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romanoffsbish · 2 years

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This Could Be Fun…💋

Florence Pugh x Fem!Reader

Smut: Thigh riding (R), Choking(R), Fingering (R), Face-Riding(F), Double-Ended Strap(R/F), Light Role-Play(Yelena 🤪), Squirting(R), Jealousy, Mommy(F), Good Girl(R), Really soft shit, and kinda humorous if you squint.

Minors DNI | 18+ |

Anon Request: Hi can I request a Florence Pugh X Fem Reader where Reader accidentally told Florence that her favourite character that Florence played is Yelena. So one day when Florence finished filming for a Yelena scene, she went home with the costume and talked in a Russian accent and R is turned on, thank you!

I realize now that I kinda deviated in how Flo found out, but I promise the core concept of reader being horny for Yelena is there 😂

“My beautiful girl, can you bring the popcorn?" Florence calls out to you from the couch, she'd already gotten rather comfy in the cocoon of blankets, and couldn't be bothered to get up. "Already on it baby." You announce as you're settling down beside her with the bowl, an array of candy and two ice cold cans of Cola.

Florence softly smiles at you, admiring your soft, beautiful features, and efficient nature. Leaning forward she makes a move for the popcorn, but she'd really been on the move to steal a kiss. Your shocked squeaks lead her to giggle into the kiss, and she soon pulls back triumphantly, her heart absolutely fluttering at the sight of your adoring expression, lips now tingling, and with a hand covered in butter.

—————————————————————

"Shall we begin then?" Florence smirks to herself at the residual shock that laces your tone, she opts for reaching over you to grab the remote, pressing play in silent confirmation, leaning into your side and fixing her gaze to the screen as your Marvel movie marathon begins.

Once the bowl of popcorn had been finished Florence laid against the back of the couch, her hands tugging at your shirt so you fall in line. Instantly melting into her embrace, and lacing your fingers with her own over your abdomen. Moments like this are everything to the actress, filming tends to take her away a lot, so in the rare softer moments like these she soaks it up; it's no secret, you've always been her safety net.

Your job is equally as tiring, so she knows just how much it's taking for you to even keep your eyes open long enough to watch the sequence of all of 'Natasha's best films' as you requested, and being the Scarlett stan that Florence is she had no problem conceding to the request. Currently though she'd been forced to watch herself traipsing around the screen, and as much as she loves her acting gig there's just something odd about seeing yourself up there.

In an act of avoidance her eyes instead fell to your calmed face, your obviously tired eyes managing to still hold such attention as you watched your long time lover on the screen. Florence herself hadn't realized it yet, but as much as you loved Natasha, Yelena had been the focus of your current affection, something about your girlfriend in the skin tight suit flawlessly kicking ass, coupled with her deep Russian accent had you feeling things.

Granted, you'd both been far too exhausted to handle those sorts of needs, but it didn't stop your bodies squirming whenever she'd do something on screen that caught your eye. Florence was a bit perplexed at your sudden inability to stay still, but even in her exhausted state she began to notice a pattern within your movements—you were turned on, and had she not caught your eyes shamelessly transfixed upon Yelena's—her—body she might've even been offended, but she now found herself beyond excited.

A great amount of devious thoughts flooded her mind while you finished the movie off, none the wiser to your girlfriends findings. Florence's hand covered yours on the remote, "Baby love, I think it's time we call it a night.," Your lazy grumblings of refusal were met by her deep laughter, the natural rasp doing nothing at all to satiate the built up tension between your legs, and she knew it too.

"We both work tomorrow morning, and if we watch another movie then you'll be a grump.," You roll around in her hold to tiredly glare at her, and she audibly aww's at the sight of you. "Goodness Y/N/N, you're just so adorable.," Her laughter only increased when your glare deepened, and you tried to escape her grasp.

"'M not adorable, I'm a monster, hear me roar." You tiredly slurred, a pathetic whimper meant to be a roar falling from your lips, and Flo just stares at you with wide eyes., "Yeah, you're my tired, adorable baby, close your eyes now...," Her hand then rubbing soothing circles against your temple cuts your deluded protests off, and an accomplished smile overtakes her features.

"I love you Lena.," Florence holds back a snort so that she doesn't give way to your slip up, no, she plans to instead use it to her later benefit. "I love you too Y/N/N...," she observes your tired smile as she places a kiss to your temple, then she too slips into a blissful nights rest.

——

Florence had been so busy all month long that you'd barely had a chance to see her since the movie marathon, and it's been nothing short of dreadful for you, waking up alone most days, and craving the warmth of your lover always. Between her prolonged days of shooting her newest Marvel project, to doing a press tour for her upcoming movie with the likes of Zendaya she'd barely been home.

Not to mention that when she was home she'd usually only have time to eat, sleep, and lest we forget torture you as she lived her day to day speaking in her entirely too hot Russian accent so that it'd be consistent when she was filming. Your need for her only being heightened every time she spoke to you with said inflection. Little did you know Florence saw every time you squeezed your thighs, or held your breath, and she was having the time of her life teasing. Truthfully, she couldn't wait for the day she could finally have you, and thankfully, today was her final day on set, she told you she'd be home a little later than expected, but that she should at least be home in time for dinner.

So, you'd then spent all day preparing for the reunion, cringing as you cleaned up around the forgotten about house, then again when you spent the early evening pampering yourself. Now, you're stood in the kitchen recreating one of her 'Cooking with Flo's' recipes for her, and recording the whole thing too, all while dressed in only a gorgeous red, lacy pair of lingerie.

Once satisfied with the food, having seasoned her wrap fillings with a tinge more spice than your own you'd wrapped them up and settled them into the fridge. Then you headed off upstairs to change, or better yet, to throw something onto your body, because as much as you'd love to be taken on arrival you also felt like slowly wooing her would be equally as fun.

A black halter top dress that left you braless, and tightly squeezed against your body in all the right places is what you settled on wearing for the at home dinner with your girlfriend. Adding on a select few silver pieces to entice the woman's gaze upon your breasts and hands. Finally, settling on a bare face as Flo has told you she very much preferred you that way, your lips the only thing glistening as you'd applied just a thin layer of clear gloss.

With a last look over you sighed at the sight of yourself, the anticipation for what's to come filling you with an anxious excitement as you made your way down the stairs; collecting the food, two flutes, and a ice bin with a bottle of merlot tucked within as you made your way to the shaded patio to patiently await your lover.

—

Florence was as quiet as a mouse when she finally entered the house, shh-ing the awaiting dog, then making sure the coast was still clear as she quietly ran up the stairs. The only reason she was even running late was because she'd been planning to pull a Scarlett Johansson, and had to wait until Hailee texted her the all clear before she sprinted off to her car with the stolen goods, instantly throwing it into drive, and smirking the whole way home as she'd successfully completed her heist.

Shooting off a text, "I'm about twenty minutes out my love, I'll meet you out back. 😘❤️," she then set her phone with live footage of the deck onto the counter of your shared bathroom. Nerves of all sorts causing her skin to itch and burn as she squeezed her body back into the tight suit she'd adorned for months on end, and it never seemed to get any easier either. Yelena's signature rings were her own pieces, so they'd remained on her fingers all day.

The only dilemma the woman was met with was the length of her hair, it wasn't long anymore, so the typical braid wasn't an option. Fortunately for her though you loved her short locks, so there was no need to waste her time with applying extensions. If anything, you're getting an exclusive Yelena that no one else ever will, so she settled on slicking her hair back, applying a thick layer of eyeliner followed by a pink tinted gloss, then she left the room with a spritz of cologne and a cheeky smile.

—

Florence was running a tad bit late for your liking, as dinner was usually at 7:30 at the latest since both of your bedtimes had slowly gotten earlier as the years had flown on by. You'd no longer been the carefree idiots who spent their nights dancing away their sleep, to then spend their mornings chugging down coffee before racing off to your respective jobs. No, now you two spend your nights inside, watching movies, or entertaining new hobbies. Like Florence's newest obsession with knitting, at this point you already had a new set of Fall attire.

Nevertheless, you both have the next week off, so with what you'd already had in mind for tonight the bedtime wasn't much of an issue. Still, it was approaching eight o'clock, and your patience was wearing thin the longer you were left to stare at the enticing bottle, so you popped it open and poured yourself a glass.

"Oh detka... What ever happened to patience? Thought you were my good girl," Your spine straightened as her low, accented voice sent shivers throughout the entirety of your body. Florence took great pleasure in seeing just how quickly she could have you begging for her if she played all her cards right tonight.

Florence takes a few long strides in your direction, hands on your shoulders to keep you facing away, not wanting the reveal to happen just yet., "Dinner smells good moya lyubov'.," she whispers into your ear, smirk present as she places a soft kiss behind your ear, loving the way you squirm under her touch entirely too much at the Russian terms of endearment.

"I-I made your famous lettuce wraps, why don't you take a seat, and I'll pour you a glass." You stutter as Florence's lips brush across your bare shoulders, and you are encased in the aroma that is your favorite cologne of hers., "How considerate of you honey...," She purrs, lips parting to harshly suck at your warm skin, and pulling a shocked moan from your throat.

Florence drags her hand over the freshly marked skin, goosebumps rising as the cold metal moves across the heated surface, and she smiles, appreciating how reactive your body is. "Sit now and there might even be a show...," you lowly tease, finally getting your mind in check, Florence slowly pulls away from you, totally admiring your renewed confidence, "Ooh, dinner and a show, color me intrigued.,"

Slowly she moves around the table, smirking with her back to you when she hears you gasp. Your mouth had suddenly run dry at the sight of your lover in her suit, the accent and pet names all making sense now as you see her. Her short blonde hair was slicked back with a little volume added to her bangs, giving her a soft look that completely contradicted the way she was carrying herself in the suit. It was as if her confidence had transcended it's normal bounds, and as hot as it was, it was not helping you keep your cool in the slightest.

Slamming back your wine you quickly pour yourself another, then move to fill hers as she settles in her seat across from you wearing a smug smile. You somehow manage to avert your gaze from the alluring woman sat before you, moving about silently to serve the food, and just as you were about to take your seat Florence yanks you into her lap, chuckling lowly as you squeal, and then within the next second she's pulling you into a deep kiss, her tongue shoving it's way into your mouth while her hands felt you up over your thin dress.

"The food smells delicious honey..." Florence cooly compliments, as if she's completely unaffected after making out with you, while you're left there sat on her lap gasping for air. You want nothing more than to make her squirm, so once you regain some composure you shift around in her lap, the hand on your hip telling you vacating completely wasn't exactly an option., "Thank you Flossy..."

Florence began to eat her lettuce wrap, a moan of approval falling right against your ear as she leans over you to keep the both of you clean. Her every attempt at making you squirm was beyond effective, and it was getting annoying. While she was distracted you reached across the table to grab your phone, pulling up the video., "Flo, I did promise you a show..."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You're stood in the kitchen, a perplexed expression on your face as you settled the phone down, and as soon as you were sure it's recording you're smiling like a total dork., "Hello everybody, welcome back to another cooking with Y/N/N!" You shriek towards the camera., "Today we'll be making my beautiful girlfriend, Florence Pugh's, famous lettuce wraps, but first, let me tell you..." You pause, fanning yourself down with your hand for emphasis., "It's really fucking hot in here...,” Then with a rather smooth movement your oversized shirt is flying across the kitchen, revealing your new lingerie set, a deep shade of red that reflects against you perfectly.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Florence's hand harshly grips at your hip, her other reaches out to pause the video, and a harsh breath is released., "Detka, care to define everybody...," You giggle over a bite of your food., "Oh, wouldn't you like to know...," you shift in her lap until your noses are touching., "Tell me Flossy, what if I told you I was on live, how would that make you feel honey? Knowing that everyone else saw what was yours.."

