brows furrowed accusingly, as if wanting to clarify what he meant by his comment.
And the French actor gives you a look, one you became so sure of. "Mm right!" A slight eruption of laughs before you straightened your back with proper posture. "With just the right partner,"
There were also hints mentioned in your interview with Timothee surprisingly not. This was one of the more recent ones to be published, as you finally were able to pair up with your favorite co-star (besides Brolin) from the first film. The two of you had strong chemistry despite having less screen time together in the second film.
The beginning of the video cuts to a clip of you answering an innocent question. "What I think about every day, is Timothee going to send to me a meme today? Uh, I hope so!" You give a sarcastic look to your seat partner as he latently laughs in front of you. "Or when is he going to text me you know?"
It then transitions to an interviewer from Heart commercial radio as he shouts out your names. "How are you both?"
"I'm doing good!"
"Going great!"
The radio show was more relaxed than you would've expected as the spokesperson was very down to the earth with his conversation starters and contagious warmth. Timothee was able to catch up with him from his last interview when he premiered his Wonka film. Eventually, the interview became more casual discussing working together, cooking, and trendy topics.
Timothee and you both went back and forth on favorite memories you had of the first film. And talking about the new cast members and new elements it had brought to the table for the film itself.
"Cool new characters this time," As you played around with the fuzzy microphone the camera crew gave to you.
"Yup lots of new people to meet," Timothee adds on, nodding.
The interviewer proceeds with the question, "And also you have seen- there's a clip about of you running around actually." He signals to you, "Of your reaction to something Timothee said about your performance in the first film,"
"Oh! I've seen it," Almost instinctively, your co-star raises his hand. "I was supposed to send it to you but I forgot." As he turns, to finds you looking lost at the topic at hand.
"Really what was it?" You almost looked concerned, seeing how you didn't understand what they meant.
Luckily for you, the Heart radio spokesperson managed to get a hold of the video from his phone, "It was a little callback of Timothee raving about your flirting skills."
As it plays, the camera zooms in on you and your co-actors reaction. The French actor couldn't help but look slightly embarrassed but smitten when the timing of your reaction came on screen. While you held an intrigued stance, arms crossed and a content grin.
"I am pretty good at flirting,"
"You really are, huh." At the same time, you both turn to make eye contact.
"I also heard Tim- that you thought that they would be your love interest initially?" At the radio speaker's inquiry, you couldn't help but in mid-sentence, finally, swerve your head suddenly.
"Yeah well, fun fact actually," The male actor tries to reason, sitting up. "In the novels, Paul and Nerre almost did become a couple!"
It was a well-known fact of that in the first novel, there had been slight changes to the story. Initially, it was said that the author, Frank Herbert had planned for Paul and Nerre, the character you played to have a romantic connection after the fall of House Atreides. Nevertheless, it was later scrapped for another plot, that of instead having Chani as the love interest. But even decades later after the novel’s release, it was something fans still fuss about.
"Oh, I heard about that!" Almost in awe, you nodded, your attention fully on Chalamet, wondering how far he was willing to go beyond spoilers.
"Do you think Nerre would ever meet someone then?" The afro man questions, adjusting his microphone. "Since- Paul has Chani, I feel like if we ever get a potential third film, that could open some doors!"
"If a third film could happen," You start, fiddling with the lining of the mic cover, "I hope so! I mean I got the moves, I got the skills!"
"Keep practicing your sand walk and we'll see," Timothee cutely chimes as you proceed to blow a raspberry at him. Only for him to lightly swat you away.
Despite your failures to have scenes of sand walking, your cast of a crew were more than happy to show you. Javier Bardem and Jessica Ferguson were quite supportive in your interest for something you did not have any part-time. A few behind the scene videos show the actor demonstrating from afar the slower version of the walk.
Though your back was facing the camera, viewers would pick up and recognize it to be you. Jessica as well was off to the side, in her luminescent costume of a million robes, clapping from side to side.
Another later pans to you taking long strides across the sand in the background. In front of the camera are Josh Brolin and Javier having their turn in the video, to discuss their relationship and the previous they have worked on together. However, viewers couldn't help but pinpoint your figure alongside the frame trying to master the patterns of what Javier taught you from the previous clip.
#dune#dune part two#dune x you#dune x reader#dune imagine#dune cast#paul atreides x reader#paul atreides#timothée chalamet#timothee chalamet x reader#zendaya#zendaya x reader#chani#chani kynes#chani x reader#florence pugh#florence pugh x reader#princess irulan#irulan x reader#austin butler#austin butler x reader#feyd rautha x reader#feyd x reader#feyd rautha#stilgar#gurney halleck#lady jessica#WE MAKING IT OUT WITH THIS ONE#dune bts
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Her Gaze ⭐
Prompt: Flo cannot stop staring at you in an interview together. What do you do about it after the interview??
Warnings: smut again... making out, lap grinding (flo to reader), thigh riding (flo to reader)
(fluff at the end!)
Word count: 1K
Florence couldn't stop staring. She was admiring every single one of your features. Although the look on her face was serious to others, you could see in your peripheral vision that Flo's eyes were anything but innocent.
The normal green in her eyes has dimmed to a darker moss colour and her pupils have dilated.
You tried avoiding eye contact with her, but you just couldn't resist. The way she looks at you drives you insane and you have to hold back biting your lip when your soft eyes meet her devilish ones.
Her eyes slowly reach down to your hands, acknowledging every vein and watching how your fingers move as you fidget.
Carefully her eyes ascend back up your body onto your face again.
Her eyes rest on your lips and she watches as your tongue pokes out to wet them.
Florence has to hold back a moan simply by watching as she imagines everything you can do with that mouth and those hands... god those hands.
'Florence?' She's pulled out of her gaze as someone seems to be calling her name.
She then remembers she's in fact still in public and is on camera.
'Sorry, yes?' She replies turning to the voice.
The interviewer laughs at Flo's confusion and she hears you chuckle beside her, quickly earning an elbow in the stomach, and you groan.
**
Finally, the interview ends and you and Florence make your way back to the makeup room, closing and locking the door before anyone can disturb you.
'You're going to drive me crazy with the way you look at me,' You say.
'Oh? Is that right, baby?' She husks as she walks slowly toward you, causing you to pull her to you desperately.
She gasps in surprise and you take that as an opportunity to join your lips together.
Very briskly, the kiss becomes very heated and Flo's hands are not only pulling at your hair, but is also running her hands through it as you begin to kiss down her neck.
Florence is panting heavily and you're unbuttoning the top she was wearing for the interview.
Thankfully the microphones you had attached had been disconnected and taken off the second you got off stage.
You continue your way down Florence's body and as soon as her top is detached from her, you leave kisses everywhere you can to let her know she is appreciated.
As a reaction, Florence grinds herself into you as her hands caress over your back and into your hair again.
You bring both yourself and Florence over to the make up chair and sit down, letting Florence perch on your lap.
You smirk as you continue your actions and lift your head to her chest, taking her now hard nipple into your mouth causing Florence to arch her back into you as her jaw drops and she lets out a raspy moan.
This only boosts your ego and you move onto her other nipple, letting it receive the same attention as your tongue swirls around it.
You tease her for the next few minutes and allow her to mindlessly grind against your still clothed skin. You think she could cum just by the way she's reacting to it.
This gives you an idea.
'Baby,' You say, but she doesn't hear you, too lost in the pleasure.
You place your hands on her thighs, immediately halting her movements, which causes her to whimper.
'Get off on my thigh, honey,' You whisper, looking into her doe eyes.
She whimpers again but doesn't move, knowing she wants you to do it for her.
'Do I have permission to take these off, sweetheart?' You ask softly, referring to her pants and underwear.
'Yes,' She responds quickly, her voice almost whiny.
You teasingly remove the clothing and Florence stays quiet so that you don't stop altogether.
The cool air reaches her wetness once the clothing is off and Florence's breath hitches at the feeling.
Gently you grab her by the waist and pull her onto your thigh and as soon as her warm pussy touches your leg, she instinctively clenches around nothing.
Slowly, with your support, she begins rocking back and forth, beads of sweat starting to form over her skin.
As Florence consumes the pleasure, her head tilts back, easily giving you access to her neck to which you attack with small love bites.
Florence's mouth falls open as the sounds of her pretty moans spill out and her rocking speeds up.
The motion is the perfect friction for her clit as she grinds more pressure onto it.
In only a couple of minutes, Florence's legs start to tremble and she is desperately gripping your shoulders, digging her nails into your skin.
Her head is now over your shoulder as her moans and gasps fill your ears.
'Please... Please, baby. Can I cum? I need to cum so bad,' She whines.
You're both lucky the make up room is soundproof.
'Hold it, sweetheart,' You say.
'I-I can't,' She moans.
'You can and you will,'
Florence shakes her head as more quicker moans fall past her lips - until her body comes to a still and you feel her legs shaking.
She clenches around your thigh and arches her back, a long moan escaping as she collapses against you.
Except - you don't let her stop.
In fact, you keep going until she's cum at least four times.
**
'You okay, honey?' You ask her softly as if you didn't just ruin her.
'Mhm. Tired,' She mumbles.
'I'll take care of you don't worry,' You say as you place a peck on her lips and delicately sit her on the make up chair while you go to the bathroom and grab a cloth, wetting it with warm water and making your way back to Florence.
You lightly clean her up and Florence flinches at the feeling as she's still sensitive.
'It's okay, sweetheart. I'm almost done,' You say as you clean up the leftover cum on her thighs.
After you had dressed her into more comfortable clothing (your jumper that is too big for her and a fresh pair of underwear) you tenderly pick her up and place yourself onto the chair, letting her sit sideways across you, her head falling into your chest.
Almost instantly, soft snores tumble from her lips as you rub soft circles on her hand as you hold it.
Your other hand brushes through her hair and down to her back as you draw random scribbles with your fingers gently.
Lastly, you place a kiss on her head as you join the deep slumber.
#florence pugh x reader#florence pugh smut#florence pugh fluff#florence pugh fic#florence pugh x you#florence pugh imagine
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Peach Boy
Timothée Chalamet x fem!Reader
As the set buzzed with activity, I found myself in the midst of the action, watching my best friend Timothèe embody the character of Laurie in the scenes of "Little Women." His transformation was captivating to me; the boy that I had known for years seemed to dissolve into the persona of a charming, albeit sometimes aggravating, young man.
I couldn't help but admire Timothèe's talent. Each gesture, each inflection of his voice, painted a portrait of Laurie, distinct from the Timothèe I knew off-screen. His portrayal was captivating, drawing me in despite my best efforts to keep my emotions in line.
Throughout the filming, Timothèe's occasional glances in my direction sent ripples of warmth through me. His winks and smiles, though brief, reassured me of our undeniable connection.
As the hours flew by, a chill settled over the set, causing me to grab Timothèe's abandoned jacket, draping it around myself, as I was enveloped in the scent of his perfume, making a familiar comfort surge through my body.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the director's voice rang out, signaling the end of filming. Timothèe approached me, a mixture of exhaustion and amusement dancing in his eyes as he saw my motionless figure, wrapped up in his jacket.
"What's up, Peach boy?" Florence quipped, slightly messing up Timothèe's hair with a playful affection.
Her glances spoke volumes, and he couldn't help but wonder if she saw what he dared to not admit.
Timothèe's laughter filled the air, a melody I knew by heart. "Oh, you know just hanging," he replied awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, shooting an awkward grin in my direction.
Florence looked at my figure, then back at Timothée, a smirk immediately going on her face as she leaned in close, pressing her mouth against his ear, before whispering, "have fun," and sending him a wink, causing a light shade of pink to take over his face.
Feeling a presence surrounding me, I opened my eyes. Letting a sigh of relief once I realized who the presence belonged to. "Hi," I said, tiredness evident in my voice, as Timothée's attention immediately became directed at me.
"Hey, thought you'd never wake up" He teased, his lips quivering into a smirk.
"Oh hush up," I said, rolling me eyes
"Am I just that boring to you, that my acting, that my JOB put you to sleep?"
