Yelena Belova X Female Reader - Blog Posts

Marvel Masterlist !

I only write x fem reader or fem oc

I will write for other marvel characters if requested so send some requests I’m open to all ideas and such

💋- smut

🧸- fluff

🎀- blurb

🥀- angst

Natasha Romanoff

pretty thing 💋

Wanda Maximoff

Yelena Belova

Kate Bishop

the representation + characterisation of yelena in this fic >>>>

for your blurb night, "in case you ever foolishly forget, i am never not thinking of you" with yelena? 🤍

miss luiza, my love, my fellow yel simp, i hope i did this a justice for you, i changed the dialogue a little bit to make it more fluffy <3

sweet in your memory.

pairing: yelena belova x (f)reader

word count: 986

warnings: badly written fluff, weed smoking, nat is alive and well, mention of a past hookup, kissing, slight miscommunication, carol and valkyrie quickly mentioned. 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

The blissful dazed high of the blunt that's pressed to your lips as you take a long inhale, swallow, let it out slowly—is doing the exact opposite of just that. The bliss part getting snuffed out by the nerves that make your stomach sink each time Yelena looks over at you, gives you that lopsided grin; when your fingers brush against each others for the half second when you’re passing the blunt between the two of you, turning that dazed high into hyperawareness. 

The two of you are sat on the fire escape, the sounds of the city and people venturing out late into the summer heat present below you—and the music and laughs of Nat and the rest of the girls from inside flowing through the window. 

But all you can hear, all you see, smell, feel, is Yelena beside you. The weed only adding to the torture of nerves in your belly and the unasked questions fumbling around in your head. 

Your eyes glance over to her, her perched on the window sill, one leg bent at the knee on the frame, the other on the fire escape. The street lights painting her features in a dull orange that makes her even more beautiful. 

You try not to stare at the way her lips wrap around the blunt, or how attractive it looks held between her ringed fingers. Because when she catches you staring it only makes a heat flood your cheeks and a cheeky smirk form across her face, you quickly look away as you try to hide your smile with a cough to the back of your hand. 

The two of you hadn't spoken about what happened a week ago—it seeming more like months ago by how it had left you feeling; confused, flying high, utterly crushing on the woman beside you. 

It's not like you never had the chance to ask her what everything meant, the glances, the smiles, the hand touches, the pecks to the cheek, in the wake of what had happened. But maybe it was the memory of her lips on yours-and other parts of you—the night that the two of you having spent together living like a ghost on your skin; constantly haunting you, yet you were too afraid to exorcize it, to ask it what it wanted. 

And it wasn't Yelena who was stopping you from asking, it wasn't how she was acting-she hadn't changed, she was still the same, still flirtatious and constantly giving you signs that it had meant something, but what you didn't know. And part of you had hoped maybe she would bring it up, because your nerves were pussing out, and you didn't think you could go another week without knowing, without holding yourself back from reaching out and feeling her lips again.

Without staring at her like a lost love sick puppy. 

You had hoped the weed would have helped give you the courage, but now you know it had only made you more of that love sick puppy for her. A rose colored shein over your eyes each time you would steal a glance at her, smelled her strong perfume, heard her laugh at whatever was going on in the apartment-or from how awkward you were being. 

After taking one more puff of the blunt, handing it to Yelena, holding your breath for a second, a minute, three, you finally think fuck it, and go for it, “Yel,” you start, no hint of bravery in your voice whatsoever. When you turn towards her after her hum of acknowledgment, your mouth feels incredibly dry. Your throat itchy. “About…what happened, the other night.” You swallow, try to ignore the corner of her mouth pulling up slightly, amused. “Do you, uh, ever think about it?” 

And now you know for sure the weed was a bad idea, it turning you into a speechless fool. Asking her the question that wasn't even on the tip of your tongue, your mind and mouth on different wavelengths; but both keening for this woman. 

“Do I think about it?” Her accent is deeper when she's been smoking, when amusement is laced in her tone. Her grin growing, the heat in your cheeks feeling like an all out forest fire. 

Before you can nod, or open your mouth to say something—elaborate, stop looking like a deer in headlights—Nat is poking her head through the window, pushing Yelena’s leg out of the way in the process. 

“If you two love birds are done, the pizza’s here.” She gives Yelena a wink and then she’s back inside the apartment. 

Yelena puts out the remaining of the blunt on the windowsill, throwing it in the can specifically put out there for such discarding's. “We better go before Carol and Val fight over the pepperoni.” She smiles, the awkward conversation between the two of you pushed away—your chest only deflating a little (a lot). 

You expect her to pull herself through the window but instead she’s stepping out onto the fire escape, reaching her hand out for you to take to help you to your feet. The weed finally hitting you with that daze now that you’re standing this close to her, now that her palms are cupping your cheeks, the warm metal of her rings searing your skin, as she presses a soft kiss to your lips. 

Her lips smiling against yours when you let out an elongated sigh, when she pulls away that rose colored haze has gone completely red—with love, with other heated things—making a shy chuckle escape you. 

“For the record, in case you are ever foolishly wondering, or forget, I am never not thinking of you.” She presses another kiss to your lips, “or that night.” Her hands fall from your cheeks, “it’s actually highly annoying how much I think about it. Of you, very distracting.” the both of you laugh, fingers finding the others to hold.