Florence's hand swiftly wraps around your throat, squeezing harshly to cut your taunting off, and as you gasp she pulls you in for a possessive kiss, "Don't fuck with me on this.," she growls against your lips, and you whimper when she bites your bottom lip harsh enough to draw blood., "I-It was just for you Flo..."

She releases her hold on your throat, and pulls back with an accomplished smirk., "Good girl.," Florence chuckles as you whine with obvious need, leaning over you she presses play on your phone, then her hand lands atop of your thigh, and you sigh, knowing damn well it's nowhere close to an innocent touch.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

With a knife in hand you begin to chop up the fillings: tomatoes, mushrooms, zucchini, and garlic, then just as you finished dicing it all up you leaned onto the chopping block. Your breasts were spilling over the edge of your brazier., "You know, the thing I love most about this dish is just how simple it is.," you smile softly as you slide all the fillings into an already sizzling pan, and then you lift your glass of water to your lips., "Really, all I had to do was cut up a few vegetables, and voilà."

You settled your glass on the counter when your playlist landed on Naughty Girl by Beyoncé., "I love this song!," and your hips immediately began to move along to the beat.

"Tonight I'll be your naughty girl, I'm callin' all my girls, we're gonna turn this party out.," You sing along, "I know you want my body.," your hands travel slowly over your breasts, slightly pushing them to cause them to briefly spill out, then down your abdomen before you spin around and give her a teasing view of your ass.

You spin right back around, throwing a sweet wink to the camera., "I love to love you baby (I love to love you baby)...," then you're slowly returning to the stove to stir up the nearly finished food while still unconsciously moving along with the beat., "See? Easy peasy..."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

While watching the scandalous dancing her right hand not so subtly made its way up your leg, and under your dress as you'd expected. She gasped when her hand discovered your, bare, wet core, "Fuck, you're such a whore.," Florence used both of her hands to manhandle you until your dress was bunched up at your hips, a loud moan leaving your throat as your cunt is pressed into her leather covered thigh., "Moya krasivaya angel, ride my thigh...," she breathlessly whispered into your ear, her lips latch onto your shoulder, sucking harshly in a feverish attempt to mark you up, as her hands then rose up to pull your dress down from the top as well, blindly grasping at your breasts.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You finished plating up the lettuce wraps, lifting the plate up to show off the final product to the camera, smiling proudly as you did., "I'm adding some hot sauce to this set because my sweet girl like's it a bit spicy..." You playfully muse, winking at the camera before blowing your love a kiss and ending the video.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"Oh fucking hell.," You groan, the leather of her suit now drenched as you fall over the edge and into a state of bliss., "Well damn detka, how am I going to return this suit back to the set now?" Florence taunts, her own accent briefly slipping through as she can't exactly contain her amusement., "Don't.," you quietly plead, and her eyebrows furrow at your unwavering attraction to the Russian spy she plays on screen., "Listen honey, I know you love Yelena, but I don't think I can really compete."

It was playful enough, but the insecurity was still lying somewhere beneath her words so you shifted, groaning as your sensitive folds were made to slide across the leather as you did so., "Oh lovey, there's absolutely no competition.," you coo, hands cupping her cheeks to pull her into a soft kiss., "I love you both the same.," you then teasingly whispered against her lips, bursting into laughter when she pushed you backwards and stood up with you in her arms.

Grumbling the entire way into your house you couldn't fight the way her unnecessary jealousy had amused you., "Oh Flossy, I promise my love for Yelena is only face value, and that's because she shares your likeness... Please, let's get you out of the suit, and I'll show you just how much you mean to me my sweetest girl..."

She failed to respond to you, leaving you to ponder if she'd actually been hurt by your previous statements., "Flo?," she ignored you, tossing your barely covered form onto the bed, then straddled you as best she could before her lips were slamming into yours with clear purpose, her tongue sliding into your mouth while her strong hands rip the offensive dress pooling at your hips in half, and you whimper as a new wave of arousal courses throughout your body at her show of pure strength.

Every simple touch of hers sends your nerves alight, and you find it exceptionally hard to breathe once her fingers collect your wetness that's been slowly dripping onto the sheets, and without much warning her digits slide right into your awaiting cunt, your warm walls more than welcoming as they suck her right in., "Shit!" She curses, pulling away from your lips and trailing her kisses down your jawline as her fingers continue to brutally pump into you.

Already sensitive from your previous orgasm it doesn't take long for the blonde to build you up, and she knows it to by the way your hips are moving against her thrusts, and by just how shaky each breath you take in is. Not wanting to miss this one she trails her kisses back up your jaw, then after placing a firm kiss to your lips, and enjoying the way you can barely keep up with her she leans on her elbow to see you.

Watching every twitch of your face when she rubs against that spot deep within you, and with her own needs emerging she didn't hold back anymore, her pace increased, the sounds of your wetness filling the room along with your never ending string of moans as her thumb began to rub fast circles on your clit. "Come on, let go for me detka, I want you to come undone all over mommy's fingers.,"

As soon as the words left her mouth your walls were fluttering around her fingers, the title having always been like her secret weapon., "That's right honey, look at you fucking my hand, always trying to be mommy's good girl.," Your legs were shaking as she slammed her fingers into you against the building resistance, your back arching off the bed as your vision became spotted, and with a final scream that left your throat burning your orgasm had ripped right through you, and drenched the woman's hand.

Florence watched in absolute awe as your body trembled beneath hers until you were suddenly falling slack against the mattress, and then her eyes were fixated on the slick that covered her fingers as she slowly pulled them out of you., "Fuck..." she was absolutely reeling as she popped them into her mouth, your delicious arousal coating the entirety of her tastebuds.

Florence felt the wetness pooling between her legs steadily increasing at the sight of your blissed out face, a truly uncomfortable feeling when one is wearing a skintight leather suit. Every little noise you made only made her that much needier, "Fuck! I'm going to ride that pretty little face of yours, and then I'm going to leave you a babbling mess as I fuck you dumb with my cock, sound good printsessa?"

The blonde laughs, a deep raspiness settling within her tone as she watched you violently nod in agreement., "Use your words...," you then took in a set of deep breaths, still trying to recover yourself., "Please mommy, I want you to ride my face, want to taste you so bad.," Florence groans, lips latching onto yours while your shaky hands fidgeted with the zipper of her suit, eventually managing to push it all the way down, but getting it all off of her proved more difficult than either of you anticipated.

Florence leaned back, straddling you as she fought to get her arms out of the clingy fabric, you watched on excitedly as her breasts fell free, and it took all of your strength not to reach up and grab onto them, Florence smirked down at you when she realized what you'd wanted, but her unrelenting need to have your tongue deep inside of her temporarily overruled your mouth around her nipples.

"Shit!" She cursed, jumping off the bed to shimmy out of the remaining piece of the suit, and sighing once a stream of cold air rushed over her heated core. Florence went to climb back into the bed, but she managed to trip over the heap of leather on the floor, squealing as her upper body landed on the mattress.

Your pure laughter truly warmed her heart, and melted away the budding annoyance. "What's so funny?," she asked in faux anger, her face now hovering above yours as she had finally managed to climb back onto the bed. Your eyes widened, "That's what I thought." After a quick peck to your lips, and a reassuring wink she was now smiling down at you as her puffy, dripping cunt hovered over your chin., "Go on now baby, show mommy just how much she means to you.," you didn't have to be told twice either, your arms anchored around her thighs to hold her down, and your tongue licked a broad stripe through her folds, moaning as soon as you got a taste of your lovers sweet arousal.

Florence wasted no time in meeting your tongues efforts either, grinding down and smearing her abundant arousal all over your face, and your mind was absolutely blissed out. If there was one place you'd like to be for the rest of your life it was between Flo's thighs, and the woman loudly moaning above you had no pending complaints with the idea either.

With every delicious thrust, and swirl of your tongue Florence's hips would grind in rhythm, and once you managed to angle your face it was a wrap for the woman; your nose managing to rub against her clit in just the right way that had her screaming your name as her body lurched forward into the headboard, and had her releasing into your mouth.

After you'd managed to gather every last bit of her arousal until she was whimpering mess atop of you she slowly removed herself, and climbed down the bed until her lips could meet yours for a slow kiss, a far cry from every other shared tonight, and the love was overflowing. Her tongue swirled around the roof of your mouth, remnants of your arousal still remained on her tongue as she got a taste of her own when her tongue slowly slid around yours.

Once Florence was content with the soft moment shared she slowly pulled back, chuckling when your lips began to chase hers, "Oh sweet girl, I'm about to fucking ruin you..." You barely had time to register her words before she was clambering off the bed and to the drawer full of toys where she collected the thick, harness-less double ended strap, slipping her end in with relative ease, but groaning all the same at the sudden fullness she felt.

Her eyes were blown out when she stared at you from beside the bed, slowly approaching you as if you were her prey meant for nothing less than devouring, and honestly, in the moment it was not an untrue statement. Florence slowly climbed back into the bed, with far more grace this time around, and her eyes never lost sight of your own, internally beaming at the healthy fear that was settled beneath your outwardly calmed stare.

“Look at mommy’s good girl, patiently waiting for me to give you what you need… Color?” Your body shivered at the thought of her earlier promises., “Green mommy…,” Flo smirked at your eagerness, and with an unannounced quick thrust she’d bottomed out inside of you. “Fuck!” Your hands were quick to grip onto her shoulders, nails digging into her skin, and the pain of it all was quickly overlooked by the both of you when she began to rock her hips.

Florence’s pace was nothing short of brutal, and when you had managed to latch onto her nipple as it continuously flitted over your mouth with each harsh thrust of her hips she found she was able to fuck into you even faster. The blonde was near the edge again, and with how tightly you were clinging to her strap she knew you were too, but she wanted to see you coming undone, so without warning she used her strong arms to flip the both of you., “Ride my cock baby, come on, I know you can do it.”

Somehow you managed to find the strength to rise up, your mouth relinquishing it’s hold on her breast, and your hands then replaced it as you used them for leverage when you began to bounce. Florence’s hands were quick to aide you, settling on your hips as she guided you over her cock whenever your movements so much as faltered. The view of you never failed to keep her aroused, your blitzed out face, your gorgeously bouncing tits, and your pussy that was completely devouring the strap was more than enough to push her over the edge when the strap rubbed against her just right.

Her back arched off the bed, and her hips thrusted up into you so harshly that you fell forward with a scream, your lover was still able to catch you in her dizzy state, and was quick to twist and slam you into the mattress again. Fucking you through your orgasm, and sending you directly into the buildup for the next one, and her never faltering hips got you there fast. In her attempts to prolong, and reach another high of her own she actually had you on the verge of passing out.