"Yeah, I hated it," I joked laughing at his shocked face.
In that moment, our playful banter was a shield against ou unspoken truths lingering between us. As Timothèe's gaze met mine, a rush of anticipation coursed through me. His proximity was intoxicating, like there was a silent invitation hanging in the air, as the tension crackled between us, a palpable energy begging to be acknowledged.
"No, you were amazing. Your acting skills could never keep me away," I said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
His laughter was a familiar symphony, a melody that resonated deep within me.
In the hush that followed, our eyes locked in a silent exchange, the unspoken becoming increasingly louder, then, in a daring move, Timothèe closed the distance between us, his lips brushing against mine in a tantalizing caress.
In that moment, time stood still, the world falling away as our hearts beat in unison.
But our moment was interrupted by the sound of an applause, a gentle reminder of the world outside our bubble of intimacy.
As Florence's voice broke through the silence, her joyous laughter filled the air, a testament to the bonds that bound us together.
With a shared glance, Timothèe and I embraced the inevitable, our laughter mingling with the echoes of our newfound connection.
"About time! Tim, I'll trust that you won't mess this up," Florence said, a hint of teasing evident in her voice.
"Fucking asshole." Timothèe's laughter echoed through the air, as he looked down at me, shaking his head.
"Do you want to go back to the hotel?" I nodded in agreement, "But, can you carry me to the car, I don't want to walk," I said with a pout.
Timothèe gave me a small smile before he lifted me effortlessly into his arms, I couldn't help but smile as well, the weight of our shared secret had finally been lifted.
Once we made our way back to the familiarity of the room, the only sounds to be heard were the sounds of our footsteps ringing through the quiet night, as I smiled to myself, looking up at Timothée, then down to where our hands were connected, and in that moment, as the world finally faded into the background, I knew that our journey was only just beginning.
#timothee chalamet imagines#timothee chalamet#timothee x reader#timothee chalamet smut#timothée chalamet#Timothée Chalamet imagines#Timothée Chalamet smut#Timothée Chalamet fanfic#Timothée Chalamet one shots#Timothée Chalamet oneshots#Timothée Chalamet x reader#florence pugh#little woman 2019#laurie laurence#little women
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Co-Stars pt.15
Callum Turner X Actress! Reader
Summary: Y/n is invited of cooking with Flo and gets a little drunk.
Warning: Kinda cringe (I'm sorry)/ alcohol/ Swearing/ use of Y/n/
Word count: 790 words
Florence Pugh invited her on her cooking show. She was excited to go with her, she loved to cook, and she was friends with Flo. She brought Callum with her, and Callum brought Austin. When she arrived, she hugged Florence and took the apron that she gave her. It was a white one with pomegranate all over it. ‘’I’m so excited!’’ she squeals. Y/n chuckles and kiss Callum before Florence goes live.
‘’It’s cooking with Flo, bitches!’’ she puts the knife in the cutting board. ‘’And Y/n is here!’’ Flo exclaims, hugging her again. ‘’Hey everyone! How’s everyone doing?’’ they look in the chat for the answers and then, they look at each other before laughing for no reason. ‘’Guys, today we’re going to do chicken Cajun alfredo, or whatever the order is. But for the drink, I made Y/n’s favorite, a rum n’ coke!’’ she gives her the glass and they tap their glass together before starting to pace around the kitchen to get the ingredients. ‘’By the way, if you hear people talking behind, it’s my husband and my husband’s husband’’ Y/n laughs. Austin, Callum and Florence burst out laughing, Y/n is proud of her joke, as she joins the group laughing.
‘’So now the chicken is seasoned – ‘’ Y/n impulsive thought took control as she slapped the chicken, like she would slap someone’s ass. ‘’- Mate, what the fuck’’ Florence’s smoker laugh took over her laugh, which made Y/n laugh even more. ‘’How many drinks did they have?’’ Austin asked, chuckling. ‘’I don’t know’’ Callum laughed. Y/n was out of breath from laughing so much. ‘’Okay, where were we?’’ she laughed again. Florence took a sip of her drink before looking at her friend. ‘’We have to cook the chicken’’ she explained. ‘’Oh, we should put music!’’ Y/n suggested. Florence nodded before she hit shuffle on her playlist, the first song that came to their ear was Vente Pa’ Ca by Ricky Martin ft Maluma. ‘’I love that song!’’ Y/n exclaimed as she took Florence hands to dance. ‘’The chicken is going to burn, love’’ Callum warned. As Y/n lip synced, Florence quickly took care of the piece of meat.
The pasta was almost done, so was the chicken, Florence and Y/n had about 3 drinks, Austin and Callum’s cheeks were hurting from laughing so much; Y/n was unhinged. Every thought that went through her head, she shared it. ‘’I think I would’ve been burned alive if I lived in Salem when the trial happened, because I have great tits and an opinion.’’ She said, touching the side of her tits, laughing. ‘’I’m hot, they want to make me hotter’’ she giggled. Florence face palmed as she stirred the pastas. ‘’I think you had enough to drink’’ Callum laughed. Y/n nods in agreeing with him. ‘’We’re going to take a little bit of pasta water before dumping it. That’s the secret, pasta water!’’ Y/n exclaims as she takes a scoop of the pasta water. ‘’Someone in the chat said that Callum and Austin are the parents and we’re the children’’ Florence laughs.
‘’Ok! It’s done! Look at how pretty it is!’’ Y/n says as she shows the plate to the camera. ‘’Austin, Callum, come and taste!’’ Florence says. The boys come behind the girls, Callum puts his hands on Y/n’s waist, making her giggle. ‘’That smells amazing!’’ Austin comments. ‘’Yeah, it does!’’ Callum adds. As they take a bite of the food, Y/n and Florence looks at each other. ‘’It’s so fucking good!’’ Y/n exclaims. Florence nods and chuckles. ‘’Babe, you need to come on the show more often’’ Florence says. ‘’I’ll gladly come back’’ Y/n smiles. Austin and Callum take a bite at the food and smile. ‘’That is Gordon Ramsey level’’ Austin exclaims. ‘’It’s really good, oh my! I love it’’ he smiles.
‘’Okay guys, so that was cooking with Flo and Y/n, bitches! See you next time!’’ Florence says as she stops her live. ‘’That was really fun! Thank you so much for the invite’’ Y/n hugs Flo. ‘’You’re welcome here any time. Maybe with less drinks’’ She laughs. Callum agrees as he puts his arm around Y/n’s waist. ‘’Ouh! Next time we can cook shrimp tacos!’’ Y/n proposed. Florence nods as she says goodbye to Austin.
The aftermath of the video on the internet is good. People are saying that Drunk Y/n is unhinged, the fact that Y/n called Austin her husband’s husband is funny, Florence needs to invite Y/n again, Callum’s love contact is physical touch and many more stuff. Y/n was a little bit embarrassed about things she said, but overall she had a really great time, and she wanted to do it again…
#callum turner#callum turner x reader#callum turner imagine#austin butler#florence pugh#actress!reader
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Dune: Part Two is a cinematic experience you will not find any other day at the theater; it is exactly the sort of blockbuster filmmaking and science fiction epic we need more of in modern entertainment. I very much recommend seeing it on the largest screen.
#art#the imaginative hobbyist#artist#digital art#fan art#photoshop#artwork#film#dune#dune part two#dune part 2#dune movie#denis villeneuve#josh brolin#timothée chalamet#timothee chamalet#florence pugh#austin butler#zendaya#zenday coleman#rebecca ferguson#stellan skarsgard#dave bautista#christopher walken#anya taylor joy#charlotte rampling#lea seydoux#javier bardem
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Sunday Morning
florence pugh x footballer!reader
summary: based off the Maroon 5 song ‘Sunday Morning’
words: 1470
warnings: gets a little bit angsty
notes: just a little in-between-er while i work on the lengthier, juicier stuff. And absolutely NOT proofread x
This is rare.
Waking up to a bed with both of you in it. Not needing to attack the day ahead. Being allowed to listen to the rain falling, softly beating against the windows of your bedroom.
Sunday mornings like this are so special.
You yawn as you slowly open your eyes, skin prickling. Expecting it but feeling betrayed nonetheless, you glance at where the covers should be, knowing they’re bundled around your girlfriend because she gets so cold during the night ever since you developed that habit of rolling over in your sleep. You steal what’s yours back, not waking her but not minding if she stirs. She makes a quiet noise as your cooler skin slots beside her furnace, but this is the only sign of life.
Clouds shroud the light that briefly illuminated the bedroom, and you drift off once again, this time, with your girlfriend twisting to fit the mould you are in, burying her face between the pillows and your arm.
You struggle to remember the last time you woke up like this. You don’t live here half the time, having to find ways to split time between football and actually having a life. Things just get so crazy, and living the life you have built with Flo gets hard to do. She knows you try, and is also to blame when it comes to the lack of occupation your shared apartment has at times.
Every plane ticket you buy to lengthen the distance is bought because you will gladly hit the road, get up and go, if it means that someday you will be led back to her. You can leave easily because you know you will be coming back, and you know that when you head on a flight bound for wherever she is, you are returning home.
Thinking back to the week you’ve had — the tears you’ve shed, the stress, the pain — this may have been all you needed. To hold her again. To love her and to touch her. After all, in the darkness, she is all you see. The light at the end of a tunnel, the encapsulating warmth that draws patterns over your skin and marks you as hers and only hers forever. The happy ending to a horrific seven days.
Your musings must have woken her. Maybe you were thinking too loud.
She murmurs something unintelligible, eyes half-open but indefinitely looking at you. Then, louder, she brushes her hand over your hip, touch feather-light and careful, saying your name wistfully. You are quickly reminded that this day-off has come about due to a fractured ankle, a pang of grief stabbing into your heart like a blunt knife, forced through. You’ve been allowed three days to process and make sure you’re in the correct mental state to even begin recovery. She held you last night while you cried, and asks you again how you are feeling.It is a question commonly used in your relationship, but packs more meaning right now. There are a lot of feelings, obviously.
“I want to do something today,” you reply quietly, not needing to raise your voice barely above a whisper. Such is the tranquillity of two women alone in bed together. (Unless you happen to be doing something else — then forget that statement.) “So I don’t become a lump on the sofa.”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Rest your bones with me right now,” she whispers, amusement not hidden at all. “And then why don’t we go for brunch later on?”
“Yeah, okay,” you mumble, disappointed once more by the restrictions in place. You don’t bring your crutches into the bedroom for fear they’ll haunt you while you dream. “I can drive us to that place in Greenwich. I’ll go slowly.” It’s a desperate attempt.
Her reply is instantaneous. “Absolutely not.” The attempt fails like it inevitably would. “Can we watch TV? I’ll grab your crutches.” And with that, you start hobbling away to the kitchen to prove you can move on your own, and get tricked into making her coffee. You never want to leave.
Three weeks later, she visits you in Barcelona. Your apartment here is your own, empty of things that smell like her. She changes that quickly, taking over every surface with things she somehow managed to fit in her suitcase, spreading out her shit until you can barely find your toothbrush. You know that brands send her their products to try, but don’t hesitate to remind her she doesn’t have to actually use them. You’re sure your bathroom cabinet might fall off the wall with how full it is.
It’s Sunday again, the fourth day of her trip, but the first day of doing nothing. There's quite a bit to do and see in the city, and she’s forced you to show her around. You get a lie in today because the girls have a game later. You can’t play for another four weeks at the very least, but have promised to watch and support them. Even if the thought of playing still makes your fists clench and your breath hitch. How are you supposed to not do what you were born to do? It’s your destiny, your fate, and a stupid ankle shouldn’t have gotten in the way of that. (But it did.)
“Morning,” she says, blinking in order to adjust her eyes to the light pouring through the blinds. “What time is it?”
You shrug, unable to check because your girlfriend is on top of you and your phone is too far away. “I know that you said you didn’t want to—”
“I recall you agreeing,” she interrupts indignantly.
“Right.” You smile. “I’m really feeling much better; my ankle doesn’t even hurt. So… we can—you know?”
