you make loving fun - y.belova
yelena belova x fem!reader
・❥・summary: You decide to get your girlfriend away from the city for a nice summer vacation, and it turns out to be the best decision you ever made
・❥・warnings: soft-ish smut -> minors, you know the drill; mention of anxiety, panic attacks, & grief, more soft!yelena because i said so, me deciding it’s canon that Yelena loves soul music, smoking, fingering (yelena & r receiving), Russian petnames, teasing, cunnilingus/face sitting, pillow talk
・❥・word count: 3.4k
・❥・a/n: so this fic is kind of a Frankenstein monster of a few Yelena requests i got concerning summertime shenanigans and beach vacations. as always, i’m grateful to any and everyone who sends in requests. i’m having more fun writing right now than i ever have before, and i’m so happy that everyone seems to be enjoying my Yelena fics as much as i like writing them. thank you as always and enjoy! <3
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
Your eyes stray from the road ahead of you for the briefest of moments, catching on the beautiful blonde woman beside you. The challenge in not checking Yelena out always presents itself when you least expect it. But right now, you couldn’t really be blamed for it because she was in fact, incredibly gorgeous—bare-faced and naturally tan from the California sun.
Your gaze darts to the phone in her hands, your eyes snagging on the article on the screen concerning her new team and the public reception. All it takes is seeing ‘new avengers’ in the headline and that’s enough to make you swipe the device out of Yelena’s hands.
“Hey!” She protests, reaching to grab her phone back from you, but you hold it further out of her grasp while also managing to drive flawlessly one-handed.
“Don’t you dare throw my phone out that window,” Yelena warns. “Or I will break up with you right now,”
“Don’t tempt me,” you giggle, teasingly raising your hand toward the open sunroof of the white convertible. “We promised no phones on this vacation, didn’t we?” you continue. “And we definitely promised no news headlines or anything having to do with what may or may not be going on back home in New York,”
“I know,” Yelena replies, her tone chastened as is the expression on her face. “I couldn’t help it. I promise I will turn my phone off, just please don’t throw it. That is my fourth phone,”
You have to chuckle at this because you know Yelena’s track record with keeping her phones in tact is not very good. They always get crushed or broken somehow. Or in the case of phone number three, accidentally thrown away and Yelena not realizing it until the trash has already been collected.
You hand Yelena back her phone and she dutifully turns it off and shoves it into the olive-green backpack at her feet that contained all the summertime essentials—SPF, sunglasses, Smartwater, the like. She exhales softly as she leans back against the headrest, and you know making her put her phone away was the best thing for her. Already, her shoulders have begun to unfurl, the crease that seemed to live between her full brows nowhere to be seen.
You hold your right hand out to her, palm facing up, and Yelena takes it, her fingers intertwining with your own. A comfortable hush falls over the two of you then. The only source of sound is coming your car playlist, the one you’d made specifically for Yelena, and Hall & Oates are singing about someone called Sara and her smile. And because you can’t help it, you join in, swapping out the name Sara for Yelena. “…won’t you smile a while for me, Yelena?” and you succeed in bringing a smile to your girlfriend’s otherwise stoic expression.
You hadn’t planned out this vacation.
Not really, anyway. You knew you wanted to do something special for Yelena because your one-year anniversary was right around the corner. But you didn’t quite know if she’d be willing to leave New York. However, you could tell her new team was driving her crazy, and the weight of suddenly becoming important, suddenly being labeled as a hero without the prefix ‘anti’ attached to it was a lot to take on all at once. In fact, the pressure had led to several anxiety-riddled nights. Ones that were spent staying up late and talking Yelena down, helping her breathe through her panic attacks.
You realized that she needed a break. She needed to get away from New York before she completely fell apart. And that’s when you’d gotten the idea to go on a vacation.
You could afford it. You’d been putting money in your savings, for a rainy day, and well, it had been a very rainy day in New York when you made the decision.
You asked Yelena where she’d want to go, and in the softest voice you’d ever heard her use, she said, “I’ve always heard good things about California,” and that was all you needed.