Florence was absolutely stunned when after another few thrusts she felt your arousal as it drenched her thighs, and the bed beneath. Coupled with your distant, glazed over eyes, and incoherent babbles, it had her keeping to her promise and then some. The fact that you just squirted left her feeling accomplished, and was so fucking hot that she collapsed into your body as her high came crashing right over her.

While your muscles continued to lightly spasm, and your eyes were closed your girlfriend slowly crawled out of the bed, disposing of the drenched strap, as she then ventured off into the bathroom on shaky legs on a hunt for a warm washcloth so she could clean you up. When she returned she found you blankly staring up at the ceiling, your chest having somewhat returned to a normal rise and fall, and she slowly made her presence known with a finger tracing over your thigh.

“Hey sweet girl, I need to clean up…” She cooed, then with a nod from you she ran the cloth over you, starting with your face, followed up by your thighs, and with a hand on your hip to hold you down she lightly ran the rag over your most sensitive parts., “Shh, it’s okay love.”

Then she lifted you off the bed, placing you on the toilet while she expertly exchanged the bedding out, and returned to the restroom with your favorite shirt of hers, and a pair of panties that she quickly dressed you in before handling the remainder of both of your nightly hygiene. As fast as she’d removed you, she had returned you to the comfort of your shared bed, then after dressing herself she climbed in beside you, and ran her fingers down the side of your body while watching your eyes slowly regaining a semblance of consciousness.

“That was so fucking hot Flo, I never realized you’d figured out all about my secret crush.” You managed to say as you finally came back to earth, and the blonde cackled as she stared you down., “Baby, it was kind of hard not to notice when you squirmed every time I came onto the screen.” You giggled, and attempted to bury your face into the pillow, but she was quick to stop you, cupping your cheeks and gently pecking your lips.

“Ooh, maybe I can dress up for you next time!,” Florence snorted loudly against your shoulder, “Yeah? As who?,” You quirked your brows as you gave it a good pondering., “Princess Leia?” Florence burst into a fit of laughter., “Baby, since when have I ever shown interest in her?”You shrugged, burrowing further into the bed as you adoringly stared up at your girlfriend with those beautiful, tired eyes of yours.

Florence noticed your exhaustion, and the ways you were desperately trying to fight it. She leaned forward to softly kiss your forehead, followed by your nose, then finally your lips., “We’ll revisit this later baby; for now let’s get some sleep, and come morning we’ll take a relaxing bath together then order in, okay?” You nodded gratefully, nuzzling into her, and placing a kiss to her neck as you settled in.

“Goodnight my love.,” Florence coos, lips gentle as they lay a kiss to the top of your head., “Goodnight Lena.,” you tiredly mumble, and your girlfriend huffs when she thinks you’ve subconsciously chosen her character once more, but your uncontainable laughter, and shaking body lead way to the truth., “You’re such an asshole!,” she groans as she pushes away from you, but you do your best to hold her tight.

“Yeah, but I’m you’re asshole…” She hums, resettling into the spot beside you as she pulls you close, “That you are, my lovable ass.” You chuckle., “Goodnight Flossy, I love you.,” The blonde smirks., “and I love you too detka…”

—————————————————————

5,480 Words

Ahem, I’m going to touch some grass now, this was a Tumblr request and I made it outlandishly whoreish

❤️ Kaitlyn 🥵💋

#yelena belova #florence pugh #florence pugh oneshot #florence pugh pov #florence pugh imagine #florence pugh fluff #florence pugh smut #florence x y/n #florence x you #florence x reader #florence x fem!reader #florence pugh x female reader #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x you #florence pugh x y/n #yelena belova x fem reader

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mutlifandomloverblog · 3 months

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Oh god. The things I'd let this woman do to me... woof

#florence x reader #florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #yelena belova #black widow x reader #mommy... not sorry

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randombush3 · 1 year

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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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1d--louhaz · 1 year

Text

After Show Surprise (HarryxReaderxFlorence)

AN: This is my first time writing something like this and it sat in my drafts forever so lmk what you think. As always idk how to finish a story so I may continue it, there’s not much harryxreaderxflo content on here but I liked writing abt it so if you have thoughts or ideas reply or ask!

WC 1.8K

Tonight is Harry's last night at MSG, you are beyond proud of him and ready for the few days he has off before moving to his next residency. You have seen this show enough times that you know when he is almost finished with his set, so you slip away from your seat to set up a surprise for Harry in his dressing room. After a show, he has so much adrenaline pumping through his veins and he can't wait to get back to the hotel to rip your clothes off, so as a surprise for his last night you thought you'd let him have a sneak preview. Usually after the show he comes back to his dressing room and has some alone time as he comes down from the high of being on stage.

You quickly make your way to the room; having been there for 2 weeks you finally have a good understanding of all the hallways backstage. When you get to Harry's room you find your bag and begin changing clothes. You can hear Harry start his final goodbyes, so you know you have about 5 minutes until he gets off the stage and makes his way to you. You switch out your usual concert fit of ripped jeans and a cropped tee, for a sexy black body suit. It's a combination of lace and satin, with the lace detail in just the right spots so you can show off all your assets. You pair the bodysuit with a satin robe and get comfortable on the couch while you wait for Harry to get back. You sit back right in the middle of the comfy, oversized leather couch, cross your legs, and drape the robe off your shoulders so everything is on display.

You're looking down adjusting your top when you hear the doorknob click open. You look up, smiling ready to greet Harry but there's much more shock than enthusiasm in his eyes. Before you can register the message his face is sending you, you catch a flash of blonde hair move behind his shoulder and hear a melodic singsong "Surprise, Y/N!" You would recognize that voice anywhere. Florence, now standing beside Harry as he quickly shut the door, got a full view of your surprise.

"Erm, Y/N, Flossie was able to make it to the second half of the show and we were gonna surprise you." Harry laughed, walking toward you. "But I see now I should have given you a heads up because you had other plans for tonight." You laugh along at Harry's comment trying to cover up how mortified you are in this moment, instinctively you pull your robe closed over your chest. "Obviously I am a little underdressed," you state trying to make a joke to feel less awkward. You stand up to kiss Harry and try to act normal when you turn to Florence. "This is a wonderful surprise! I am so glad to see you, just wasn't expecting it," you hug her too.

"This is embarrassing," you blush, looking down. "Give me a second and I'll get dressed." Florence takes your chin and tilts your head up, "there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you're stunning. Have to say, also not what I was expecting, but I can't complain." She smiles and nudges Harry, "Is this the kinda treatment you're getting every night, H? I'm kinda jealous."

"I know, I'm a lucky guy," he responds, smiling at you and taking your hand. They're being so complimentary you almost forget how exposed you are right now. "You guys are too much, but still, let me put some real clothes on. Come and sit," you lead them to the couch you had been sitting on, and as you turn to find your bag of clothes Florence grabs your arm. "Don't worry, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. I mean, you've seen more of the two of us on set anyway. Plus, I won’t be long, I don't want to spoil whatever you had planned for the evening."

Still semi-reluctant, you settle on the couch next to her and catch up for a few. You and Harry had been on tour for ages, and it had been so long since had time to talk. The three of you sat on the couch together laughing and catching up. Harry opened a bottle of wine, a few rounds later, hours that felt like only minutes had passed. You felt like it was getting colder, you looked down and realized your robe was slipping off. You were suddenly aware again that you were in fact basically naked and quickly fumbled with the robe. Florence stopped you, "you don't need to do that," and she reached up and brushed the hair out of your face.

You felt all of your blood rush to your face, as the thought of Florence flirting with you finally registered. You glanced up at Harry, but he was, as usual, hard to read. The two of you had been with a third in the past but never anyone you actually knew. And as far as you know, Florence didn't know about that, so she was coming to this conclusion all on her own. Harry wouldn't have ambushed you with this so he couldn't have set it up but thinking back three glasses of wine deep you were probably putting the energy out there all on your own.

Feeling all the tension, Florence spoke first, "Sorry if that was too forward, but I've been thinking it all night." Although you had never really talked to Harry about inviting Florence into anything with the two of you, you had considered it. It was hard not to, spending all that time on set with them watching them together and their chemistry and imagining yourself in the scene with them.

"Don't worry about it," you reply to her. "It's crossed my mind too." Suddenly you notice every detail of her face, and how her chest rises and falls with every breath. You look up to Harry again to get a sign of what the next step should be and the look on his face seems to say it all. You can tell he's studying the energy between you and Flo the look in his eye says he likes what he sees.

You turn back to Florence, but before you even say anything, she is slipping your robe the rest of the way off your shoulders, exposing your skin to the cool air, your nipples poking through the lace. She cups your face in her hands and pulls you in, embracing your lips with hers. They're much softer than you expected, kissing her is gentle and warm. You intertwine your fingers in her golden curls, deepening the kiss, your tongue find hers, her hand finding your breast. She takes your nipple between her finger and thumb and rolls it meticulously, bringing a soft moan from your lips.

You feel Harry's hand on your waist from behind. He places rough, wet kisses to your neck, as his hands explore your body too. They know their way around you too well, and he finds exactly what he's looking for. He finds your core between your legs and begins to massage you.

Placed between them, there is such juxtaposition to the way they each kiss you; yet, there's so much passion coming from both sides. You begin to pull Florence's jacket off her shoulders, and she quickly helps you with the process. Your lips break apart just long enough for you to pull her dress over her head. "Perfect, now we're even." You smile. She is wearing a white bralette, just as see through as your top, nipples perfectly poking through.

Harry is still using his expertise of your body against you; you can barely think straight. Before you combust, you lift your hips off the couch, forcing Harry's pursuit to pause, and push Florence onto her back. You begin kissing down her body. Starting with slow, soft kisses on her neck. Then you move down her chest, placing gentle nips and kisses. You massage one of her breasts in one hand while slipping the other out of her bralette. She hums her content as you kiss your way to her core. You leave gentle licks and kisses across her stomach and thighs until you find your target. She wiggles under you in response to your first contact, as you begin licking and sucking her clit, you can’t help but moan in unison with her.

“This is a great view and all, but don’t forget about me!” Harry traces his fingers down your back and kisses your shoulder. You pause your pursuit of Flo, to which she groans in frustration, to turn back and kiss Harry. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn next,” you reassure him. But as you turn back towards Florence, he grabs your hips and pulls you against him. “No, I want to give you yours!” he demands as his hand finds its way back between your legs.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle your moans, because of course Harry knows your weakness. But he knows you all too well, before you can contradict him, he’s got you up on your knees and he’s slipping out of his jeans. You lock eyes with Flo before she even says anything, her desire is all over her face -and yours. “Oh, I didn’t forget about you,” you whisper to her. Your tongue leaves a long soft trace up to her core. Just as you begin your pursuit again, you feel Harry slam into you from behind. Your gasp is softened by Florence.

The impact of Harry’s shaft radiates throughout you. It takes all your strength not to succumb to his throbbing member, as you still massage and caress Florence’s whole body. As you begin to grow higher your moans deepen and ripple across her core pushing her over the edge. The chorus of moans is what you needed to meet her there, letting out a final moan as your orgasm pulses through you. You felt Harry pull out as you fell forward resting your head on Florence’s stomach.

“Oh my god” she panted, running her hands through your hair. “I know” you looked up at her, still shocked that she was even here. Harry sat down next to you and took a sip of his drink, “so, Flo, how long are you in town?”