“Feeling frisky?” she teases, sitting up, straddling you. Your fingers trace her every outline, feeling like artwork. Irreplaceable. You would definitely hang her up in a museum. (If she were a painted picture, not a person. No — that would be unethical.)
Flo leans down and brushes her lips against yours, half expecting you to have teeth waiting there for her. You take it slowly at first, however, aware of how big a lie your update on your ankle is.
You’re interrupted by the buzz of the bell at the entrance. Lucy and Keira are asking to be let up, considering they don’t have to start preparing for another two hours. They know Flo’s round, which typically means to leave you the fuck alone, but Lucy says she brought coffees and wants to talk to her favourite person. It makes you and Keira both feel amazing when the person she means is Flo. Really amazing.
With a sigh, you let them up, and enjoy the rest of the day in the shadow of your girlfriend.
Then, when Flo flies back to England and you’re left alone, you suddenly feel out of place and unwanted. It seems the one good thing about you — football — has been snuffed out with a small breath, and there is a crushing weight on your chest all the time. Maybe it has been there all along. Maybe Flo helps you not to notice.
With her gone, all you can do is notice. It consumes you to the point where you stop charging your phone and leaving your flat and attending your recovery sessions. It’s flagged up immediately by the club, who can fix the work-related problems, but you don’t tell anyone about the radio-silence Flo is on the other end of. The poor woman has to reach out to your friends to make sure you’re alive.
After a week, you send her a text; a brief hello. She responds quickly, and you reply hours later. She doesn’t text back for a day. And then you sway back and forth like branches in a storm, stable and unsteady. The weather changes, and you’re still together when the storm ends.
The arguments happen while you are in separate countries, and end within two weeks. The next time you see her, you’ve been on good terms, though some wounds are still fresh. Flo knows that you are going through a time where living is becoming increasingly harder to do, especially since your recovery period has been extended due to your blip in attendance.
Currently, you’re waiting for your plane to taxi onto the runway. It’s raining in Barcelona and you’re not supposed to have any time off, but as you stare out through the glass oval of a window, you swear you catch a glimpse of Flo in the reflection. It’s Sunday morning, and the sun hasn’t risen yet, and you’re hoping your heartbeat emits a signal for Flo. Something that sings ‘I’m coming back to you’. You will always find a way to bring yourself back to her.
tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @wandasbb @karsonromanoff
#florence pugh fanfiction#florence pugh x reader#randombush3#florence pugh one shot#florence pugh x you#florence pugh smut#florence pugh x y/n#florence pugh#florence pugh imagines#florence pugh fluff
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Sabotage is a Girl’s Best Friend
Yelena Belova x F!R | Wanda x Natasha
Request (I lost it, but it was a simple / easy to remember- Jealous Yelena who sabotages every date R has until she’s caught) | WC: 3,959
Yelena quirked a brow at you as you waltzed into her room, having slammed her door into the wall to emphasize your frustrations, you fell back onto her occupied bed and groaned, "That was the third failed date this month!"
"Maybe love isn't in your future Y/N Y/L/N."
"No, it is. I just think you're finding the duds."
Natasha looked down at you with a smirk, it was almost as if she knew something you didn't, but you knew there was no point asking. Because the redhead did know, but she would never say it to you for her little sister's sake.
——
She knows what it's like to have to learn how to be a human being again, to develop deep feelings like the ones Yelena so clearly has for you. It's not too far off from her agonizingly slow love story with Wanda. However, the witch was aware of her feelings the whole time.
You're oblivious. Painfully so. Watching you two together is entertainment for the couple.
Wanda's almost always ready to meddle, but the redhead always stops her. She knows that Yelena would hopelessly ruin things if forced into it too soon. Which would be a real shame, because Natasha was rooting for you wholly; Yelena was good at keeping you, the resident klutz, safe, and you softened Yelena's heart.
The blonde deserved to have someone she could be care free with, and that loved her.
Natasha knew you loved her, so, as soon as you left the room she began to harass her sister.
"Yelena, you can't keep doing this to her."
Yelena sighed, hands over her face in shame. "I have no other choice." Her shoulders shook as she held back a sob. "I can't lose her when I haven't even had a chance to have her yet."
"Then make a move," Nat urged, her hand tight as it squeezed her shoulder encouragingly. "I hate seeing her so dejected, you're going to give her a complex. Tell her the truth, then the both of you can have the happy ending you deserve."
Yelena scoffed, "Y/N deserves better Natalia."
"You are plenty enough Lena," Natasha sighed.
"Not for her." Yelena shook her head with a hoarse sob, and so the redhead pulled her into a tearful hug. "Y/N loves you just the same, and would be crushed to hear you say that."
You wiped away the tears, nodding towards the closed door in agreement as you heard them. A bittersweet smile overtook your face as you took determined steps towards your bedroom.
If she wouldn't make the damn move, then you would have to. Starting by catching her in the midst of sabotaging yet another date. One you'll have set up for the both of you after she hopefully confesses instead of running away.
Natasha left her sister's room half an hour later after she got Yelena to lay down as she sobbed. Putting the broken blonde to sleep, and letting the redhead make her way to your room fast. Part of her was relieved you'd eavesdropped, but the other part was ready to pummel you.
When she finally found you she was even more frustrated, ready to go off on you until you turned to her with a smile and reddened eyes.
"I was thinking I'd ask Tony to rent me the entire arcade," you murmured over the pen that was now in your mouth. Natasha smirked as she stared down at your long list of ideas.
"The Kraft Factory Tour, is that even a thing?"
You shrugged your shoulders and giggled, "I'm an Avenger, I'm sure they'd make it happen."
Your easy laughter made the redhead hopeful, but she still felt a protectiveness for Yelena. So, Natasha abruptly caught you by the chin, her eyes hardened as she peered into yours. You gave her time to figure out your intentions, and once she did you felt her finger tap your nose.
"You leave the date to me," she grinned, "It'll make Wanda so happy to help, and it gives you time to plan your monologue, make it good."
—
A week went by, giving the blonde false hope that you'd given up. Sadly she wasn't that lucky, so now Yelena paced the floor of the elevator as it slowly descended the many floors. How you kept finding people was truly of no shock to her. You were perfect, so much so that she knew that one day she'd lose you for good. To the one smart person who fought back, who saw through her bluff and to your worth.
It honestly upset her every time they ran out of the bathroom with their tails between their legs. Forfeiting a chance with you was a sin.
This time you were going to a rage room, it didn't seem like much of your thing, but she just assumed your partner (to never be) picked.
As the blonde exited the elevator she was in a hurry, which is why Tony should've known to steer clear of her path, but he stood in it.
"Belova, just the person I was looking for." She rolled her eyes, and attempted to walk by, but he mistakenly stopped her with a hand on her wrist. She spun their bodies and slammed him into a wall. "Speak your words, don't touch."
Tony stuttered, "W-we have a mission."
"I am off the clock," was her quick, dry reply before she left the building in a focused stride.
The brilliant idiot had cost her time, something she couldn't afford to lose any of while trying to stop you, once again, from falling in love. It was growing exhausting, your constant flow of dates never seemed to cease. They always gave her an uneasy feeling, but this time it was only heightened by the revelation that Sarah, your old mission partner from your shield days, had asked you out. The pre-established connection was anxiety inducing. What if she is the one?
That was preposterous... Yelena was the one.
Even if you didn't understand that yet, she knew that one day she'd have the courage to tell you. It was the only destiny she banked on.
Once she made it outside of the compound she wasted no time climbing onto her tricked out bike, weaving through traffic with ease as she raced to get to you. She parked a lot away then sprinted into the building to find you and the brunette with the pretty smile, and doe eyes wrapped up in a reminiscent embrace. Her heart sank, but she didn't let it stop her.
As if fate was on her side the woman excused herself from your chat, and headed off towards what she could only assume to be the restroom. It was the easiest rendezvous spot Yelena had come to find out with every date she'd foiled.
Yelena made her way there fast, her heart on the verge of exploding as she wondered if Sarah would finally be the one to fight back. Not that she'd win, the blonde hadn't taken things to the next level with her threats, but she was willing to do anything for your love.
"Listen up," she didn't waste time as she began her speech before the door even full opened. A frown overtook her face though when she waltzed in to find her sister's girlfriend on the counter instead, wearing a playful smirk.
"I'm listening Belova." Natasha took her sisters silent glaring as a warning, so she emerged from the shadows of the large stall and took the liberty of locking the door before the blonde could bolt. The clicking of metal made the blonde turn to shoot the glare her sister's way instead, it was basically heatless. Yelena was masking the hurt from the betrayal, she was beyond terrified that the plan set in motion here was to prevent her from stopping you.
"Move out of the way Natalia!" She growled, her fists flexed, and the redhead rolled her eyes. Yelena hated not being taken seriously so she resorted to slamming her into the door. "If she and Sarah leave here together I will never speak to you again. This isn't fair to do!"
"Yeah, you're right Lena, it isn't!" She scoffed and pushed her sister backwards. The blonde caught herself before falling to the ground and raised her fist, ready to deliver a punch that was halted by swirls of red tickling her skin.
"Let me go Wanda Maximoff, or so help me..."
Wanda cut her off, "If you two would stop the bickering then you'd know that's exactly why we're here. To help you to get your love."
Yelena narrowed her eyes at the smug smirk on her sister's face. Natasha knew just how to push her sister's buttons, but never in a way that would be truly damaging. It felt justified to her to scare the blonde, to show her that her childish behavior would fail her eventually.
"How will I get my love if you've trapped me?"
"Are you truly incapable of figuring it out?" Wanda groaned as she flitted around the space to prepare her station. "Y/N figured you out."
"N-no, I-I was so careful." Yelena's teeth pierced the skin of her lip as the anxiety began to consume her. "Who the hell told her?!"
Natasha pulled her into a hug, her hands ran down the younger girls back as she let her sob into the fabric overlaying her chest. Then as the sobbing ceased Natasha spoke: "You did."
"I did no such thing!" Yelena pulled back, her defenses even higher at the crazy insinuation. "Don't be crazy. I would never say anything."
"She heard us last week," Natasha fed her the obvious information, "I guess I didn't wait long enough for her to leave before I scolded you."
Yelena was once again ready to annihilate her sister, but Wanda yanked her into a chair, and magically bound her to the seat. "The point isn't to place blame, but it's instead to rejoice that the cats out of the bag, and to get you ready for the date. Save the simmering rage for the rooms full of priceless antiques." Wanda pouted at the thought of the old televisions being smashed to pieces, and for the first time the sisters were in sync with their eye rolls.
"Moya lyubov', are you serious?" Natasha couldn't stop from laughing. "Deadly." The look Wanda sent her lovers way stopped it.
"Seriously?" Yelena wasn't afraid of Wanda. "It's all just junk witchy. We're in the new ages. Like, did you know you could make mac and cheese in a cup now? How revolutionary."
Wanda slapped the both of them upside their heads with the flick of her red shaded hand. Wanda ignored their grumbles in protest as she pulled a stunning outfit from a garment bag. It was fancy enough for the dinner Wanda had booked later, but practical for the rage room you two wouldn't budge on. "Go change before the clock strikes 12 and your princess bails."
Yelena looked to Natasha, eyes wide as she processed the reality. Her fingers consequently turned white as she squeezed the hanger, and the redhead took a step forward so she could press her forehead to hers. "Y/N's waiting for you Yelena, she's not going to reject you."
"How do you figure? What if she only agreed to this so that she could yell at me?" Natasha chuckled softly, "Because, she asked her friend who is engaged to play the part tonight, and she picked this dingy place with you in mind."
Yelena fiddled with her hands as she was escorted to the massive gymnasium. "Breathe," Natasha whispered, then before she could she was briskly shoved into the lions den. It was a massive space, the biggest room they'd rented out to people actually, and she was enamored.
In the corner stood an attendant who was patiently waiting for her to meet him by a door. Her eyes flitted around the room to find a wide variety of things to break, along with weapons to use for the objective. If not for you waiting on her as well she would've kept her pace leisurely, but she quickly made her way over.