You booked the flight and one day of packing and a six-hour flight later, you were touching down in beautiful Santa Monica. You rented a white convertible from a car rental place nearby, and now you were driving out to the beach, content to spend the entire day there, and only return to your Airbnb when the sun was gone.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re lounging on a beach towel on the Santa Monica Beach, sipping on a chilled hard cider as you watch Yelena rub a generous amount of SPF into both her arms. This was after a short bickering session that you ended up winning— Yelena insisting that she didn’t need sunscreen because she rarely got sunburnt, and you arguing that it didn’t matter and that sun damage didn’t discriminate.
You’d chosen to park yourselves closer to the shore and as far away from the other beach dwellers as possible, the waves drowning out the happy shrieks of children and easy conversation of adults further up the coast.
Though it was quite windy and cool, the sun was still doing its due diligence to beat down on you, and you cursed yourself for not springing for a beach umbrella. But it was just as well since you’d be getting into the water soon anyway. Sliding your yellow-tinted shades down over your eyes, you glance over at Yelena again. “Need help with your back?”
“Please,” she replies immediately.
You smile and push up onto your knees, taking the bottle of sunscreen from Yelena’s outstretched hand. You scoot behind her, crowding her in between your thighs and you feel the intake of her breath as you move closer. For a moment, you’re stuck staring at her tanned back, forgetting the task at hand, and… was that your heart hammering like construction equipment or just your imagination?
“Is my back gonna get any sunscreen any time soon?” Yelena jokes, her voice rattling you out of your daze.
“Right, yeah, sorry,” you clear your throat, squirting SPF into your hands and ignoring both the burn you feel in your cheeks and the knowing smirk Yelena casts you over her shoulder.
Yelena hums the second your hands come in contact with her warm skin, and as you work the formula in, watching it absorb into the muscles of her upper and lower back, it feels like you can’t get enough breath in your lungs. Because she’s so close and she smells so good—like perfume and honey and something else that’s just Yelena, and you suddenly wonder how her shoulder would taste right now if you put your lips on her skin.
“Yelena?”
A voice, specifically a high-pitched one belonging to a young child knocks you out of a second daze and you and Yelena glance up to see a little girl no older then ten beaming down at the two of you. But mainly Yelena. An older teenager, likely the girl’s sister, stands a few paces back, a fond smile on her face.
“Uh…I am Yelena,” Yelena responds uncertainly as she looks at the little girl. Upon closer inspection, you notice that the girl has a small notepad in one hand and what looks like a purple gel pen in the other.
“I just wanted to say that um…” the little girl chews her lip nervously and glances back at her sister. The older girl flaps her hand gently in a gesture to continue, an encouraging smile on her face. Bolstered, the little girl turns back to you and Yelena. “…I was just wondering if I could get an autograph?” she finishes.
Yelena seems to recoil for a moment, and you’re a little shocked too. This has never happened before. Sure, people knew who Yelena was. Knew of her most recent hero work, but no one had ever asked for her autograph. And you certainly weren’t expecting her to have “fans” all the way out in California, nearly 3,000 miles away from home.
Yelena looks back at you, and now it’s your turn to give her an encouraging smile. “Sure,” she finally says, making the little girl beam as she passes Yelena her notepad and pen.
Yelena hesitates, the pen pressed to the notebook paper as she seems to be mulling over just what to write. She finally settles on ‘don’t ever give up’ followed by a signage of her name and a smiley face before handing the items back to the girl.
“Thank you so much!” She beams, clutching the notebook to her chest like it’s a prized possession. And Yelena smiles wider than you’ve ever seen before.
“Thank you,” Yelena replies. “And take care,”
The girl waves and Yelena waves back, then watches as the little girl goes trotting back to her older sister, squealing as she shows off her brand new autograph. Once the two sisters are out of earshot, you turn back to Yelena, to find her still staring after them.
“You okay?” You ask, giving her hand a soft squeeze. You knew how tender Yelena got when it came to seeing siblings interact. You knew how she loved any show or movie about sisters, The Parent Trap becoming an instant fave for her when she watched it for the first time. And you knew why she felt that way. You knew she missed her own sister. And you knew to be patient with her in times like this.