#harry fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harryxreader #florence x harry x reader #harry styles smut #florence pugh #dont worry darling #harry styles x florence pugh x reader #florence x reader #harry

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lots-of-pockets · 1 year

Text

Shelter me from the cold

Pairings: Florence x you

Words: 3047

Warnings: none

Sumamry: You and Florence are in Switzerland filming for her most recent movie when an accident occurs leaving Florence falling sick with one of the worst colds in her life.

It had happened so quickly it was almost as though you'd dreamt it. One second, your girlfriend was there. She was stood in front of the camera, script in hand and and her discarded coat in the other. The next, she was gone, a loud splash and a stifled cry of surprise filling telling you just what had occurred.

Thankfully, the water wasn't at all deep, so as quickly as she'd disappeared she makes a reappearance gasping for air and she wiping her eyes. Your coat was already unzipped and off as you push past the director and crew and all but yank her soaking wet body into your arms. She clings to you tightly, her trembling hands clutching the material of your hoodie as you wrap your coat around her shoulders.

"I'm okay. I'm okay." She rushes to reassure everyone as a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, and murmurs of relief were quick to fill both your ears. "I just need to change and then I'll be back." She informs the director as he approaches her to see if she was okay, and after squeezing her shoulder, he nods his head and tells her to take as long as she needed.

"You scared the hell out of me." You mutter as you wrap a guiding arm around her waist and pull her towards her trailer.

Florence looks up you, cheeks flushed with cold and bottom lip quivering. "You and me both." She laughs softly, and though you roll your eyes at her nonchalance, you couldn't help but give her one last squeeze before pulling open the trailer door and coaxing her inside.

"Go get a hot shower." You tell her as you close the trailer door behind you. "I'll pick you out some dry clothes."

Florence nods with a smile as she disappears through to the small bathroom area, the distinct sound of the water hitting the tiled floor filling your ears as you rummage through her bag to find her some dry clothes.

Thankfully, today was only a run through of the scene they were shooting, so she wasn't wearing her characters clothes when she'd fallen. Though you supposed it wouldn't have mattered considering they had several sets of each anyway.

With a pair of sweatpants and comfy hoodie in your hands, you make your way over to the bathroom and bring your fist up to knock at the wooden door. A faint come in escapes through the small gap, and you comply, setting the clothes down into counter before coming to stand by the partially open curtain.

Florence was stood facing the shower, arms crossed against her chest as the water falls down her body. If the way the steam slowly filling the room was anything to go by, the water was scolding. That comes as no surprise to you. Whilst you tended to prefer showers on the warmer side, Florence was the complete opposite. The hotter the water, the better.

"I feel like the lake waters seeped into my bones. I'm still so cold." She greets you as she turns her head and gives you a small smile, and you grin slightly as you lean against the wall. Her hair was tied up, so you knew she had no intentions of washing it. It leads you to grab a towel from the heated rail, holding it out ready for when she comes out.

"You're gonna turn into a lobster," you note, and Florence snorts in amusement as she reaches to turn off the water before stepping out. The second her wet body was exposed to the cool air, she begins to tremble, and you were quick to bundle her up into the towel and pull her back into your arms.

You feel Florence's warm breath hit the skin of your neck as she rests her head against your shoulder, and the corners of your lips quirk up into a soft grin as you cup the back of her head and press a kiss to her hair.

"Go get warm, okay? I'll make you some yea." You tell her as you pull her body away from you, giving in to the urge to press a gentle peck to her cute button nose.

Florence scrunches it up slightly in response, and you couldn't help but grin at the sight before giving her some privacy to change.

"Huh'tsschoo!"

Was the sound that startles you awake the next day, and you frown in confusion as you shift to your elbow and look around the room.

When your eyes complete the three sixty and land on the other side of the bed, you see Florence, sat up in bed with her hands cupping her face. She was looking at you with wide eyes, and you frown in confusion for just a small second before your sleep deprived brain seemingly catches on to the issue.

You reach for the tissues, pulling two out of the box and handing them over. She sends you a grateful smile as she takes them from you and makes quick work of blowing her nose.

"Good morning to you too," you mumble as you lay back down and raise your arms above your head to stretch, and Florence gives you an apologetic look as she tosses the tissue into the trash before curling up against your side.

"Sorry darling." She rests her head against your chest and lets out a soft sigh. You smile slightly as you wrap an arm around her before beginning to trail your hand up and down her back.

"You're not getting sick, are you?" You ask in concern.

After filming had finished yesterday, Florence had seemed a little under the weather, but when you’d asked she had blamed it on being tired.

You were a little suspicious considering the event that had taken place just hours prior, but she was adamant she was okay and seeing as though you had no other reason to doubt her, you had simply coaxed her into bed a little earlier than normal.

"I don't think so," Florence shrugs as she begins to trail her finger over the hem of your shirt. "I feel okay. Maybe it was just a...a..."

You frown in confusion when she cuts herself off, but when you look down at her, you see why. Her face was scrunched up into that cute pre sneeze expression, and it takes only moments for her to let out a few hitched breaths before stifling a sneeze against your shirt.

"H'htschoo!"

You couldn’t help but startle slightly at the loudness.

"God, sorry. That came out of nowhere." Florence grumbles as she reaches for another tissue, and you frown in concern as you brush her hair away from her face.

"It's okay, baby. But I think you might be getting a little sick." You tell her, and she groans in annoyance as she wipes her nose with a congested sniffle.

"I'm so glad I'm not working today," she grumbles as she drops her head back against your chest, and you smile slightly as you continue with the gentle ministrations against her back. "That would have been hell."

"It would," you agree, pressing your lips against the top of her head. She sighs against you again, and you take it upon yourself to go and get her some medicine. You were under the impression that if you started medicating her now, the oncoming cold wouldn't hit her as hard as usual. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm gonna go get you some tea and medicine."

Florence nods as she looks up at you with a sleepy smile, and you couldn't help but lean down and press a chaste kiss to her lips before disappearing through to the bathroom.

Several more sneezes fill your ears as you make quick work of grabbing some Tylenol and making her some of her favourite Yorkshire tea, and you pout softly as you carry both items through to the bedroom along with a bottle of water.

Florence was now sat up against the headboard of the bed with her phone in her hand, and you smile as the sight as you sit yourself back down next to her.

"Here baby, get this down you." You murmur, and Florence takes the tea gratefully before bringing it to her lips for a cautious sip. She lets out a soft sigh of relief as she swallows, the hot liquid obviously doing wonders on her throat. "Take this too." You hold out two pills, and after setting her tea aside, Florence easily swallows them down with some water.

"Thanks darling." She smiles as she hands back the water, and you nod, watching as she once again reaches for her tea.

As the day progresses, so do Florence's symptoms. By now, she was so congested she could barely breath through her nose. Her fever had hit 101 and her poor throat was raw due to the constant and repetitive throat scraping sneezes and coughs.

"This sucks. You suck." She moans into the comforter after another sneeze, and you make a mental note to change the bedding before heading to bed tonight as you climb into the bed next to her.

"Why do I suck?" You muse playfully as you rest your hand on the back of her head and comb your fingers through her short hair.

Florence huffs as she buries her face into the side of your thigh, and you smile in amusement. Said smile was wiped from your face just seconds later when -"Huh'hptschoo!" - she sneezes, all over your leg.

"Eww flo," you complain, and she lets out a congested chuckle as she brings a hand up to wipe at her nose. You playfully shove her away from you and wipe both the snot and saliva off of your bare skin of your thigh.

"You are disgusting." You grumble, and she simply winks at you before turning onto her back and letting out a hoarse cough. Any and all amusement fades from your face when it sounded like she was attempting to cough up gravel.

"Alright you little germ bug. I think it's time for more medicine." You muse as you grab both the Tylenol and cough medicine off of the nightstand, and Florence huffs slightly as she sits herself up.

When she simply opens her mouth, you roll your eyes fondly and place the two pills onto her tongue. She swallows them down with water before eyeing you with a scowl as you pour out the required dose of cough medicine into the small plastic cup.

"Ew." She grumbles as she takes it and swallows with a slight grimace, and you press a soothing kiss to the side of her head as you screw the cap back on before placing the glass bottle back onto the nightstand.

After settling yourself back against the headboard of the bed, you hold out your arms invitingly. Florence doesn't hesitate fall against you, her hands clinging to the material of your shirt as her head settles on your chest. Her breathing was still full of congestion, and you could feel each and every hoarse puff of air hitting your skin.

After pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, you slip your hand beneath her shirt and begin tracing the tips of your fingers over the warm skin of her back. She nuzzles closer at the action, and the corners of your lips instinctively curl up into a small grin.

"This is gross. I cant taste anything." Florence grumbles as she defeatedly swirls her spoon around the soup you'd made her, her face crumpled up onto a look of annoyance.

Setting down your own nearly empty bowl, you take hers from her lap and send her what you hoped was a comforting smile, "Would it make you feel better if I fed you?" You tease, and her eyes light up with slight amusement as she wipes her nose.

"No. But I'll let you anyway." She retorts, and you roll your eyes playfully as you scoop up some of the soup. This was the first thing Florence had managed to bring herself to eat today, so you knew she was bummed out by not being able to taste anything.

Especially because you had used one of her dads recipes.

"How kind of you." You mutter, and Florence snorts slightly as she opens up her mouth and allows you to feed her.

“Nope,” she sighs heavily. “Still nothing.”

You simply smile sympathetically.

Florence manages the rest of her soup without a single word of complaint, but you could tell she wasn't the slightest bit impressed. She eyes the empty bowl with distaste as carry them out of the room, and that same look was still on her face when you walk back into the room.

"Let's take a bath," you tell her as you lean against the edge of the bed and reach for her hands, "the hot water might help ease your congestion." Florence eyes you for a second before nodding, taking your offered hands and allowing you to tug her onto her feet before following you into the bathroom.

"Are you getting in too?" She questions as she swings your hands back and forth, and hum slightly in confirmation as you bend down to turn on the water. After checking the temperature of the water and making sure it was a little on the hotter side, you put in the stopper and watch as the claw foot tub begins to fill.

You then turn to face Florence who was looking at you with a hopeful expression on her face, and you cup her cheeks and press a kiss to her forehead.

"Of course." You tell her, and she bounces slightly on her toes as she tugs you into a hug. With a soft laugh, you were quick to return the embrace. The love you had for her was beyond words.

After the tub had filled to a sufficient amount, you stop the water and tug on the bottom of her shirt. Understanding your silent implication, Florence raises her arms above your head and allows you to tug the item of clothing from her body. Just seconds after pulling off her pants, she bends forward at the waist and brings her hands up to cover her nose and mouth.

"H…H'htschoo! H'hptchoo!"

"Bless you baby." You murmur, and Florence smiles appreciatively as she grabs some toilet paper and blows her nose.

You take the time to strip off as she washes her hands, holding back your slight wince as you settle yourself into the hot water. You hold out your hand, and Florence takes it before stepping into the tub in front of you. She settles in between your legs with her back to her chest and lets out a content sigh, and could help but roll your eyes slightly at the sound.

Of course the water wasn't hot for her.

Securing your arms around her waist, you let out a quiet sigh and rest your head against the back of the tub. You feel Florence's fingers begin to trace random circles across your skin, and you smile a little at the sensation as you press a kiss against the back of her head.