"Welcome ma'am," he greeted with a fake smile, she could empathize as that's how she approached most people at the compound.
"I am not old enough to be a ma'am," she said, her tone nothing short of menacing, and then her glowering expression fell into a smile at the sound of your distant laughter. She didn't even pay him anymore attention as she followed the sound to a room full of various white suits.
"Glad you'd graced me with your presence Belova, I was starting to think I was stood up."
Yelena smirked. "You are." You rolled your eyes, but contradicted your gesture with the casual slip of your hand into hers as the man walked in to give the both of you the spiel.
It was comical really, the barely legal boy-man was informing two highly trained Avengers how to be careful with their chosen weaponry. He'd been prepared to tell you about the ways in which you should hold a sledgehammer as you swing it when the blonde decided to tell him how she's broken many bones with them.
He left in a rush after that, and wished you both a good time. Yelena cackled as she put on the suit, meanwhile you only shook your head.
Once the two of you were alone, and the humor had faded the vibe suddenly became tense. So without a moment's hesitation you led the way back into the destruction zone and began to shatter things with a wooden baseball bat.
Yelena followed your lead, using the previously mentioned sledgehammer to destroy a line of white, old-timey washers and dryers. Both of your minds were running wild with worst case scenarios, and with each slam of your weapon into something that shattered they'd settle.
After about ten minutes of grunting and swinging it was you who finally broke the silence that Yelena found a bit too comforting. When the wood hitting the floor echoed through the space she gently set her weapon against the wall and slowly walked over to you.
You met her halfway, leaning onto a beaten up box-tv with your arms crossed. "Why did you never just tell me Lena? I-I would've waited."
"I didn't understand until it was too late," she admitted softly, you could hear the emotion she was desperately trying to suppress. "You went out with Darcy, and when it didn't work I was elated. Then there was Carol, who left the next day for space, but seeing her flirting was enough to make me want to throttle her."
"Everything there was just a fling. I wanted to ask you out, but every time love was brought up you cringed and mocked the concept. So, I started to try dating seriously considering it was my only remaining option. Then I just thought with every failed attempt that maybe I was the problem, just simply undesirable."
"No, don't say that, you're the most desirable!"
"I don't get it though Lena," you smiled sadly, "You could have anyone you want. Why me?"
Yelena frowned, something she'd never done with you stood in front of her before. Normally she couldn't help but to smile, but your words of self doubt wounded her greatly. In all the time she spent worrying she wasn't enough for you, she never considered you would be in the same boat as her. "Why not you Y/N?"
"Do you know how many gorgeous people would kill to date you Yelena? The line would be out the door, and yet you settle for me."
She shook her head and threw a hand in the air to hush you. "Don't do that. I do not ever settle. I win. This is no different. You are one of those gorgeous women, you are the most perfect."
You chuckled humorlessly, "I'm far from it."
"You are blind," the blonde snapped, she swung the bat and sent a few glass bottles into the wall before she dropped it and walked up to you with a few glass plates in her hand now.
"Comparing yourself to a world full of people who couldn't even catch my attention. They are all nothing when held up next to you." Yelena held up a gorgeous black plate adorned with fancy gold trimming, and beside it a boring white plate with faded floral printing. Then she smirked as the latter shattered into tiny pieces.
Yelena set the fancy dish to the side then she brought your hand to her lips for a sweet kiss. "In a world full of ugly, you are the beauty; If my line is out the door, then it's safe to say that yours has to be around the globe. Which makes sense with all the dates I've had to crash."
"You didn't have to," you teased with a short laugh to follow. "I would've said no if I knew you wanted me the same way I did you."
Yelena's mouth fell open, nothing but splutters left as her tongue practically fell limp. She was a trained spy, with Natasha at her side this whole time screaming of your reciprocation, but she still felt bamboozled at the revelation.
"I knew I loved you ever since I saw you at that charity drive," Yelena confessed with a shake in her tone that usually isn't there. "When you helped that legless toddler find her furrever friend in that little calico kitty that matched."
You narrowed your eyes playfully, "Yeah?"
Yelena nodded without hesitation, it was your genuine intention that had her fall into the pits of the unknown. At the time she took it to be envy, but then she saw you go on a date with Darcy and she quickly realized the truth as she met and befriended the green eyed monster.
"I win then," you challenged, "I loved you so much earlier than that." Yelena shook her head and groaned, "Please don't say at first sight, that's just illogical." You giggled, then pondered allowed, "What about second?"
Yelena tried to remember what day it could've been, but she was stumped. "You were new, and practically attached at Natasha's hip. If anyone even tried to get close you'd glare."
Yelena hummed, she didn't doubt you at all.
"Well, it was the middle of the night when I found you in the kitchen. You looked so sad, and for a moment I could feel this pull. Fate decided it best to let me slip only seconds later, and it was in the moment that you caught me, as I sorta fell for you, that I knew you were it."
"Oh," Yelena felt her entire body warm at the sweet origin story for your emerging story. "Yeah," you giggled before throwing yourself into her body, she initially stiffened, but in a blink she was pulling you even closer to her.
For a moment the room was silent, the two of you felt the serenity deep in your bones. Then, in true Yelena fashion she had to interrupt it. "By the way, I don't need people to kill for me, I can do it by myself, and for you of course."
"Oh goodness me baby, I will never tire of your humorous little quips." Yelena wanted to say she was being serious, her words weren't intended as a joke, but she decided to settle into the joy you felt, plus, her heart was too busy hammering at your chosen endearment.
Your session wasn't over yet, but there wasn't any anger left to latch onto, so you took her hand and escorted her to the changing room. Both of you helped the other out of the plastic suits, then on your way out you thanked the couple who helped you plan it all, and tossed the redhead her sister's keys. "Don't—."
"Don't crash the bike, I know... I can't believe you'd even say such a thing to me." Yelena went to rebuttal, but you pulled her away before the sisters could bicker—again.
The rest of the night was a dream, the two of you skipped out on the fancy dinner after only seeing food she'd never tried before. Yelena was a picky eater, and by that notion, if there were no chicken tenders on the menu (there weren't), then you could count her out.
She'd frowned initially, but gulped down her budding resentment for your sake. But you knew the girl like the back of your hand, so without a word you left a hundred on the table as a tip for the inconvenience, then grabbed her hand. "W-where are we going dorogoy?"
You spun around to face her with a bright smile after hearing the slip of a Russian pet name. It nearly sent the woman to her knees to have you that close, she wondered if you were like her own kryptonite. She didn't fully get the nerdy references Peter made, but she still tried.
"We are going to McDonald's." Yelena looked ecstatic for all of two seconds, then she pouted thinking she ruined the night. "I'm sorry."
"Yelena, this night belongs to us. Not Wanda, nor Natasha, it's about what we enjoy. You'd have likely barfed if I let you sacrifice your tastebuds for the sake of my own. Plus, I hate the ambiance of these sorts of restaurants."
Yelena nodded in understanding, the lack of lighting made it near impossible for her to even see the menu full of options she didn't favor. It made gawking at you near impossible as well.
"McDonald's is so much better, they have a play center, there's options for all, and most importantly I can actually see you smile."
"I can still eat here if you want Y/N," she tried, but to her delight you'd playfully shook your head and then caught her completely off guard. You'd leaned forward to peck her cheek, you felt as her lips turned as you lingered, then you both felt your stomach's swarming joyfully.
When you once again tried to walk away you were stopped by a hand on your wrist that seamlessly moved to your waist. Yelena held your gaze for a long moment, then as she found no hesitation from you she leaned forward and it was as if all of her worries disappeared.
Under the dimly lit streetlights in the barren parking lot the blonde felt her heart mend. As your lips perfectly slotted between her own, and your body melted beneath the pads of her fingertips it was as if the world rewarded her.
A lifetime of pain endured led her to this moment, with your body pressed against the door of your car. She reasoned it was all worth it for this kiss that signified a beginning.
One that everyone knew to be long overdue.
"You ready to go eat moya lyubov'?" Natasha whispered against the nosy witches cheek as she nuzzled against her affectionately from behind. "The dinner reservation expire soon."
Wanda watched as Yelena's hand began to wander, and suddenly the matchmaker trance was upended. "Let's go Natty bear, I want some caviar, this day has officially drained me."
Natasha bit back her snark in favor of not sleeping on the couch, her neck had yet to recover from the last time. She resided with silence, even if they both knew the only thing to be significantly drained tonight is her wallet...
At least the card she gave to Yelena was Tony's.
——
#natasha romanoff#wanda maximoff#wandanat#yelena belova imagine#yelena belova#yelena belova fanfiction#yelena belova fluff#yelena belova x reader#yelena belova x female reader#yelena belova x you#yelena belova x y/n#florence pugh imagine#florence pugh#florence pugh character#florence pugh x reader
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only make you cry
pairing: florence pugh x fem!reader
synopsis: flo isn’t ready to be in a new relationship after her last one ended by means of public scrutiny.
word count: 2.6k
a/n: hello. um, ik it’s been a while, but school and work has just been so hectic that i barely even have time to rest. i was also dealing with some things too, but alas am back. i hope y’all haven’t forgotten abt me and i’m hoping to get back into writing again soon because it’s fun and not because it’s sth i have to do. so ya, enjoy this angsty, kinda smutty but not rly fic i whipped out :3
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She remained untouched.
By the responsibilities she had to bare as a price of only doing what she loved to do.
By the lousiness of the world waiting to gouge out any imperfections so that it may discredit her just for the sake of it.
By the mask-like cynicism she had come to develop just to survive and not get swallowed whole.
She remained untouched by you.
Yet, the desire to reach out and touch her, despite her serene appearance—face pressed into the pillow, eyes comfortably shut, lips slightly parted—was beyond any reasoning that you could muster. You simply desired her, to touch her, to feel her, the way you did merely hours before.
The sky was beginning to brighten, signaling another day. You didn’t want to leave, you only wanted to reach out and touch her, to kiss her, and tell her that you were here to stay. But you knew you couldn’t.
She stirred, finally. Florence was a quiet waker, with a sharp inhale and a purse of her lips, eyelids slowly peeling open to reveal two emerald gems, that usually start out more hazel and golden in the morning. You gave her a small smile. “Good morning”.
“What time is it?” She asked.
You hummed, reaching back toward the stand for your phone. “8:37”, you had checked ten minutes prior too.
You watched her as she willed herself to rouse, hunching over the side of the bed, like she was putting the weight of the world she left by the bed back on her shoulders. You reached over, and brushed her spine with the back of your hand. You thought you felt a split second in which she found comfort in it, but it was gone too soon when she stood up and headed for the bathroom.
You always observed Florence. You liked to admire the person that she was, watching this phenomenon of a human being do the most mundane tasks, like cooking an omelette or watering a plant. It made you feel special, being able to be in her presence made you feel phenomenal. She tended to have that effect on people, not just you. You were just lucky you got to witness it behind closed doors.
“Could you feed Billie, please?” You loved when she included you in her routines. You would give her a kiss on her jaw and a gentle caress of her hips in gratitude in passing her.
Sometimes when you’re lucky, like now, she would grab you, and kiss you deep with a sigh, her eyes lustful and sultry when they gaze into yours after.
It started a few weeks prior, the sex, and the mingling, months earlier than that. It was at an after-party you were expected to attend, that Flo also happen to be there. There was a certain glow to her, something that made her seem more mature than the last time you saw her whilst shooting Black Widow. The short brunette hair, the nose ring, it was different, but it all suited her.
“Y/N?! Christ, is that you?!”
You started hanging out again, just like you did whilst shooting the movie and a little while after that before your respective schedules pulled you apart. It was as if no time had passed.
She cooked for you the way she did, a drink on the side and occasionally dancing to music that hyped her up. Then one day, she confided in you. She told you that she and her boyfriend had broken up.
“It was a few months ago,” she said with a sad smile, “the pressure just got too much. We’re friends, though.”
“I’m sorry.” Were you an asshole for leaping on the inside? You couldn’t tell her how you felt three years ago because she was already in a relationship, especially when Zach was a good man, and she was happy too.
Then one night, she kissed you.