Patient enough to not rush your girlfriend. To let her speak about it when she was ready. And finally, she nods, squeezing your hand back. “Yes,” she says, turning to meet your eyes, another smile lighting up her face. One you would never take for granted. “More than okay,”
You smile back, feeling that familiar sensation of love blooming right where your heart is located. “Ready to get in the water?” You ask her.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she replies.
***
The next few hours are spent basking in the ocean water and losing track of time, and it’s not until the sun begins to sink lower on the horizon, turning the water golden, that you make your way back to your beach towels on the shore.
With a cheeky smile on her face (that’s rare to the world, but not to you), Yelena reveals the contraband she’d had stowed away in the Jansport bag she’d brought to the beach. And since most of the beach dwellers had left by this point in the evening, you had no problem watching her put the joint between her lips and take a lighter to the opposite end.
It’s not long before the two of you are equally baked, a soft haze falling over you and making everything quieter, calmer. Well, mostly calm as it’s become increasingly harder to keep your hands to yourself.
What starts out as playful petting and chaste kisses quickly transforms into something more, your tongue gently but insistently pushing past Yelena’s lips and into her mouth, and she smirks against your lips as her hands drop to your waist, easily lifting you up and pulling you down on top of her. Your heart pounds so hard that you can feel it against your rib cage as you kiss her back, hands pulling at her hair.
She groans at the feeling. “I love when you do that,” she murmurs.
“I know,” you reply.
You keep one hand in her hair while the other begins to snake down between your bodies, on a mission to find the heat between her legs, to take her even higher than the weed already has, but Yelena catches your wrist, stopping you. “Not here,” she mumbles, her mouth brushing against yours as she speaks. “We should go back to the beach house,”
And that’s exactly what you do, scrambling to pack up all your things before racing back to your rented convertible, giggling like teenagers the whole way.
It’s a challenge getting Yelena to stay planted in the passenger seat while you drive. She keeps leaning over to steal neck kisses or let her hand rest on your thigh. And the way she squirms in her seat alerts you to her growing neediness and more than likely a growing ache between her legs.
So you put her out of her misery, your left hand staying on the steering wheel while the other plays with the edge of her bikini bottoms. You keep your eyes on the road, but a lot of your focus has strayed to the whining woman beside you. And when you can tell that rubbing her over the fabric becomes too much for her blood, you graciously give in, letting your forefinger slip beneath the material.
Yelena gasps, clutching your arm as her body jolts with the sensation. She swears something in Russian and you smirk, pushing your finger in deeper. It’s a challenge not to groan at the warm wetness that greets you. Yelena’s head drops against the headrest behind her, your name falling from her lips like a prayer as she grinds against the pressure. You add a second finger without having to be asked, rubbing diligently this way and that.
More curses and beautiful sounds leave Yelena’s lips, and you let that be your guidance, your fingers expertly crooking inside her, hunting for her sweet spot. And you know when you’ve found it because by the time you reached the front drive of your Airbnb and home for the next two weeks, Yelena is keening against your fingers. She clutches your wrist with a white-knuckle grip, moaning your name like it’s the last thing she’ll ever say. And she’s ravenous by the time you’ve killed the engine.
“Inside,” is what she says first. “Now,”
Yelena still has so much energy leftover for someone who just came, and you tell her this much, giggling as she all but herds you inside.
“I am going to shut up that pretty mouth of yours,” Yelena replies, and that’s exactly what she does, pressing you to the wall and kissing you hard before you can tease her any further. And now it’s your turn to groan as your hands find their way back into her hair.
The next few moments are a blur—swimsuits on the floor before you even reach the bedroom and saucy kisses—all lips and teeth and tongues, hands everywhere, and pleasured sighs replacing the silence.
Yelena lies down on the bed and you follow her down, straddling her hips.
“No, I want you up here,” Yelena says, patting her shoulders. “I need to taste you,”
One thing about you is that you’re always down to follow directions, especially when Yelena is the one giving them. So you do as you’re told, your body moving effortlessly and you come to rest where Yelena told you. Your thighs sit just above her shoulders now and her hands rest on the backs of them as she smiles up at you.
There’s a fire in your belly and a thrum between your legs like you’ve never felt before but all Yelena does is stare up at you. Like you’re not aching for her. Like you don’t need her mouth on you right this second.