Your peaceful silence, however, was interrupted no more than a few seconds later. "Hitschoo!" Her head bobs slightly as she uses her free hand to cover her mouth.

"Bless you." You murmur, and Florence nods. Seconds later, she sneezes again. This one louder than before.

"Hiitshhiew!" She lifts a hand and rubs at the tip of her nose in a futile attempt at quelling the itch. It doesn't seem to work.

"Hh'iiishiu! Huh'htschoo! Hh...H'tsshiew!" She lets out a congested groan as her head falls back against your shoulder.

"Bless you." You coo softly as you tighten your arms around her waist and press a kiss to the side of head, and Florence sniffles thickly as she rubs at her nose.

"I think it's definitely helping with the congestion." You add in amusement, and Florence groans slightly as she sinks further into the water. With a small smile, you reach for the shampoo before placing your hands underneath her armpits and tugging her back up into a sitting position.

"Can I wash your hair?" You ask, and Florence nods her head in consent as she wipes her nose with her hand. Although you grimace slightly at the sight, you wisely say nothing and instead focus on wetting her hair. Due to how short it was, it takes you no time at all, and you soon find yourself helping Florence out of the tub and once again bundling her up into a towel.

Just as you go to grab your own towel, her face contorts into that pre sneeze expression. Her nostrils flare and her breath hitches, and your eyes widen as you quickly grab the front of her towel and hold it up to her face. She sneezes forcefully into it three times before the itch in her nose disappears, and you pout softly in sympathy as you grab some tissue and wipe off her cupids bow.

"I think it's time for some more medicine and then bed." You tell as you trash the now soiled tissue, and she sniffles thickly with a nod of agreement. Before you could begin to lead her back through to the bathroom, she steps into your arms and wraps her arms around her shoulders.

"Up." She murmurs, and you give her a soft squeeze before bending down and wrapping your arms beneath her behind. She immediately hooks her legs around your waist, and after pressing a fond kiss to her bare shoulder, you carry her back through to your shared bedroom before easing her back down onto her feet.

She leans up on her tiptoes and presses an appreciative kiss to your cheek before disappearing into the closet to find some pyjamas, and you watch her go with a small smile as you begin drying yourself off.

You hoped she'd feel better tomorrow.

Thank you for reading! 🤍

Just drop a comment if you wanna be added to my tag list!

#florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x you #florence pugh #florence x reader #sick!florence pugh x reader #sickfic #snzfic #fluff #marvel sickfic #mcu fic #mcu sickfic #black widow #whump #florence pugh x y/n

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melanneco · 1 year

Text

What They'll Say About Us

Yelena Belova x Reader

Trigger Warnings: angst / major character death / blood / medical talk

Word Count: 857

Synopsis: Based on the song What They’ll Say About Us by FINNEAS. Yelena and Reader are expecting a baby, but on the day he is born, everything goes wrong and Reader ends up very ill.

Masterlist | Anne

It was supposed to be a good day. However, everything quickly changed when the doctor ordered the birth of Yelena and (Y/n)’s baby to be a c-section. Then, after the birth of their son, the doctor announces the news that shatters Yelena’s world. “She’s bleeding out, we need you out of the room, right now.” The doctor said, and before Yelena could protest, she was pulled out of the room as the doctor tried to stop the bleeding.

“Yelena?” A familiar voice called, causing Yelena to turn around. More tears welled in her eyes when she spotted Natasha and Wanda. Natasha held a teddy bear while Wanda held a ‘It’s A Boy!’ balloon. The teddy bear was dropped as Yelena explained what was happening, Natasha’s arms closing around her sister quickly. Natasha didn’t know what to say. Nothing that Natasha could say right now would fix the situation or make her younger sister feel any better. So, she held her tight in her arms as Yelena shamelessly cried, something she was not known for, but she couldn’t help it. “We’re here for you.” Those words caused Yelena to break down harder in her sister’s arms, no matter how hard she tried to hold back the neverending flow of tears.

Hours passed and the three women were sitting in the waiting room, Yelena’s head on Natasha’s shoulder, bags under her eyes. When her eyes caught a familiar face of one of (Y/n)’s doctors, she was quick to sit up. The doctor made her way over to them with a grim look. “Mrs. Belova, your wife suffered from what we would call a postpartum hemorrhage. It was caused by an overdistended uterus due to too much amniotic fluid. She’s alive, but she’s lost a lot of blood. We will have to monitor overnight. Mrs. Belova, she’s not looking too well.” The doctor warned, placing a hand on Yelena’s shoulder as the blonde nodded slowly in understanding. “You may see her now, they’ve placed your baby in the room with her.” The doctor said softly, leading Yelena, Natasha, and Wanda to the room.

Yelena held herself together as she entered the room. Even though the doctor had warned her that (Y/n) wasn’t doing well, she wasn’t expecting to see her so pale and sick. The only thing causing Yelena to smile slightly is the sight of the newborn laying on her chest. Yelena sat on the chair next to (Y/n)’s bed, kissing the side of her wife’s head. Natasha and Wanda stayed back, watching the two quietly, letting them have their moment. “If you’re tired, it’s okay, moya lyubov.” Yelena whispered quietly. There was an air in the room that expressed what would happen if (Y/n) did, in fact, go to sleep. It scared Yelena, but she could see how tired and weak her wife was. She didn’t want to let go of her wife, but she knew that it wasn’t her choice. It wasn’t anyone’s. “When you wake up, I’ll let you know just how he’s doing, you can just relax. We’re going to grow together, you, me, and him. Just us three, remember?” They knew it wasn’t going to happen, but the talks of their future was always so comforting.

Yelena took the baby from (Y/n) as her eyes fluttered shut. Holding their son, she adjusted to brush the hair off of (Y/n)’s forehead. She wasn’t giving up on her, she could never. But there was nothing she could do but sit by her and make sure her last moments were comfortable, familiar, and that she felt loved. There was a soft hint on (Y/n)’s pale lips as she opened her eyes just slightly. “I love you, Yelena Belova.” She whispered softly, smiling at her. Yelena smiled back tearfully. “I love you, too, (Y/n) Belova.” She responded quietly, but she knew (Y/n) heard her as her eyes closed again. The three sat in silence as the beeping of the monitor beeped slowly in the background. Yelena allowed her sister and Wanda to hold her son as she held her wife’s hand. Her thumb caressed (Y/n)’s hand softly, careful with the IV line that ran along her arm and would somehow make its way over her hand. Yelena slowly crawled into the bed, holding (Y/n) as the monitor slowed to a long beep. Tears cascaded from her eyes as she clutched her wife’s still warm body. She needed to memorize how it felt to still hold her. Her heart ached, and it felt like nothing could stop the pain in her chest.

And, it never did. Not even years later as she watched their son grow up. She smiled sadly at a picture of her wife. “Moya lyubov, I wish you knew how much he looks just like you. He has your smile, your eyes, and he shares the beautiful way your face lit up when you were excited.” Yelena’s finger traced (Y/n)’s face over the frame carefully. “He looks just like you.” She repeated, wiping away a tear.

#yelena belova x reader #yelena x reader #florence pugh x reader #florence x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #yelena belova #florence pugh

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xtra7s · 3 months

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Valentines requests

It's February!!! Send in some requests for Valentines day lovies<33

People I'll write for:

Renee Rapp

Jenna Ortega

Natasha Romanoff

Wanda Maximoff

Taylor Swift

Florence Pugh/Yelena Belova

Jade West

Robin Buckley

|| masterlist ||

I only write for gn/fem readers!! Also let me know if anyone wants to be on my taglist for oneshots or my story Pretty Girls.

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pastelmaximoff · 1 year

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This is Heaven

Florence looked beautiful in that outfit. A jumper-like top and a skirt that was see-through. Like a veil covering the thing I desire most. I love her, I do, but we're best friends, so I must bite my tongue. I wish to hold her blonde hair and pull her lips up to my own. She smiles at me and winks as I take the photo. I'm the photographer she requests every time she comes to events run by Valentino. No one is allowed to share photos unless approved by me, I make her look more beautiful, she says.

She hasn't taken a bad picture once. It's admirable. Photo after photo, smile after smile, the carpet walk is finally over. The afterparty is raging, and Florence begins walking over to me. Everyone's staring as she holds her hand out to me. Her, hanging out with me? Ludicrous. Florence takes my hand and smiles as she leads me up the stairs and out to the balcony. Once we get there, she hugs me wordlessly. After a sweet embrace, she finally looks me in the eyes and utters a word in her adorable accent, "Hi."

"Florence, you looked like an angel tonight!" I squeal. She scrunches her nose, making my knees weak, and looks down. "Like you do every night." I accidentally let a little giggle and immediately blush. Florence looks up at me slowly, and I think she lingers on my breasts for a moment, but that's not possible, I must be imagining it. My shirt is low-cut, and I must admit they do look better than normal tonight. Maybe she just noticed the change.

"You were the angel teasing me behind the camera!" She squealed back at me.

"Teasing! I did not!"

"Yes, you did, I saw you eyeing me! You made me blush!"

Now it was my turn to blush. I couldn't believe she saw me watching her. That might be the worst thing to ever happen to me, definitely one of the most embarrassing.

"You look so cute when you blush," Florence winks and steps closer to me. She gently placed her hands just above my hips and holds me. I look into her eyes and she looks back into mine. So many emotions at one time, it was like a tidal wave. Neither of us moves but the silence is killing me. I lean in and place my hands on her cheeks before my lips reach hers. It's a soft explosion filled with comfort and passion. The heat of the kiss and the thrill of her hands is the best thing I've ever felt. My embarrassment is completely gone and I can't recall a time before this. It's as if my life didn't truly begin before this moment. I can't believe this is happening, this is the stuff of dreams. Well, my dreams at least.

We kiss and kiss and kiss, I never want it to end. But then she pulled back and bit her lip. She begins to move one hand over my stomach and down my pants.

"Is this ok?" Florence asks.

I nod my head and bite my lip too.

"I need to hear you say it."

"Do it," I say almost too desperately.

Her fingers rub my clit and the pleasure is somehow even more than the kiss. Then she penetrates my pussy and the satisfying feeling engulfs me. It's as if we're in space and the only two people in the world. Florence slips another finger in and I'm so wet that it's almost as if her fingers are on a water slide. This is heaven.

>>>>>>>>>

Just a quick one sorry, swamped recently, I know I haven't posted in a while, let me know if you want more.

#florence pugh #yelena belova #florence x reader #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x y/n #yelena x reader #girls kissing #red carpet #florence pugh fluff #florence pugh smut #you want smut?#celebrity fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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alotofpockets · 9 months

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A perfect day | Florence Pugh

Pairing: Florence Pugh x Reader

Summary: Enjoying a romantic holiday with your girlfriend. [Full request]

Masterlist | Marvel masterlist | Words: 600

You look up from the book you were reading, to be met with the loving eyes of your girlfriend staring back at you. Her smile warms your heart, “Hi baby.” She reaches her hand over and places it lovingly on your leg, “How’s your book?” You put your bookmark between the pages and place it down beside you. “I love it so far, but not as much as I love you, my love.” You sit up in your lounge chair to kiss her lips. “Would you like to go for that swim now?” Florence eagerly nods. She takes off her dress revealing her two piece bathing suit, you would never get tired of looking at her. “Hm, you’re so pretty, baby.” You strip down to your swim attire as well, and walk to the water hand in hand.