It was after a bottle of wine (or two), and you both were on her couch. You felt bold, and your hand ended up over her thigh, feeling the softness of her skin. Her laughter had died down, only breathy giggles now from her plump lips, her intense gaze lighting fires in the pit of your stomach. And before long, she was straddling you and desperately attempting to pull your shirt off.
“I’m going on a trip next week with some mates,” she told you, tickling the back of your neck with her arms resting around it, “come with me?”
You could never say no to her, never when she holds you like this. But alas, you were just messing around.
Ibiza was a nice change of pace from the bustling city; it was sunshine and blue sky as far as you could see during the day, then parties and drinks until the early hours in the morning.
You liked that she knew when to have fun, but not too much to let herself go. She always seemed in control. Her friends were welcoming of you, but you weren’t free of the teasing comments.
“She seems lovely,” one of her friends said, once you had left to the bar. You’d just make out what she said. “Where’d you find her?”
“We met on-set,” Flo answered.
“Good for you, mate. She’s always following you around like a lost puppy, it’s cute.”
A small laugh erupted from Florence’s chest, and you felt something churn in your stomach. You took the drinks from the bartender with a small ‘thank you’, and returned to the group.
You handed Olive her drink, then Flo hers before kissing her cheek. “Your dry martini.”
It was only after you had come back from another party that night, that you thought about it again.
“You okay?” She mumbled, peppering kisses on your bare shoulder, her hand roaming your body.
The thing was, you didn’t mind being her lost puppy. You were too devoted to care.
The media was started to catch up. Pictures of her and you during your sun-soaked holiday started to make headlines, at first because two Marvel stars were seen vacationing together. But then fans began to speculate when more handsy pictures began to surface (a failed attempt by your publicist to keep things quiet), and you suddenly felt the pressure. It was in particular the pictures of you and her splashing each other in the water that did it.
“People need to get a job, christ,” you sat by the island scrolling through Twitter on the private account you made for the sole purpose of lurking.
Florence let out a small laugh as she chopped a bell pepper in half. “Let them talk, hm? We don’t need to concern ourselves with it.”
“It’s a bit difficult to mind your business when it’s shoved in your face every time you open your phone,” you huffed through your nose, extending your foot toward where Billie had chosen to sit by your side to taunt the pup.
“It’s not like you to care about what people think. What changed?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t like people butting into my relationships, that’s all.”
“Well,” she said so casually, “we’re not exclusive or anything, so . . .”
You didn’t know what to say. Billie seemed to have picked up on the awkwardness too, and trotted away to find her bed for a nap.
“Y/N,” she said, but you didn’t look up, “you know we’re just messing about, right?”
“Of course,” you said, shrugging, “it’s what we agreed upon the first time. What? You think I’m in love with you or something?”
“You better not be,” she laughed as you made your laugh over to her side.
“Why not?” You mirrored her laugh, and snaked your arms around her waist.
“‘Cause it’ll complicate everything,” Flo said lowly, “and I don’t like things to be complicated.”
“Alright,” you nodded, taking her chin in your fingers. “Well, I’m not, so.” You pecked her lips.
You didn’t know you could feel the kind of isolation like what you felt when Flo went away. She had gone back to England to be with her family, leaving you all alone in this god-awful town, in Los Angeles, the city of liars and pretenders. You thought you might have become one too.
It was easier said than done, and you thought you could do it. You thought you could be content with just being a fuck, but it was never that easy. You stopped seeing anyone properly ever since you started knowing Flo, and that was three years ago. You knew it was a futile effort to wait, but you waited anyway.
“My nan just gave me this amazing apple pie recipe. I’m gonna make it when I get back,” you let her ramble on FaceTime as you attempted to do work on your laptop.
“Y/N.”
“Hm?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Your nan’s pie recipe,” you replied, turning towards the camera, “can’t wait to try it.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” your voice was started to growing harsher, “‘s fine.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” she said, “Y/N, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you said firmly, “please leave it alone, Flo.”
You didn’t like the way you sounded. You were so harsh to her. A quick glance towards the screen told you she was taken aback by your response, maybe a little hurt too. It was a mistake.
“I have to go, got some work to do,” you sighed, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I’ll call you later.”
“Okay,” Flo said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it. You ended the call before you or her could say anything else.
You sunk back into your chair, and finally let the tears flow and you held your face in your palms.
Hours later, you were clutching your phone, staring at the screen showing your messages with her, trying so hard to say something, anything. The silence was brutal, but it was one you caused yourself. You didn’t want to bother her, but you couldn’t stand it any longer.
Please don’t be upset with me, I was an asshole.
I can’t stop thinking about you all the fucking time.
I think I have feelings for you.
Sorry about earlier. Work is stressing me out.
Mere minutes later, you received a photo message as a response. Your breath gets caught in your throat when you opened it to see what it was. “For your troubles ,” it read, and it was a picture of her in her underwear in bed.
You leaned back and exhaled a heavy breath, as your hand slowly crept down your body underneath your pants.
But it wasn’t the same. You needed her with you, under you, above you, close to you. You wanted to hold her as you came, as you have been lately, hoping she would feel the affection in return.
You counted down the days that you would be meeting her in New York. She had to do press there for a couple of days, and you agreed to spend some time with each other before she returned to the UK for more press. Your manager wasn’t happy when you decided to book your own ticket after she had refuses to book you one because it wasn’t for ‘professional purposes’.
The hotel you booked was close to hers, just by accident, but you decided to hire a cab to bring her over anyway. You had been waiting patiently when she knocked on your door at around 10 at night.
“Hi,” you said softly, walking backwards to let her in.
“Hi,” she replied, tugging at the back of your neck and kicking off her boots, “I missed you.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm, couldn’t stop thinking about you, and this,” you let her explore your body because you had been waiting for her to do so for so long.
You collapsed next to her with a heavy sigh, looking over. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes closed and lips parted, her chest rose up and down. She looked so pure like an angel, but also sinful like the devil. Her eyelids peeled open, and her eyes had turned a deep green when she looked over at you.
She was perfect, and you were enraptured by her in every way.
So you captured her lips in a slow kiss. Low hums bubbled in her throat, as she snaked an arm around your waist.
“I love you,” it came out as the fainted whisper. You froze. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“What?” You breathed out.
“I said I love you,” she repeated, locking you in with kisses along your jaw.
“No,“ you pulled away, shaking your head vehemently, “no, you don’t, Flo. Don’t say shit like that.”
“What the fuck?” Why was she offended? “Y/N?”
“You can’t just say stuff like that without any consequences,” you didn’t mean to snap, but you were pacing around too, “we agreed to just fooling around.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. Why are you so pissed about this?”
“Because you’re being unfair!” You exclaimed. “You don’t love me, but I love you, Flo! I love you. And this, all of this is so unfair.”
“Then why did you agree to it?” She frowned.
“Because—“ there was a lump growing in your throat, “because having some of you is better than nothing.”
“God, Y/N,” Flo sat up, and put her hand in her hands, the sheets barely covering her bare chest. “We should have never done this.”
“So you regret it?”
“No, but I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I knew it was so agonizing for you. Like shit, what the hell do you want from me, Y/N?!”
You stood at the foot of the bed, your fists clenching and relaxing. You felt so small. The light from outside the window scarred her face.
“I want you,” you said defeatedly, “I want you to love me the way I love you.”
She looked at you incredulously, “how long have you had feelings for me?”
You looked away. “I don’t know, like ever since we met I felt something. I just never said anything.”
You heard her grumble under her breath. “I-I can’t right now, Y/N. There are things that I still need to work on. It was really hard where I left off with my last relationship.”
“I know,” you took a seat at the edge of the bed, “I’ll wait for you, until you’re ready.”
“I can’t ask you to wait for me.”
“I’ve been waiting for three years,” you smiled sadly, “I can wait a little more.”
You watched her as she wordlessly got up and gathered her clothes to put them back on. You wanted to speak up, but you could only watch like a ghost.
“Thank you, Y/N, for everything you’ve done for me,” she held your hand, and stroked your cheeks tenderly. “I have never taken you for granted, ever. And yes, I do love you.”
She leaned down to kiss your forehead before heading for the door. You felt the tears welling up, but you spoke anyways.
“When you’re ready, you know how to reach me.”
There was a hint of a smile before Florence turned to the door. When it closed, you felt the stillness of the room, void of the rustling of the sheets when she would turn to the side, her quiet hums of a melody she couldn’t get out of her head, the click of her lighter as she goes to light her cigarette. It was you, and your own sounds now, devoid of bliss, devoid of her.
#florence pugh x reader#florence pugh imagines#florence pugh imagine#florence pugh x you#florence pugh angst
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For @omniman65
Alexei cries as he walks Yelena down the aisle…
Yelena: papa
Alexei: sorry it is just that you are so beautiful
Yelena: and?
Alexei: and I always knew you were perfect for one another!
Yelena hugs Alexei and walks up to meet Y/N at the altar…
#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel fluff#mcu#mcu imagine#mcu fandom#marvel incorrect quotes#incorrect marvel quotes#black widow x reader#black widow#yelena belova x reader#yelena belova#florence pugh#avengers#Alexei red guardian#black widow movie#red guardian
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popcorn bucket
pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (ALL platonic)
synopsis: dune dune DUNE. thats it.
notes: this completely out of genre for me but i genuinely really like these actor!reader fics !! they're soooo good. and the reader is intended to be gender neutral :D OH and no beta read..
"Maude, a.k.a Maude'Dib for Nerdist!" There was a laugh coming from Rebecca Ferguson as you situated yourself next to her. "Hi! How are you guys?" The blonde woman who supposedly to be your interviewer, Maude Garrett, warmly welcomes the two of you with friendly gestures. "This is my first one of these,"
"This is my second actually," you recuperate back a loveable grin, scouting your back towards the chair. "For you... I'd imagine," then cast a glance to your seatmate, for her response.
"I've been doing them but this is my first." As Rebecca situates herself, holding her phone in one hand, and you, patting any creases found on your trousers. "I'm- I'm down to it - I'm googling..."
A short pause but no matter, as you leaned towards Rebecca's screen and read it out loud. "Dune's Popcorn Bucket,"
"Yeah I don't understand, what's happening?" she shifts the screen for you to have a better look before looking up at the interviewer in pure confusion and bizarreness. You knock your head sideways, trying to discern the confusing photo. A small pout forms on your lips as your brain toggles what exactly you're looking at.
"Oh, you don't know about the AMC popcorn bucket?!" The kind woman exasperates, eyes widening in pure surprise.
Not a second later, your eyes look up at the revelation. "Oh, I see it now!"
Rebecca lifts up her phone and presents what the two of you are looking at. "I'm seeing something but I'm not sure what's going on? What it is?" She still didn't understand what it was and you swirled your hips towards her in a swooshing motion.
"You're supposed to put your hand in there and eat the popcorn," Pivoting your head a little, a grimaced look is plastered on your face. "It's the worm!" The camera zooms into your disturbed expression and then cuts to the Garrett looking straight at them, giving a moment for the audience to register what had happened.
Your costar turns to you and her expression quickly switches to a mischievous one. "Oh." Your strained childish smile almost falters as you try to hold your laugh in.
A few significant chuckles from the blonde interviewee while Rebecca looks back and forth from the film crew to you, her, and the camera. "I don't think they had an intern that had a, you know, "different mindset"."
"How uhm,"
"Interesting!
"Sensual!" A short muffled laugh escapes your laugh coming off as a snort as you instinctively cover your mouth out of embarrassment. Rebecca's word of choice definitely caught you off guard which caused some ruckus behind the camera as well.
"How sensual! That's the perfect word for it," The camera pans towards your red puffed cheeks, looking forward nodding alongside the interviewee who is taking the conversation so charismatically well.
"Yes! Yes!"
"You could say you have to ride the sandworm to earn your spots," Garrett teasingly says while Rebecca and you nod in agreement.
"Well look at that. That's what happened back in the days of MGM, but thankfully we've moved on," she replies tiddling with the toothpick in her mouth as you held your breath for a second. A delayed puff comes from Garrett, looking at the actress beside you in shock.
To say the three of you had a blast through the next hour of the interview.
In another interview, you were paired up with Josh Brolin who had played Gurney Halleck. In respect of your character, his pupil, you couldn't help but feel excited because in very few instances had they given you the chance to be in an interview with him.
Lainey Lui who was eager to talk the both of you, sat across from you both in front of a majestic poster of the project. The title, Dune Part Two was shown in its iconic font. The background was a still of one of the sets used in the film which displayed muted colors and curves.
The woman briefly introduced herself and you did the same. Spotting Brolin, you give a small wave before taking the seat beside him where he earnestly wraps his arm around your back. In full comfort and level of readiness, you felt the tiny jitters fly away.
"It's nice to see you two! So what about introducing Gurney and being able to reunite with someone that means so much to him?"
With a variety of cast members, the film was expansive to bring its sets to life. You felt it on day one of filming the first Dune movie. Yet you become more determined to do more when the production of the second film comes. It was phenomenal teamwork, from the film and cast crew. People in wardrobe and makeup were dedicated to making the costumes feel authentic and lived in. The works of Denise Villeneuve is something you've been fascinated with for a while, dating back to his early works.
It all comes back circle to Josh Brolin, remembrance in all of the heartfelt scenes he had done with Timothee of Gurney's and Paul's reunion. He reminds the interviewee that Paul's relationship with him is strong and familial. And that initially the scene was improvised due to their filming schedule.
"He really is like an anchor for him."
"Yeah because for the past nine months, he's been spiraling and lost his family." Brolin nods in agreement, making an analogy with his fingers swirling down in a circle. You couldn't help but feel captivated about what they said, placing an elbow on your knee to better listen.
"And- This means no offense to your character!" Lui, the interviewer almost frantically calls out, moving the attention to you. And suddenly you wake from your trance of listening to being pulled back to their conversation.
"Oh no no! Not at all!" As you try to sweep the worry off, waving your hands in a panic.
A soft chuckle erupts from Brolin, seeing how almost innocently you want to pay no heed to the attention. "Of course, Gurney's moment with Paul could never amount to his and Nerre's- I mean I think their relationship really evolved in this movie than the last one," He sarcastically dismissed, crossing his arms while you dramatically gape at your co-star.
"Of course it did! What are you tryna to say, Brolin?" You leaned forward in your chair towards his direction almost like a child would when wanting to make a point.
"Come on, I hope you're not choosing favorites between your family," The interviewee cutely teases, giving a smile.
"I just think- You know for not having to see him for so long, you could've," It was a tiny joke you and the cast had made before while filming the exact scene he had discussed. In a similar scene to where Paul reunites with Gurney, he reunites with Nerre, your character, his pupil, and has been a father figure too. Shoots were slightly rocking as your reaction to seeing Gurney for the first time on the scene didn't go as satisfactory as Denise Villeneuve had intended. Instead, the two of you (and very much of the crew) couldn't stop giggling at your attempted sad faces. Nerre in the final cut, when meeting Gurney becomes teary-eyed and ultimately cries in his arms. While in actuality, you couldn't take it seriously enough to go rushing to give Brolin a hug. "Put much more of an effort to look happy?"
"That!" You wave an X with both arms, embarrassed how your own co-star would drag you out like this. "I say was very much my fault but we got the take in the end!"
"Sure we did," The older actor aimlessly nods, not once believing your words, having the biggest grin on his face. Evidently, the interview goes smoothly with occasional hits and jabs between the both of you regarding your performance. And sooner it comes full circle back to you and the dynamic of Gurney and Nerre.
"As you've said earlier," your head snaps back to the male actor poignantly, as if mocking, "I don't think Gurney and Paul's relationship would deter anything with Nerre. They're very tight-knitted because we are all family essentially," You spread your hands out as if mimicking a large circle, "I know a lot of people wanted to see Gurney and Nerre's growth and I'm glad we got to see that. But it's essentially Paul that we're seeing spiral toward madness. So it makes sense to see him meeting Gurney more meaningful."
"Yes, it really shows the stakes they all have to deal with!"
"Exactly, my point!" One last look from Brolin as he makes eye contact with you before raising his hand for a high five. Were you now going to compete for Josh Brolin's favoritism against Timothee without his acknowledgment? Of course, you are.
Out in the deserts of Abu Dhabi, the vast bodies of sand were infinite. Much of the crew delivered and prepared props, and essential needs as their number one priority. In it's hot weather and shivering nights, the film production didn't discover much disturbance from the weather. It was rather quite pleasant under it's wake luckily. Some crew were happily taking pictures and filming some of the crew walking around to promote their upcoming project.
"This costume rocks!" You jump off from a small rock platform into the frame of the vertical camera focus and give two thumbs up. You then waved towards the cameraman with an enthusiastic smile. "Good morning!"
"Good morning!" Rebecca Ferguson's shout can be heard on the other side of the set as the view pivots towards her in full costume of robes and blue tattoos. "Another day of shooting!"
Day in and out, the production in Abu Dhabi was fun for you. It wasn't much of a nuisance you had feared due to the sand and hot weather but surprisingly pleasant with the luminescent scenery always present behind every camera view.
In another clip, it's shown in the grand hall at the climax of the movie. Where the massive amount of extras were standing, circling the space in the middle for the camera crew to shoot. Timothee was off in the background, practicing his moves with Austin Butler who supposedly would have a spontaneous battle against each other. On the side, you were happily chatting with Florence Pugh in her exquisite attire as Princess Irulan and Christopher Walken were only a few steps behind. You looked beyond curious and happy. A cute short was captured of you trying to poke the small blades on Florence's costume.
The camera expands to reveal all of the other cast such as Zendaya and Rebecca and Javier Bardem chatting. And Denise Villeneuve improvising a scene with Josh Brolin.
Lastly an endearing story comes from your story of Zendaya dragging you with water as you try your best to stand on your feet. You forget who had your phone (Was it Timothee? Or Josh Brolin?) but they were behind the camera, following you around as you struggled to walk to the table full of water cauldrons.
Zendaya was by your side, having a hand on your back, says, "Come on, you can do it!" An determined yelp for your name and you childishly groan.
"I feel like my legs are gonna fall off!"
"You should've taken more water with you kid!" It was Brolin's voice from the far right which confirms Timothee was the one behind the camera. The set production was a few feet, resulting in why cast members always to bring water. Yet from an odd perspective, you had tired yourself out too much. It was as if you had just run a ten-meter run.
Though it felt a marathon, you were doing fall stunts constantly up and down the hills of sand. And to say you were exhausted was an understatement. A chuckle erupts and the air feels lighter when Javier Bardem arrives into frame, seeing your poor state.
"Drink some more water!"
As your next story slides to you chugging down a full hydro flask of water like an animal thirsting for air. Your female costar beside you looked at you in horror, almost terrified of stopping you.
"Hey slow down!"
This wasn't the final moment of your press for the film. However, it was the most captivating and relishing one. In the room full of your favorite people and an interviewee dedicated to the works of Dune, Naz Perez, you all delved into the complex characters you all portrayed onscreen and discussed the juggling topics of characters, love, and how to ride a sandworm.
One by one, the woman pointed out interesting questions for all of your cast to expand upon and you couldn't help but be pulled into a trance to what everyone said. From the dynamics of the new characters beginnings to the interior struggles they had, the room felt revelating of the dedicated work of Denise Villeneueve.
Until Perez perfectly transitions her attention to you after listening to Austin Butler's performance. "Speaking of elevating performances," A few of the people on the couch cooed and awed as you bashfully clamped your hands together in an innocent manner. Your name is spoken out. "Nerre's transformation in Part Two is really eye-opening. For someone who had started out as a young, skilled, and playful warrior to a more serious and revengeful one, how do you think they helped Nerre evolve as a person?"
"I've wanted to point this out before, yeah Nerre kind of starts out a free-willed comedic character," You nod trying to find the right words to describe your interpretation of your character. "But then after "losing" Gurney and being separated from everyone, they could only look forward towards the perpetrators which were the Harkonnen. And for that, they're consumed with the idea of revenge, taking back what was once theirs, their home. You see this when Paul or the other Fremen question their motives because that's a dark path to go by," Each person you mentioned turn their heads to listen to your words carefully, knowing how dedicated you were to the film.
"Right, and for better and or for worse, they have matured. They're being front about the decisions being made, and what's happening in Arrakis, so tell me the conflicts they must've had to deal with others."
"Mmm I would say a lot of their internal turmoil " You were hesitant to say if it was going to spoiler territory. But glancing towards everyone, made you feel assured you were doing fine. "Is always guarded against others. But upon the last film, I believe the revelation of the destruction of House Atreides opened their eyes to first found war. And it terrifies them you know, you have to put in perspective they were young teenagers. So seeing that and then meeting these new characters who are vastly different and want for change, motivates them to induce war. So it brings conflict to almost everyone because war will attract more chaos." You attempt to piece together your last remaining sentences, looking up and down at the interviewer.
"No words can be better said," Perez dazedly comments, placing a hand over her heart you flaunt lovingly. "Reminds me of a certain psycho."
"Right! You know Feyd-Rautha and Nerre could've been besties!" You snapped your fingers which made both Zendaya and Florence burst out laughing. While Austin stares at you smiling, nodding in agreement.
#dune part two#dune#dune x reader#dune x you#dune imagine#timothée chalamet#timothee chalamet x reader#austin butler#austin butler x reader#zendaya#zendaya x reader#florence pugh#florence pugh x reader#dune cast#paul atreides#paul atredies x reader#paul atreides x reader#feyd rautha#feyd x reader#feyd rautha x reader#Feyd-Rautha#chani kynes#chani x reader#princess irulan#irulan x reader#gurney halleck#lady jessica#stilgar#im delulu
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Twin Size Mattress (yelena belova university AU)
main masterlist || yelena belova || requests
a/n: heyyyy everyone! well i kept my promise one way or another and i finally have a piece written for you all! i’m sorry if it’s not up to par compared to my other stories, but it’s been a while and i feel a little rusty when it comes to this type of thing. i wanted to try something different for this time around and i think i accomplished that. also, let me know if you guys like the university AU aspect of this bc i might just be able to continue it a little bit (i say maybe loosely lol). in addition, i added a fun little moment of adding the outfits the characters would be wearing!! i hope you guys enjoy this new story and hopefully there will be more to come! it’s good to be back🥹🥹i hope to see more of you soon🫶
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pairing: yelena belova (AU) x reader
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ warnings: MINORS DNI (18+) smut, fingering, oral, dom!reader, mentions of alcohol, language
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ description: you and yelena have been going to college together for the past couple years. when a college football game commences, you and yelena spend the day together and finish it off with a bang
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ word count: 3.7k
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ yelena’s outfit
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ reader’s outfit
//
The pressing weight of your backpack dug into your shoulders as you quickly made your way to Yale’s school of art. Though your major was in English, you had connections that allowed you to use the photography facilities located elsewhere. Your bag was full of books, film equipment, and the negatives that you were anxious to develop.
It was college game day, the Harvard vs. Yale game to be more specific, so shoving through blue and red crowds of students was at the bottom of your list. Your trip to the dark room had to be short because even though you hated the idea of all things sports, you felt that tradition outweighed your personal grievances.
As you shut the door to the room and found yourself alone with the quiet, red space, your mind seemed to lighten. The pictures you had brought with you made their way out of your bag and into the developing process. You went through the usual motions until you hung them up to dry. Before you were beautiful headshots and silhouettes of your roommate, Yelena.
While most were taken with the consent of Yelena, there were some too extraordinary to possibly miss out on. The red hues accentuated the curves you so desperately longed to stroke. Of course, this information was unbeknownst to her.
She was the reason why you were so anxious to develop the pictures. Looking through the lense that wonderful day made you so much more excited to see them all finished. The day had been an exciting one. During the summer before the two of you went back to school you had a day at the beach. The weather was perfect, and she was perfect. She wore this lilac swim set that complimented her blonde hair and summer kissed skin so well you thought you would never be able to tear your eyes away from her.