It was your third day in Italy, you had two busy days exploring the city, seeing so many incredible things, that today you decided to have a relaxing day by the beach. You were truly enjoying this time away from your busy lives, to fully focus on each other and the beautiful surroundings. Florence came to Italy a few times growing up but you had never been. She wanted to show you some of her favorite places. You went on a boat tour, and explored the city on foot. The city was so colorful, and you don’t think you will ever get enough of the beautiful blue ocean.

After some time in the water, you head back to your lounge chairs. “I made dinner reservations for tonight, I did some research and this restaurant is supposed to have an amazing view from their terrace.” Florence loved her food, which is why most of the time you let her choose where to eat, she always passed it by you first, but today she wanted to keep the details a surprise. “I can’t wait to see it with you.” Florence sits down next to you and leans into your side. You wrap your arms around her and kiss her head. “I’m so happy here with you.” Florence whispers. “Me too, baby.”

She was right, the view from the restaurant was amazing. You were led to a table near the railings of the terrace, you could see the mountains, the water, and overlooked the whole city. It was perfect. You ordered your food, which was so good, and talked the whole evening. The sun started to set and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of it setting over the water. “This is so beautiful, Flo.” - “Yes, it is.” Florence says with her eyes on you. You turn her way and realize what she just did and laugh, “You flirt. I love you.” Florence sends you a wink before saying, “I love you too.”

After dinner you enjoy a walk along the beach, watching as the sun continues to set. Long after the sun sets, you walk back to your hotel room, the roads lit by the moon. Back at the room you both change into your pajamas and lay down in the bed. You lay your head down on her chest and listen to her heartbeat, while she lazily draws shapes on your back with her fingertips. “Thank you for an incredible day.” You say looking up at her. “Every day with you is an incredible day.” Florence was in a flirty mood today and you were loving every bit of it. You sit up and straddle her waist, leaning in to kiss her passionately. The night was looking to be as perfect as the rest of the day.

💗If you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a coffee💗

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh fluff #florencepugh #florence x reader #florence pugh fanfic #florence pugh imagine #florence pugh x female reader #florence pugh x fem!reader #florence pugh x gender neutral reader #florence pugh x you #florence pugh x y/n

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romanoffsbish · 1 year

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Rome Wasn’t Built in a Day

Florence Pugh x Fem!Reader

Warning: Jealousy (on both ends), Insecurities, Alcohol

Smut: Top!R x PowerBottom!Flo; Oral(Flo—Face-Riding), Strap (F), Subtle Overstimulation, Kinks: Choking

Requested by: @Jujuu23

Request: Alright! I was actually wondering, could it be a Florence x female reader where reader is her girlfriend and accompanies her to the Valentino's Rome couture show and gets kinda jealous and insecure at the after party with another famous that gets too touchy (you can choose whoever you like) ‘cause she had never loved someone like Florence before? Just some angst but then super fluff and romantic and could there be a smut too? with Top!reader and power!bottom Florence with some praise kink, but only if you’re comfortable, if not it’s totally fine with just the fluff. ☺️

Florence was smiling from ear to ear as she watched you slipping into the sheer top that paralleled her current pants perfectly, and was sort of an homage to her previous years outfit.

"Oh my word, I'm not sure how long this'll remain on you.," she purred as her hand fell to your hip so that she could turn you to face her., "You look positively beautiful my darling girl."

Florence loved flustering you like this the very most, it was the way that her teasing words or her soft caresses could make you freeze up while nervously biting into your lower lip, and ducking your head down to avoid her gaze, it filled her chest with pride. As if you forget how much she wants you, no matter how much she reaffirms she's in love with every bit of you.

——

"Are you ready to go?, she smiled knowingly as you found your voice, and deflected her tease., "The event starts soon, and we don't want to be late, or miss your chance at the red carpet."

"Our.," she corrects with a peck to your lips, because even though she wants to deepen it, the risk of getting carried away was too high, as well as her fresh gloss would require a fixing.

The drive to the venue was short, and sweet. Florence's driver had the partition up, and the two of you sat in the back in a fit of giggles as you recounted the times he'd rushed to lift it whenever you two were in a heated moment as you entered the car without regards to him. Frank is seemingly learning it's safest to just always be prepared for your scandalous ways.

It was as the car encroached the venue that you were both no longer giggling, instead you were fiddling with the rings adorning your fingers, and your lover frowned at you clear anxieties.

"Hey there," she smiled as her hand now laid over yours, and you met her with a nervous one of your own., "It'll be okay darling, we're here together, and therefore we're invincible."

A reminiscent smile took over your face as you let her words soak in. There really was nothing you couldn't do with her by your side, so after a brief kiss the two of you exited the car with hands interlocked and a shout of thanks sent back Frank's way as you entered the event

After walking the red carpet with Florence for a wide array of photos and short interviews you stood back and allowed her a chance for solos. Much to her dismay truly, because you knew that having you at her side helped to lessen her anxiety, but you both also knew that the world was expecting glam shots of the blonde starlet.

The fashion event was rather nice, the outfits showcased were surely eye catching, but you were primarily focused on your lovers outfit, and now that you were drug along to the after party you had the time to ogle her properly.

The bejeweled, sheer pants gave you the perfect view of her ass as she mingled with others while you graciously sat at the open bar. But with that privilege for you came a clear disadvantage, all others present had the same luxury, and that's normally never been much of an issue for you, but right now it surely was.

Florence was laughing animatedly at a joke a fellow actor made, her joy usually made your heart beam, but the hand of her Marvel alum Zendaya placed dangerously low on her back left you pulsing with waves of pure jealousy.

The jealousy stemmed from your insecurities, because truth be told they looked good together. Like they actually fit together in a way that the two of you never would, and it terrified you to think she would realize that. That she could live a far more fulfilling life with someone as show stopping as Zendaya, but for some odd reason she's chosen to settle for you.

It was a scary thought—losing her, it was so far from a reality you'd welcome, you loved her so much, more than you'd ever deemed possible.

As if Florence could feel your heart breaking she turned to you with a deep smile, that just as quickly morphed into a frown of concern as she rather swiftly excused herself to get to you.

"Wow darling, you're properly pissed.," Flo laughed as she took your inebriated form in up close, and you only frowned, far too drunk to understand that was her actual insinuation, and not that you were furious; rightfully so.

"You would be too if you had to watch others eyeing me like I was still on the market, and putting their hands all over my body."

Now she was frowning, her hand flew up, and she silently looked to the bartender, he nodded and as he got you waters she stepped up closer to you, settling her soft hands on your cheeks.

"Darling, I very well have, those men have yet to remove their eyes from your chest, it's kind of the one of the reasons I rushed over here.," she admitted, you pouted at her sincerely, in your focus on her and Zendaya you'd failed to even consider the expectant stares of others on your breasts., "Also, my love, you do remember Zendaya has a fiancée right? She's just always been a very touchy person, it was harmless."

"It's not just her Flo.," you sighed dejectedly, and the blonde's heart constricted when you met her gaze, and tears laid in your eyes., "Everyone here is a much better match for you, like look at that gorgeous brunette who's eyes have yet to leave you all night.," you basically shouted, far too drunk to reel your volume in.

Just as fast though, your volume quieted to a whisper as your head dropped., "You deserve better Flo, I'll never be as pretty as your circle of Hollywood friends, why are you settling?"

Florence's jaw clenched., "Stop it, right now!," her hand grabbed yours, and with a quick step she pulled you somewhere far more secluded, and without the watching eyes of tabloids.

"I'm not settling.," she shortly relayed while angrily pacing the small space., "I love you!"

"If I dated the brunette, or Zendaya, or anyone else Hollywood ships me with then I'm settling. God, you really don't see it do you Y/N?," her voice broke as she looked into your eyes at the end., "You're the most beautiful person here tonight Y/N, their status changes nothing, nobody else does to me what you do baby."

"I'm sorry Flo, I didn't mean to cause a scene."

"No, I'm sorry I didn't keep you with me, our invincibility only works with you on my arm.," she winked, then pulled you in for a sweet hug.

Florence heard you gasp softly as her grey top brushed against your pert nipples, a wave of arousal ran through her at the needy sound, and as your hands naturally gripped her by the hips possessively she was beyond ready for it., "Take me home Y/N; fuck me like I'm yours."

Frank's eyes widened when he saw the two of you running towards the car, he unlocked the doors, and knowingly turned the music up.

Florence straddled your lap, her lips ghosting yours as you refused to kiss her until you got the belt around the both of you, and buckled her body to yours for the short ride back home. Watching you struggling with the process was amusing but it reminded her you were drunk.

Then when you kissed her she could taste the heady remnants of vodka cranberry on your lips, and when your tongue hotly slipped into her mouth it was an non-dismissible fact.

"Drink the water my love.," she instructed as the both of you panted wildly., "There will be no going further if you don't sober up some."

Florence's eyes widened when you snatched the bottle from her and gulped it right down. Then you repeated the process with a second one, then haphazardly crushed the bottles, and yanked her face forward for a sloppy kiss.

As soon as Frank courteously opened your door you exited with Florence's legs wrapped tightly around your waist, and as you navigated the hallways of your home her lips worked to cover the exposed side of your neck in pink lipstick.

Florence grinned when her back had hit the mattress, she could feel the strap that had been hidden in your pants this whole time; she was growing more desperate as your hands slid her top off with ease, and your mouth enveloped her nipple, her hand flew to your hair, and she moaned languidly as you stimulated her chest.

"I'm going to ride your face.," she commanded, voice raspier than normal as she was overcome with need., "I'll soak your pretty little face love, marking my territory so you can remember I'm all yours, and also that you're all mine.," there was a growl to follow her words as she shoved your back against the mattress, and moved quickly to straddle her cunt over your mouth.

The way everyone had stared at you with want as you only stared at her affected her just as much as it did you when you saw Zendaya's hand on her back. Knowing that others even flirted with the idea of you as an option, when you very well were hers, well it made her angry.

Florence lowered herself onto your extended tongue, her hips moving furiously against you as she grew far more affected by your talents. Arousal was ever flowing as she rutted, your face was akin to a slip n slide as she selfishly used it for her pleasure. Not that you would complain, tasting Florence was your favorite, and no matter the position you happily gave her the pleasure you knew she craved, and were always dutifully rewarded by her orgasm.

"Oh fuck.," she screamed as your tongue expertly swirled around within her., "Yes, just like that, fuck, please don't stop Y/N.," you mumbled against her, she obviously couldn't hear your 'I wouldn't dream of it,' but she felt the vibrations running throughout her body., "Need to cum, please let me cum baby!," she rasped, and with two taps to her thigh you gave her express permission to drench you.

With an unexpected quickness she slid down your body, her slick coating your clothes that have yet to be removed. Her lips latched onto yours, moans spilling into your mouth as her hips ground down against the bulge in your pants, all while her hands tugged at your top.

In a seconds time you'd flipped her over, and much to her whimper's complaints you stood up, and chuckled at your desperate lover., "Hush my love, be patient for me please.," she looked to you with hazy eyes that only grew murkier with lust as you stripped your clothes from your body, and the strap dropped out.