As you went through each picture of her smiling, laughing, and being her usual self you came across the pictures that you tried so hard not to take. Your desire got the better part of you at this moment. The pictures arose of her laying belly down on her towel, a perfect view of her toned back paired with her other curves you could barely speak of. It was hard not to think about that day without becoming wildly sad that she had no idea you liked her with everything inside you.
These few intimate pictures would go where the rest of them are; hidden away in your journal. It was easier this way because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship that you valued so much. But what if she felt the same? You pulled yourself out of your delusions or else you might start to have hope.
She must have read your mind because your phone started ringing and as you pulled it out of your bag, Yelena’s face was vibrating on your screen.
“Hello?” you answered
“Where are you? You better not still be in that stupid dark room!” The sound of massive crowds were loud on the other side of the phone, but your voice drowned out every noise that could be taking place.
“Ha, funny story…”
“Seriously! The game starts soon, y/n. Hurry!”
“You miss me or something, Belova?”
She chuckled once. “And if I did?”
There was silence on your end because your one moment of bravery was already spent, leaving you speechless. “Uhm I’ll start heading your way right now. I should only be about 15 minutes out.”
“Perfect, I’ll save you a seat!”
“Thanks, Lena. Love you, bye,” you said naturally.
It was only then did you realize the words that slipped out of your mouth. Love you, really? You hoped that she thought it wasn’t how you really meant it.
After your stupid mistake, you took your pictures, tucked them away in your journal, and took off out of the building. The day was sunny but the fall crisp in the air took the edge off of the heat from the sun. Even from far away you could hear the triumph of the marching band playing their game day songs. Though your dislike of sports was one thing, there was a certain feeling you got on days like this; the music, the people, the adrenaline, that really made you succumb to the American tradition.
Finding Yelena in the crowd would be the easy part, the hard part would be keeping your eyes off her the entire afternoon. Luckily, she generally picked the same area each game day to sit so it wouldn’t be an extreme challenge to spot her out.
Your suspicion came true when you saw her jumping up and down a few aisles up from the front towards the 40 yard line. She was dressed in her usual Yelena chic, but with a hint of school spirit. You smiled to yourself at her excitement for the game and waited to see if she noticed you walking up to greet her.
“You’re here!” she yelled. She shuffled through other people on her row and fell into your arms. The strong smell of her cologne filled your nose and warmed your heart. You hugged her tightly back and squeezed the leather jacket that was draped around her. “You almost missed the game,” she whined.
“Lena, kickoff hasn’t even started, but I see that hasn’t stopped you from starting early.” You eyed the cold beer she had in her Yale koozie.
“Oh hush and let me be. Now get in there so we can watch.” As you were sneaking past other students Yelena tapped you on the ass and giggled. This was nothing unusual for Yelena, but each time she did it, it made your cheeks glow red.
The two of you settled into your places in the stadium surrounded by a couple of your friends and watched the game begin. The first half of the game was intense with each team up and down on scores. When the buzzer sounded to notify it was halftime everyone seemed to sigh in relief. The crowds started to shuffle again to take a quick intermission before the second half.
“So y/n, what photos were you able to get this time?” Yelena asked.
It was the question you were avoiding answering. If you pulled out the few you wanted to show her, the rest you spent your time hiding would be exposed as well.
“Oh they weren’t anything important, just a couple rolls I hadn’t developed yet.” You tried to play it cool not to give it away.
“Everything of yours is important to me.” Her saying that just made it so much harder to keep them all a secret. “Come on, please show me.”
She gave you her best pouty face and it was so unfortunate that it worked. You rolled your eyes and tried to open the journal in your bag so you could find the pictures you wanted her to see. Once they were all collected you passed them over to her and her face lit up.
“The day at the beach! I remember these.” She flipped through them with a grin on her face. She laughed when the picture of you popped up with your pants soaking yet from the ocean waves. “You were so pissed.”
“Pissed is an understatement,” you added. She smiled up at you and your stomach was tied up in knots. You weren’t sure whether it was the dimples that just so sneakily showed up, her rosy lips, or the bright green eyes that you could finally see without her sunglasses getting in the way.
“These are so amazing— you’re amazing. I need copies of these,” she begged.
“Anything for you,” you smiled.
“Anything?” Yelena smirked.
Your cheeks darkened red. “Shut up.” You shoved her a little with your shoulder.
By the time you showed all your creations off to Yelena the second half of the game was in full swing.
The second was more intense than the first due to Yale being behind for most of the game. Yelena was starting to become too anxious for your liking, and you hoped for her sake that you guys could pull out the win. There was a minute left on the clock and Yelena practically had your arm in a chokehold.
“Fucking run the ball, jackass!” Yelena yelled.
“Hey now, you wanna simmer down a little for me?” you asked, hoping to calm her down a bit.
She chuckled a little and leaned into your arm more. “Sorry, sorry. Anything for you,” she mocked from your previous words.
She quickly turned her head back so she could enjoy the last minute of the game. Her grip only became tighter around your arm as the clock ticked down to the wire. The whistle sounded to indicate that Yale called for a timeout. They needed to sort out their plans if they were going to try and pull out this win. They were down 28-24 with only around 30 seconds to go.
Once they were back in the game the crowd went wild, Yelena included. Number 13 got a hold of the ball and ran all the way to the end zone for a touchdown. Yelena screamed like she never had before and threw her hands up in the air. You cheered along with her at your school’s win. Yelena jumped into your arms out of excitement and you held her tightly as you swept her up in the air.
“We did it, Lena!” you cheered.
She found her footing back on the ground and she grabbed your face and looked into your eyes. “We did it!” The pure shock on your face made her recoil back a bit which resulted in her having matching cheeks just like yourself. “Uh- I- I’m sorry.”
“No, no. You didn’t do anything wrong,” you smiled. “Let’s just get out of here before we’re all packed in.”
You said goodbye to your friends right before a Yelena grabbed your hand to lead you through the crowd. You knew it meant nothing, but having your hand in hers was a dream come true.
When you had made it out of the crowd, it seemed as though the two of you forgot you were still linked together. You quickly broke it off before she could say anything about it.
“So, are we going to keep walking with nowhere to go or are you taking me out?” Yelena smirked.
“Am I what?” you questioned.
“You really are worked up today.” Yelena laughed, but you knew it was true and you didn’t know how else to hide it.
“Why don’t we go back to my dorm? My roommate isn’t there like usual so we could watch a movie or something?”
“Do you have popcorn?” she asked and you nodded. “Then it’s a deal.”
The two of you talked and laughed on the walk to your dorm. Like usual, Yelena made it so difficult to not stare at her. She had such a unique confidence that drew you deeper and deeper into her presence. The way she carried herself was like no other.
When you made it into your room Yelena immediately started searching for your snacks that you kept in the drawers under your bed. You set your things down on your desk and sat down in your chair.
“Do you mind if I borrow some of your clothes?” Yelena asked.
“I don’t know why you even ask anymore, Lena. Your closet consists of half of my clothes anyway,” you laughed.
She rolled her eyes and started taking her clothes off to change. Trying not to watch her change was not easy to come by. You turned around in your chair and pretended to unload your back from the day. What Yelena didn’t know is that your mirror allowed the perfect angle to see different parts of her.
What really got you was the matching black bra and underwear that revealed itself as she took her clothes off. This surprise caused you to knock a few things off your desk in the process, one of them being your journal. Naturally, Yelena turned around to try and help.
“What did you do, get angry and throw things off the desk?” Yelena laughed. It was awful timing to have other pictures that Yelena did not see poking out of your journal. “What are these?”
“Oh, you don’t have to-”
“Y/n, what are these?”
“Just pictures…”
Yelena stared at you puzzlingly as she picked up the journal off the floor and opened it to reveal the hidden pictures inside. Her brows furrowed as she inspected each one in great detail.
“Y/n, these are…so beautiful.”
You stood there staring down at the pictures or anywhere else in the room, just so you didn’t have to look at her.
“Why didn’t you show me these?” Yelena’s voice was softer now, more gentle. “Y/n?”
“I-I don’t know… I guess I thought you would think it was weird,” you replied shyly.
“Why would it be weird?”
Shit. If you told her why then she would know how you felt, but if you say nothing at all that’s not any better. You were stuck.
“I don’t know…”
She searched your face from any indication of an explanation. There was so much happening that you almost forgot Yelena was half naked.
“These are beautiful.”
“Only because you’re in them,” you bravely said.
Yelena blushed, something you didn’t see very often. “Damn y/l/n, you sure do know the way to my heart.”
“I’m serious.” You felt like your world had stopped at the thought of where this was going. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, Yelena. How could I not take those pictures that day?”
Yelena was quiet now. You weren’t sure whether this was good or bad. You were tired of being subtle, especially now that you had her right where you wanted her.
“I don’t know what to say,” Yelena said. Her eyes were full of something you hadn’t seen before.
You looked at her for a moment trying to build up your confidence one last time because you knew if you didn’t then you would never be able to do this.
“For once Belova, I would love it if you said nothing at all.” You stepped closer so you could delicately slide your hands up behind her neck. She looked taken off guard, but she definitely was not fighting it. When Yelena took her hands and placed them around the straps of your overalls and pulled you closer so you were face to face, you knew she might’ve wanted this just as much as you.
“Just kiss me already,” she whispered close enough you could feel the breath on your lips. With her words you threw your lips against hers in a kiss that you waited much too long for. Your lips moved against hers as your hands were tangled in her blonde waves. Yelena pulled and grabbed at anything on you just to make you even closer to one another.
You shifted your position to try and push yourself against Yelena so that she may lean against the bed. You knew exactly what your intentions were as of now, but you were not sure how Yelena would feel about it.
The first brush of her tongue against yours sent shivers down your spine and you weren’t sure if she heard your quiet moan or not. You saved your restraint for so many months, so now there was nothing holding you back. Your lips traveled away from hers to down her soft neck. You placed rough and hungry kisses along the nape of her neck and you could tell just by her demeanor that she was having a hard time keeping quiet.
“Uhm, what about your roommate?” Yelena asked in between heavy breaths
“What about them?”
“What if they, you know, walk in?” You must have found a sweet spot on her neck because her question ended with a whine.
“They’re never here.”
“But what if-”
“Just shut up already,” you said.
You smiled against her lips as you threw her shoulders down on the bed as gently as you could. It was hard to take things slow when you had been craving exactly this for far too long.
As your hungry lips continued to move against Yelena’s, you found your fingers playing with the band of her underwear. Your fingers traced all along the skin that was covered.
“I want to see every part of you that was hiding in these photos,” you said. Your mind went back to the day you took those sexy pictures of her and it made you even more desperate for what was hiding beneath Yelena’s garments.
“I just need you to touch me,” Yelena said, breathless. “Please touch me.”
You were quick to pull down her panties to reveal a sight you never thought you would have the pleasure of seeing. Even the panties that brushed against her pussy made her wince in pleasure.
“Please,” begged Yelena.
After undressing her bottom, in one swift motion you unhooked her bra.
“You want me to touch you like this?”
You placed your lips around one of her nipples as you watched her head fall into the bed. Your tongue made its way to circle around her nipple, slowly building up her desire.
Without thinking, you slightly tugged on her nipple with your teeth. Yelena moaned just loud enough for you to hear. It was the most beautiful sound that you had been dying to hear since you met her.
You wanted to move on further.
“Or I could maybe touch you like this?”
Your hand was almost shaking as it made its way down to get center. Your fingers slowly but surely made small circles on her clit. Now, Yelena was panting with lust and trying to keep quiet despite what you wanted.
“Fuck, Lena. You’re so wet.” You couldn’t help yourself from pointing out the obvious. The wetness that covered her only made yours grow.
Yelena had her mouth covered now, most likely paranoid that others would hear her like she had said earlier.
“I want to hear you,” you demanded.
Yelena was moaning softly through her hand now, a reaction to your words.
“Be a good girl and take your hand away from your mouth. I want to hear you.”
She did as you wished and removed her hand. The hand that previously resided over her mouth was now gripped onto the bed.
You took a minute to admire her before moving on further. Her body was even more gorgeous than you could’ve ever imagined. Her toned arms that held on so tightly to the bed, her curves that wavered like the ocean down her body, and her perfectly kissed skin, just how you liked it.
“Maybe you want me to touch you… like this?”
You went even further and slowly slipped your fingers inside her pussy. As you sunk your fingers deep inside her, Yelena became even more worked up.
“Oh fuck,” she moaned. “Please keep going. It feels so good.”
Seeing Yelena drown in the pleasure of your fingers inside her was something you never thought you would live to see.
“You feel so good, baby.” Yelena seemed to like the name because she let out a long whine. “Good girl. Be louder for me.”
You loved the power you had over her in such a short amount of time.
The pace of your fingers stayed quite steady now. Yelena moaned with each stroke that went deeper in her pretty pussy. There was one more thing that you longed to do before she reached her limit.
“You want me to touch you like this, baby?”
Finally, with your fingers still keeping a rhythm inside her, you lowered yourself down on the bed so that you could taste her.
Your tongue made its way to make contact with her clit. Yelena was the loudest now, and with her noise came her restless body. Much like her, you were just as overcome with pleasure.
Her hips bucked into your face with each increasing second. Your tongue explored every single part of her, almost as if you would never get to do it again. Your fingers sped up now that you could tell she was getting closer.
“Holy fuck, right there,” Yelena moaned. “Keep going, I’m so close.”
“Good job, baby,” you murmured. “I want you to cum around my fingers.”
Your words only sped up the process more. Her hips moved even faster which made it hard for you to keep your pace. Your tongue and fingers moved rapidly as she started to reach the peak of her climax
“I’m gonna cum baby,” Yelena said breathlessly.
All at once, Yelena let out a loud stream of moans that you were sure echoed through the hall in your dorm. You didn’t care. You were happy to have her all to yourself, and now, everyone knew it too.
“Good girl, let it all out,” you praised her.
Yelena laid there on your bed to try and catch her breath. You couldn’t help but watch the result of your doings as she looked so worked up.
You took your last opportunity to soak her body in by kissing all the way up her thighs, stomach, chest, and face. Yelena seemed to be hiding her face a bit, most definitely different from her usual demeanor.
You moved her hand that shielded her face. “You okay?”
She gave a thumbs up
“Does that mean it felt okay?”
She had a surprised look on her face. “The entire hall heard me and you think it didn’t feel good?!”
You laughed. “Just checking.”
You both laid next to each other for a while in silence before Yelena spoke up.
“So…how long have you felt this way?”
“When did you start school here?”
“Uhm…two years ago?”
“Then two years.”
Yelena looked over at you. “Really?”
“Really,” you nodded. “How could I not, just look at you.” Yelena smiled at your words.
“Well, I’ve worked up an appetite after all that fun. What do you say we make some popcorn and watch a movie and pretend like no one heard all of that?”
“That sounds perfect to me.”
The two of you spent the rest of the night in each other’s company talking and reveling in the day’s events. You laid in bed thinking about how happy you were to have taken those pictures that day on the beach.
//
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Hi, would you be able to do a mutual pining yelena x avenger!reader kinda thing where yelena has been ignoring reader because she doesn’t know to how to deal with her feelings and when reader confronts her, yelena admits that she likes her? Mainly angst with fluff at the end if possible. Love your fics!!
── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗶 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂
paring: yelena belova x fem!reader
tag(s): fluff, some angst, mutual pinning, nat being the big sis
warning(s): yel having a hard time admitting her feelings, grammatical errors, unedited
word count: 1.8k
note: Soooooo sorry it took me soooo long to post this. I FUCKING LOVED THIS REQUEST btw. Also guys, it's taking me so long to post fic because a) my laptop is just a bitch and won't work, and b) I guess I'm going through a writer's block and it's kinda hard to find the motivation to write. But I'll try my best. Lots of love, M <3
requests are open! + check my rules + masterlist <3
Your legs were sore, you couldn't feel your arms anymore and you were gasping for air, but it wasn’t over until one of you was down.
“Can’t we take a break?” you whined out as you tried dodging Yelena’s fist but still made contact with your body and you groaned out in pain.
“Focus, Y/n,” Steve called out, before Yelena would punch again.
You knew she was holding back, measuring her strength, she always would when training with you. And you didn’t know if you found that reassuring or mocking. You kicked her in the stomach, but it still did not affect her, it was quite the opposite really.
“That’s all you got?”
“Why? Wanna try something else?” you teasingly said while winking at her.
You got her off guard, she wasn’t expecting your cocky self to show up while training, and seized the moment to swift her off her feet and got on top of her.
“Was this what you had in mind?”
Your hands quickly found her wrists while your body pressed into her abdomen pushing her down so she wouldn’t get out of your hold.
“Okay, I think it’s enough,” Steve called out, sensing you had gone off track.
Both you and Yelena knew that she could easily get out of your hold, but still it took her two minutes to do so. You didn’t want to let her go that easily, you felt your whole body burning just by the thought of her skin against yours, still you stood up and got on moving before the two of you could have a say on what just had happened.
That was how it always went with Yelena, one moment you had the courage to openly flirt with her and a second later you would run back to your dorm second guessing the whole interaction. You wanted to do more, each and every time, but she was so nonchalant about you flirting with her that you convinced yourself that it was just that, a flirty friendship.
And most of the time you were okay with it, playing dumb about your own feelings. But then shit like that would happen, you would brush her skin, or would make her laugh, or just look at her, and the thought of a friendship would fly out of your mind. That was why you would lock up in your room, trying to calm and persuade yourself to not let your stupid feelings get in the way.
And the same stupid thing would happen to Yelena, which you didn’t know about.
“You want to talk about it?” Yelena heard her sister's voice as she watched you heading out the training room.
“I wasn’t holding back, I swear.”
“Not about your punching,” she raised her brow at her little sister.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Yelena shrugged it off as she grabbed her bottle of water and took a big sip.
“Lena, I know you,” Natasha took advantage of the fact that her sister was chugging down water. “I know we don’t do feelings, we don’t trust people. But that was the old us, that was the red room. We have to put that shitty part of our lives behind us for good.”
“And I have,” Yelena scoffed.
“Then why haven't you done something about it?” Yelena knew her sister meant you, she didn’t have to clarify. “At least, give it a go,” Natasha sighed. “If not for you, then for her.”
“She doesn’t—.”
“You never know, Lena. Neither will she, if you don’t tell her,” and with that Natasha left her sister to her own thoughts.
“Suka,” she mumbled under her breath, because Natasha was right. She was always right about everything, it was the power that came with being a big sister—her big sister—, and she hated it when she was right.
She knew she had to do something about it, about you. But the fear of rejection, of feeling unwanted felt too much to bear. She wasn’t going to open up her heart just for someone else to crush it. But maybe, just maybe she could trust you not to crush it.
[...]
Still, it was easier said than done. It took her a full week to finally come to the conclusion that she was, actually, madly in love with you. A week full of stress and anxiety because deep down she felt like she didn’t deserve to have these feelings towards you.
And now that she knew exactly how she felt about you, it fucking terrified her. So she did what she thought was best and put some space in between the two of you. The thought of you clouded her brain and it was starting to affect her line of work, and she couldn’t have that. Being part of the avengers gave her life meaning, and she was not going to let her stupid feelings ruin that for her. Even though she wanted to be close to you, and just melt into your arms.
Of course, her coldness didn’t go unnoticed by you. You were confused, though. It wasn’t like Yelena to just shut you out. Even though you wanted more than just a friendship out of her, you wanted to consider yourself a friend of hers and it hurt that she was just avoiding you.
You didn’t know what was going on, she just felt out of your reach. You asked her sister about it, she just told you to give her space and she would be okay, before muttering something under her breath and went on with her day. You asked Kate and she just completely avoided the topic and changed the subject.
The more she didn’t talk to you, not even glance at your direction, the more you felt like you had done something wrong, maybe she had found out about your feelings and now she was avoiding you because of them. She probably felt uncomfortable about them, she probably wanted nothing to do with you. And who were you to decide otherwise?
You talked to Steve, making sure to not have more training lessons with her, only to find out she had already asked the same thing. You knew it was stupid to feel as if your heart was breaking since you wanted the same thing, but it did feel like shattering to pieces. You just nodded, a tight smile finding its way to your lips and went to your room before shedding any tears.
This whole thing was bullshit. Yes, maybe she didn’t feel the same way you did about her. But the both of you were full grown-ups, you should be professional about it and act like nothing had happened. Because in reality it didn’t, not that you were aware of it. So you decided that you were going to give her a piece of your mind.
You searched for her throughout the entire building and finally found her in the training room. Of course she was there, you should have thought of coming there earlier.
For a trained assassin she didn’t notice your presence, too caught up in her own mind, focusing on her breathing and throwing punches at the boxing bag.
You cleared your throat. “Got a minute?”
She looked over her shoulder, finally acknowledging you there, and you swore you watched as her whole body just tensed up by the sound of your voice.
“I’m kinda busy right now,” she mumbled before throwing two more punches.
“It won’t take long,” you insisted, wanting to get this over with.
“Look, I really need to—.”
You cut her off. “I don’t know who told you or how you found out, but yes, it’s true, okay?” you finally got her attention. “I just thought you would be professional enough to not let this get in the way and pretend like nothing happened. Which is what I also wish for.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You avoiding me,” you quickly mumbled, a tint of concussion in your tone. “I get it, but let’s just put this behind us and act like propper adults.”
“No, I’m aware of that part,” she scoffed, embarrassed to admit to you what she had been up to. “What I mean is, what have I found out?”
Your brows furrowed. “About my… me… and you,” you gave yourself a second to think her words through. “Hold on a second, you don’t know?”
“What don’t I know?”
“You don’t,” you finally added two plus two and realised that Yelena had no recollection whatsoever about your feelings, but still something was off. “Why have you been avoiding me then?”
You watched her as her mouth opened and closed, searching for the right words.
“What did I ever do to you for you to completely avoid me, huh?”
“You did nothing, I just…”
“You just what?” you scoffed, now anger filling your tone. “You just decided it was fun to ignore me?”
“No! God, no.”
“Then what is it?!” the two of you were pretty much screaming at each other.
“Because I like you, damn it!” she finally confessed. “Is it so hard to see?”
Your eyes winded. “You like me? You have been avoiding me because you like me?”
“I know, not my brightest moment. But it's just that you… you just…” she gestured to her brain. “You’re just stuck here, and I can’t get you out. At first I was scared to admit my own feelings to myself,” she took a deep breath. “But then Tasha said something and it made me realise that there’s nothing wrong with having feelings. But then I had to admit to myself that I really fucking like you. And I just… I just got scared because you might not feel the same way, and you might just push me away,” another deep breath. “And I decided that I would push you away first… and so I did.”
“So you like me.”
“Yes,” her brows furrowed. “Was that all you got?”
“I mean… it’s the part that matters most,” you grinned at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I really fucking like you too,” you said cupping her cheeks. “I thought you knew and that was why you were avoiding me. But now I get it, I make you nervous,” you said teasingly.
“I wouldn’t use that word…” you rolled your eyes before shutting her off with your lips, finally giving in and kissing her.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” you whispered over her lips as you deepened the kiss.
Her lips were soft and rough, and they had some saltiness to them due to her being all sweaty. But you didn’t mind at all, in fact you really like it.
“Remember last time we were here?” you whispered in her ear, trailing a path of kiss down her jaw and neck.
“You mean… that time we last trained?” she sounded breathlessly and it sent a shiver down your whole body.
“If I remember correctly, which I know I do…” you gently bit her skin earning a hiss out of her lips. “You were on the grown and I was on top of you, remember?”
“Yes…” she said as her fingers ran through your hair.
“Want to pick up where we left it off?”
Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3
-M
#yelena belova#yelena belova x reader#yelena belova x y/n#yelena belova x fem reader#yelena belova imagine#florence pugh#florence pugh x reader#littlexscarletxwitch's fic#requests by lovely anons ‘๑’
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