There was a look of mischief on your face, the tease on the tip of your tongue as you hovered above your girlfriend once again, but it died there as she gripped the silicone's shaft, and pulled it to her entrance with ease., "Fuck me, and don't stop until I'm trembling, got it?"

“There you go my darling.,” she purred as you entered her slowly., “Fuck, you’re so big baby.,” she winced as you eventually bottomed out.

Florence’s whines melded into breathy, erotic moans as your soft lips laid over her pulse, you began to nip and suck at the smooth pale skin to properly mark her up in deep hues of purple, blue and red to reclaim her as yours outwardly. As a plus it also served as a way to distract her from the momentary pain, giving her a chance to adjust before you quickly picked up the pace.

It wasn’t long before her walls were clenching around the silicone, you always did know just how to get her over the edge with minimal time needed. When you heard her breathes become more choppy you pulled your head back from her marred up collarbones to catch her release. Flo gasped as you did, the sight of your face smirking down at her as your thumb swiveled over her clit made her entire body warm up just before her back arched, and legs trembled.

Florence’s hands flew up to tangle into your hair as she sloppily kissed you while riding out her high. The waves of pleasure always seemed to intensify when she had your tongue in her mouth, she suckled on the muscle as you never wavered in thrusting into her cunt, her muffled moans now sensationalized on your tongue.

“Fuck, you’re so hot Florence, gonna make me cum with just those pretty noises alone.,” you groaned as she finally let you go to breathe., “I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll never let anyone touch you ever again; you’re mine.”

A shiver ran down her spine when she saw the look of determination in your eyes, excitement flooded her entire being as you kissed her so hard she couldn’t even begin to think straight. A loud moan was ripped from her throat next as you pulled out of her just to roughly grip her by her hips, flip her over, and slam back inside of her with a reinvigorated passion to own her.

Mind, Body, and Soul

With your hand on her hips for leverage you began to fuck the strap into her sopping cunt. Not an ounce of mercy was given nor felt as your thighs repeatedly made contact with her ass, a loud slapping sound reverberating off the walls along with her sloshing pussy, broken moans, and your deeply affected pants, it was all the noise expected as you lost your minds.

All you could think about was letting go, and helping the gorgeous blonde to do the same.

With your hand suddenly wrapped around her throat from behind, and her back flush to your front as you pulled her upright and fucked the strap up into her she reached the precipice, and with the decrease in oxygen from the pressure you applied to her throat she flew right into her orgasm, the feel of her slick dripping down your thighs aroused you tremendously, and as she pushed her ass down you screamed in ecstasy as waves of pleasure ran through you.

Florence groaned as your connected bodies hit the mattress, the strap moving inside her as you collapsed right on top of her. The two of you laying like that while you both worked to regain a semblance of composure, and once the blonde was less foggy she began to squirm from underneath you, a telltale sign that she wanted more, and you were ready to please.

“I need more, please, don’t stop darling.”

“I’m not stopping just yet baby girl.,” you gently thrusted, she groaned at the sensitivity she felt, but her hips still pressed back to help you reach even further depths., “Wait, I-I.”

“I-I need to see you.,” she panted., “I want to feel you baby, flip me back over.,” she weakly commanded in a muffled manner with her face still pressed up against the sheets, you smiled at the idea that she’d be this desperate for you, it wasn’t often she showed this needy side.

As soon as you eased the strap out of her you gently returned her to her back, and slipped right back in where you belonged., “Kiss me.,” her breathless plea paired with a pouting set of swollen lips had you giving her just what she wanted, and she thanked you with a slow roll of her hips to meet yours, and you whimpered at the stimulation caused to your swollen clit.

Her hands groped your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples as your tongue slid over hers, lazily exploring her mouth while your hips kept up a steady pace mean to destroy her; you managed to push your strap so deep into her that she jolted with a scream of pleasure soon to follow, and your face flew into her neck as the hilt of the harness rubbed you just right to send you climaxing in tandem with your lover.

Florence could see you growing tired after your second and her fourth climax of the night, but she couldn't give this full sensation up, not yet., "My love, please, don't leave me all empty.," her shaky legs wrapped around you, linking together desperately to keep you locked inside., “I know you’re tired, but please, don’t pull out.”

"Hmm, does my precious girl want to warm my cock tonight?," she nodded aggressively, you smiled softly at her, and gave a teasing thrust as you connected your lips to hers., "Whatever you need, I'll give it to you baby, we can sleep like this, then come morning we'll clean up."

"Thank you my love, now get some rest.", she gently forced your face into her neck, then pulled the blanket up over your lower bodies., "Goodnight Flo.," you kissed her neck softly for a final time that night., "Goodnight Y/N/N."

As Florence happily lulled you to sleep with feather light scratches to your exposed back she scrolled through her phone and began to find photos to put her Instagram post together.

The first photo in her lineup she posted was one she found and instantly fell in love with. You were stood slightly in front of her with a nervous smile, her arms were wrapped around your abdomen, and her face was tilted beside your shoulder as she looked up at you lovingly. The second photo was another with you, it was taken directly after that one, your eyes were shut tightly as you relished in the feel of your lovers lips on your raised cheeks, it was sweet.

Though there were many more photos included of her with famed acquaintances, friends, and family the caption was mostly meant for you.

"The Valentino family was full of so much love and art and passion this weekend. Reminding me of how much love I have surrounding me, and just how important it is that I cherish it.

My MAMA got to come!! 2nd fashion show ever and she stole the evening. Always does!

Y/N—Baby, you were the best look of the night; I'll never tire of showing you off, everyone gets to see your beauty, but I, well I get to keep it."

———

3,112 Words

❤️Kaitlyn🥰

———

#florence pugh imagine #florence pugh fluff #florence pugh smut #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh x you #florence pugh x female reader #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh oneshot #florence pugh #florence x fem!reader #florence x y/n #florence x you #florence x reader

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randombush3 · 1 year

Text

Completely and Totally Unattached

florence pugh x footballer!reader

part two to Good In Bed

summary: everything stays completely and totally unattached. why wouldn’t it?

words: 3470

warnings: there’s a sex scene, and maybe cocaine i can’t remember (what a concerning thing to say btw)

notes: THIS IS A TRILOGY. i thought about making this one way longer, but i’ve decided to split this part into two. don’t even ask about the game timeline because i don’t want to talk about it.

Everything is perfect for a while.

You smile when you see her and she starts to invite you over hours before any sex really happens; you wake her up in the morning with a coffee and a goodbye kiss and a face that makes her question the feelings that aren’t in the arrangement.

One evening, you find an invitation to a Tiffany event sitting menacingly on her coffee table. She eyes it with caution once you inquire, and declares she hates events and won’t be going. “I hate going alone,” she mumbles in stark contrast to the confidence of her previous announcement, “and Livvy is in Oxford that weekend.”

You wait for her to ask you instead but she doesn’t. Not then, anyway.

It’s a feeble, meek, pathetic text, but you see it before she can press delete.

FP: Could you come with me?

You scramble to unlock your phone, making the sleeping Katie leaning on your shoulder whine. To keep the air of secrecy alive, you cast a glance around the others on the bus. No one else knows you’re fucking Florence Pugh.

You: Yeah, of course

Florence gets herself together when you reply, and calls you. You’ve started to associate the number with more than sex, but it’s okay. It’s a friendship.

“Thank you so much,” she begins, voice uncharacteristically tender. “You don’t happen to know your measurements? Suit or dress?”

“Suit,” you answer easily. She is quick to imagine what that would look like. Though a bit outdated, you have a set of measurements typed hastily in your notes app. “I’ll text them to you.”

Then, the day of the event comes and you spend the night attracting the gaze of everyone in the room, and having them wonder when Florence Pugh decided to make friends with professional athletes. You beam at her the whole evening, and she fights her blush when Barratt West brings up the new designs for engagement rings.

“We’re just friends,” you tell him casually, as if the statement won’t pierce through her eardrums. She’s not sure why it bothers her so much.

And then it’s almost like an epiphany.

Florence Pugh loves the footballer she sometimes wakes up beside.

Almost an epiphany, because these feelings haven’t suddenly pounced on her. She’s just decided to acknowledge them.

She figures that all three rules are broken: Livvy had known the minute her best friend was checking her phone a little too often; you stay over; she loves you.

Nothing feels different. Even if she worries she’s been utterly exposed every time your bodies touch, you treat her exactly the same as you did the night before she came upon this realisation. She supposes that means you don’t feel the same way. She knows she shouldn’t carry this on.

She tells herself she should terminate the arrangement for another two days as a form of self-sabotaging procrastination, but Thursday night’s musings turn into drinks with Livvy on Friday.

“How’s Y/n?” her best friend asks her, prying because it’s fun.

“I don’t know.” You’re in Brighton for an away game and it’s taking up the whole weekend. It’s an abnormally long weekend, Florence tells herself. Time is going slowly for everybody. “I think I’m going to break it off.”

“What?”

“My unattached sex with Y/n is no longer that,” states Florence plainly. She hides the grimace that comes with saying it out loud, and swirls what’s left of her whiskey around in her glass.

“I told you she’d catch feelings,” Liv teases, nudging her friend. Florence stares at the green surface of the bar, tapping her feet against her stool. “Footballers aren’t—”

“She’s not the one with the feelings.” Livvy pauses, shaking her head; she doesn’t understand.

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Livvy tries the sentence out, “she’s not the one with the…”

“Don’t.” Florence holds her index up to her friend’s face. “We both know now. Don’t make me say it out loud.”

“Have you told her?”

No.

Why on earth would she do that?

The answer is conveyed in the pointed look Florence shoots her.

Her and Livvy speak no more of the matter, continuing their night in the overpriced cocktail bar. It’s packed with the rich and famous, so it isn’t a hard task for Florence to befriend some producer or other. He extends an invitation for her to join him in the bathroom, cheeks rosy and eyes glazed over. She finds herself accepting, but only does the cocaine in front of her. He tries to kiss her but his lips feel wrong; rough when they should feel soft. It’s not a difficult puzzle to solve. She doesn’t really want to kiss anyone other than you.

Florence decides not to put a stop to your agreement that night.

The producer hints that they should get going, get out of here, go to somewhere more… private. It makes her skin crawl. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just not you.

She has never felt so embarrassed of her own internal monologue. She wants it to shut the fuck up. You like her sounds out mercilessly on repeat, echoing and echoing and echoing, until she’s scratching her scalp a bit too harshly. You’re still not back because it’s only Sunday.

You’re on the team bus. Asleep. She shouldn’t know that, but she grows curious of your whereabouts and checks Instagram. A teammate you often mention — teammate and best friend you’d drunkenly explained in attempt to not let her get to know you — is sure to house some video or other, and she’s correct. Katie McCabe has posted a picture of you fast asleep with a familiar green jumper bundled into a pillow.

She hates that she’s endeared. Instead, Florence makes a mental note to chastise your use of her cashmere clothing, and focuses on how annoyed that has made her feel.

With each passing minute she stares at the picture, she imagines her feelings for you smothered beneath the fabric, suffocated until they don’t exist anymore.

- - -

Much to your dismay, you are not loved enough to be woken with a kiss. The whistle blown in your ear is quite far from that.

“We’re here, sleeping beauty,” Katie follows with equal shrillness and volume. You press your face further into Florence’s jumper. It smells like her. “Get up, Y/n!”

“Fuck you,” you groan, yawning as you slowly stand up. “I was having a good dream.” Katie smirks. “A dream about kittens,” you clarify truthfully.

You join the huddle your team forms outside the bus. Most of the girls chat quietly, everyone exhausted from the hard fought win. A few of your teammates ask you to join them for a late dinner. Katie tells them that you have plans of your own before you can form a sentence.

A black town car parks in front of you, earning wolf whistles from almost everyone. “Someone fancies herself to be Ronaldo,” jokes Kim quietly. “Got room in there?”

The driver rolls down the window. It’s the middle of November in England, but he’s wearing aviators. “I was told to pick you up,” he says, voice gruff but familiar. There have been a few times where Florence has decided you can’t stay over and has sent you home in this black town car with the very same man. You didn’t realise she actually had a driver. You forget to associate the Flo that gasps your name like it’s a prayer with Florence Pugh.

“Thank you, Douglas,” you reply with a smile. The Arsenal badge you wear proudly makes him scowl. “I hear West Ham haven’t been doing well this season.”

“You’re lucky I’m contractually obliged to drive you to Miss Pugh’s building,” he tells you. You take it as playful, but it probably has some truth to it.

Thankfully no one else seems to catch the conversation, fawning over Leah and Beth’s joint appearance to collect their respective players. Katie sends you a wink as she gets into the car in which she’ll be the fifth wheel.

- - -

Florence thanks whoever is watching above that you got some rest on the bus.

She’s helpless the minute you walk through the door with a cocky grin. You don’t have time to comment on how desperate she must be if she’s sent a car, because you’re jumped and are carrying her to a stable surface before you get a chance to take your shoes off. She likes the idea of making out in the middle of her hallway, not doubting your strength (how can she? she’s seen you naked) and ability to be able to do so. However, Florence takes pity on you and grants you the opportunity to rest your arms before they’re put to very good use.

You have your joggers halfway down your legs by the time you get the two of you to her bedroom. She stands up as soon as you set her down on her bed. You undress quicker.

Your lips seem to cover every inch of her, but you focus on her shoulder as you pull her closer, hands wrapped around her torso. One hand shifts south, tugging the elastic band of her panties, warm palm soothing the trail of goosebumps your touch leaves. It’s soft and tender and Florence is not about to let herself do anything but fuck.

She grabs that hand and pulls it away. “No,” she says, and you stop immediately. “Get on the bed.”

Your haze of arousal clears, and you’re concerned. “You alright?”

Fuck you for caring.

“Yes,” she states impatiently. “Get on the bed.”

The victory is easy, and you sprawl out against the white bedsheets confidently. Your pose makes Florence want to absolutely ruin you.

She throws you the strap and tells you to put it on. You blush as she watches you, and try not to die when she rewards you by mounting you without delay (cause of death: too attracted to women).

You gasp as you cup the hips rocking into you, and Florence finds that unacceptable. She is not going to tolerate any ardent touches. How dare you remind her of how she feels.

“No,” she says, pushing your hands off her. “I’m going to ride you until one of us snaps, and you’re going to keep your hands away from me. Okay?”

The unexpected dominance isn’t not doing it for you, and the consequential look on your face finalises the control Florence has regained.

“More than okay.” You nod to punctuate your breathless stammer of a sentence.

Florence pulls out every trick she’s ever been taught about sex, employing every element of herself to complete the show she is giving you. And just like magic, it works.

She does eventually relinquish control of the top after an orgasm or two, sated by the way your muscles tense as if you haven’t allowed yourself to breathe in a long time.

You don’t know how it happens, but you find the groove of your usual dominance soon enough to have her asking for more as you press up against her in every right way possible.

Florence Pugh realises you might be a little too good in bed.

To console herself, she pretends each thud of the headboard against the wall is hammering the bubbling feeling of love far, far down.

The feelings survived the suffocation, and will survive this too, but it isn’t for lack of trying.

It’s late by the time you’ve both washed up, but you don’t make an effort to slip into her bed. She misses the days (nights) where you’d stare longingly at the pillows but never be granted permission to stay, and regrets ever giving in to those eyes.

You sit rigidly at the foot of her bed, accidentally staring at her, perplexed. She finds it all too endearing how your face usually lays your thoughts bare.

“What was that about?” you ask carefully, wrapping your tongue around the words slowly. You’re being cautious. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, that has got to be the best thing I’ve ever experienced. It was so hot? You were so hot, and you’re always hot — I always find you hot — but that was a new level of fucking sexy, and I’m getting distracted. You just seemed determined. Are you, well, is everything okay?”

“Of course,” she brushes off.

You know it’s a lie. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist.

“Flo…”

She hates it when you call her that. It makes her skin crawl. In a bad way. A bad way, most definitely.

“You’re really going to pretend to care?” she asks bitterly. This is apparently her plan B. “I’m fine.”

“Oh,” you reply, dejected, “okay. I was just—” You decide to leave it, ending your sentence there. She looks at you expectantly, and you climb in beside her, slipping underneath the covers as comfortably as one would in their own home. “I’m playing next Wednesday.” Florence nods encouragingly; she knows that. “And, uh, my brother was going to watch but he’s been asked to help out with a faulty set, so I have a spare ticket.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find—”

“Can you come?” She squints at you. You repeat the question. “Obviously you don’t have to, but it’s the Champions League so the game will be good and there’ll be food and I can actually set you up in the executive box, now that I think about it. So you don’t have to sit— ‘cause my ticket would be in… What?”

Head propped up by her arm, Flo smiles. “By all means, continue.” You frown. “As long as you win,” she agrees. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

You feel a little used. “Goodnight, Flo.”

As Wednesday approaches, you become absent from Florence’s bed. It leaves her sexually frustrated and a bit hurt emotionally, but when you call her from Leah’s guest bathroom and explain everything she forgives you. Her anger is redirected towards your manager.

Jonas has created a new rule that only seems to apply to you. If it’s just for sex, players are heavily encouraged (commanded) to spend the night before the game away from their distraction. When announced, he purposefully avoided looking at you, perhaps allowing you to have a shred of dignity left. Leah offered her spare bedroom because it used to be yours when you first moved to Arsenal.

A harsh, impatient knock on the door ruins the conversation. “It’s late, you should be in bed,” Leah reprimands you. “Be responsible. Or I’ll tell Jonas.”

You are not in that man’s good books right now. “Don’t tell Jonas,” you grumble, flushing the toilet to make it seem like you had a reason for being in there. “Night, Mum.”

Unlocking the bathroom door, you traipse out with your phone volume as low as possible until the spare room is sealed and private. The joggers you’re wearing will be fine to sleep in, and you’re too lazy to change. Once Florence hears the rustle of your sheets, she’s quick to speak up again.

“Sleeping?”

You bite your bottom lip. You should be getting some rest, and tomorrow’s game is important. But there is something anchoring you to the sound of her soft breathing on the other end of the line. You don’t want to hang up. “So… what are you wearing?”

You’re not going to apologise for what’s about to happen at Leah’s place, even if your friend drinks two coffees the next morning instead of one. And Leah’s not going to talk about the name she hears you moan when she walks past your room at an unfortunate time.

Until she runs into you in the car park after you part ways to grab something you ‘left behind’ (it may have been a certain someone’s bum but the specifics are of little importance), and in turn walks right into Florence Pugh dressed to the nines. And then, from the car the actress just got out of, emerges Leah’s stammering teammate offering a half-hearted explanation because Flo really does look drop-dead gorgeous and you’re not quite over it yet.

Jaw set, Leah grinds her teeth judgmentally. “So this is your…”

“Friend,” Florence supplies, not caring if it’s futile and a waste of breath. She looks at you, and you nod in agreement.

“Yeah, Flo and I are friends!” Not a single person in this conversation believes that. “Sorry, quick introduction: Leah, this is Flo; Flo, Leah.” Your hands wave around the space between them, nervously trying to distract the piercing stares of one set of green eyes and another of grey. “She’s going to watch.”

The two women look each other up and down. Leah crosses her arms, Florence takes a step closer to you. “I’m excited,” the actress says, though it’s unenthusiastic and entirely provocative; a jab at the sport Leah clearly adores.

“We’d better get going, shouldn’t we?” you squeak, feeling Florence’s hand rest on your waist. “Leah?”

“Yeah,” she acknowledges, though she makes no effort to back away from the silent battle. Five more uncomfortable seconds and she stands down. “Let’s go.” Leah grabs your arm and you furrow your eyebrows, leaving Florence to find her way to her seat.

“What was that?!” you hiss once you’re out of earshot. “Have a pissing contest with her, why don’t you!”

“She’s messing with your feelings,” Leah states as if it is a fact taught in primary school. She’s about to continue, but Lotte slaps you both on the bum and tells you to hurry up.

Both her and Katie give you disapproving looks when they spot her in the crowd. You’re sure you see steam coming out of Leah’s ears at the sight of Florence being engaged in conversation with her mum. You kick the ball at her stomach to snap her out of it.

Florence has done her research. It’s a thing she does: research. Reading up on characters, accents, producers, interviewers, actors, and, most recently, you. She likes to think it’s not stalking if she sticks to Google, but amends that mentality once Google becomes too sparse for new information and your Instagram is filled with little insights into your life.

When the arrangement was new, she only cared about who you were, making sure you weren’t married or something ridiculous like that. Before today’s game, she added to her mental factfile with details of how you play. A few updated statistics from the ones she skimmed before ogling at your social media, but most notably a new article from Sky.

Will Y/n L/n leave Arsenal?

It seems that a rumour is being circulated around the WSL that you’re to be traded to Barcelona. You haven’t made an official comment, but the speculation is that you’re outgrowing Arsenal. Florence then went down a rabbit hole of how club transfers work, conveniently knowing that you’ve signed onto Arsenal for another two years. It settles the growing anxiety in her stomach at the thought of you being in another country for an extended amount of time. Moving doesn’t make sense, and you are quick to shut it down when she asks.

Amanda, Leah’s mum, is glad to have Florence to talk to. She’s always been a fan of gossip, and Florence indulges her by talking about what happened at the Oscars. “I love my daughter, I love that she loves football, but it does get tiresome,” Amanda tells Florence with a hushed voice as if she is slandering the entire sport. “I was always a bit of a netball girl, anyway,” she confesses. “Oh, who’re you here to see? I was going to ask.”

Florence remembers that this woman loves to gossip. “I’m keeping the seat warm for Y/n’s brother. He’s a friend.” Your brother was a colleague who has served no other purpose in the arrangement other than his rager of a birthday party in which Florence kissed you on his balcony and you snuck away from everyone else.

“Y/n’s lovely! She’s come a long way, what with her family situation.” Florence is intrigued. “We used to take her to training when those awful people looking after her wouldn’t give her the bus money. I was glad to hear when she moved out.”

This was not on Google.

Florence doesn’t like having her privacy invaded, and so she nods passively along, not asking any questions. Maybe she’ll bring it up with you later.

The whistle blows and the match begins.

Florence can’t help but cheer along with Amanda’s enthusiastic encouragement.

There’s a moment when you look up and see her grinning right back at you, beside the family of other players. She looks like she belongs there.

You want her to belong there.

And, yes, you get tackled because you’re distracted, but you realise you have fallen in love with Florence Pugh.

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