“Yel, please,” you whine, wiggling your hips pointedly, hoping that’ll expedite the process.
“Please what, little one?” Yelena’s eyes don’t stray from yours as her thumb just barely brushes your clit. You groan at the touch and try to wiggle for more, but the Russian woman only tsks and pulls her hand away. “You have to tell me what you want, milaya,” she says. “Or else, how will I know?”
“I thought you wanted me to sit on your face?" You whine.
Yelena smirks. “Sure, that’s what I want. But what do you want?”
“I…I want the same thing. Yelena, please,” You squirm again, but Yelena gives you nothing and it’s pitiful that you feel like crying right now.
“Please what?”
“Eat me out,” you say. “Please please ple—“
Your begging is cut off and replaced with a groan as you feel Yelena’s fingers push inside of you. And before you even have a chance to react to that sensation, her mouth is quick to replace her fingers, sliding against your opening before dipping inside you.
“Oh my god,” you grip the headboard in front of you for purchase, your hips moving of their own accord, rocking down against your girlfriend’s mouth.
“You always taste so sweet,” Yelena hums against you. “Like pastries,”
You laugh breathlessly because it’s the only response your muddled brain can conjure up at a time like this. Yelena’s nails dig into the backs of your thighs as she holds you steady, moaning into your heat as she kisses, licks, and sucks the breath out of you.
“Oh god, oh fuck,” you moan, your hands gripping the headboard even harder. You’re sure you’re leaving behind scratch marks, but that’s a problem for later. Right now, the only thing you can focus on is Yelena, and her hands, and her mouth and the utter filth she was whispering in against your core.
“You taste so good for me, milaya,” she says. “So hot and sweet and god, you’re making a mess. This is only for me. I am the only one who gets to have you like this. The only one who gets to eat this pussy,”
Your eyes have begun to roll and you know Yelena wants you to praise her, to acknowledge that, yes, she is the only one who gets to eat you out like this, but words have long left you as well as every other cohesive thought in your head. So you continue to rock against her face, chasing your release, the desperate moans and whispers being the only sounds to leave your lips.
Yelena knows when you’re close, her fingers working their way back between your folds curling exactly where she knows your sweet spot is. She tells you to come for her and your response is immediate.
Your orgasm blazes through you and the entire world dwindles. The whole earth could’ve fallen out from underneath you and you wouldn’t have noticed. As far as you were concerned, the only things that existed were you and Yelena. You, Yelena, and the world-altering, spine-tingling, toe-curling orgasm she’d just given you, that is. 
Yelena’s ministrations don’t stop until your shaking stops and when it does, she helps you down, pulling you to lie beside her while you catch your breath.
“Good god, that was incredible,” you breathe, turning your awed gaze on Yelena. “How are you so good at that?”
“Well, I have had a lot of practice. And a great test subject,” Yelena teases, pulling you even closer. You smile against her neck and wrap your arms around her waist.
“We will probably need to buy the homeowners new bedsheets,” Yelena adds a moment later, making you snicker.
“Oh yeah, we’ll definitely have to buy new bedsheets,” you agree.
Another hush falls over the two of you, a comfortable one. Your breathing has mostly returned to normal as you rest your head on Yelena’s chest, listening to her heartbeat.
“Hey,” Yelena puts a finger under your chin, tilting it up so that she can meet your eyes. “Thank you,”
Your heart flutters as you search her eyes. “For what?”
“For…everything. This vacation, this day, the past year before that. Thank you for being here for me. For…loving me,”
Your heart all but takes flight in your chest. That four-letter word. It’s one that Yelena didn’t use often, had only ever used, as far as you know, when talking about Natasha. You knew that she cared for you deeply. She wouldn’t have stuck around for the past year if she didn’t. And you knew that you loved her, but you weren’t in any rush to hear her say it. You were willing to wait as long as it would take her to say it.
And here she was, catching you off guard with the word you’d been anticipating for over 12 months.
“Thank you, Yelena,” you reply, pushing up on your arms to look down at your girlfriend. She gazes up at you, her hands falling to your waist.
“For what?” She whispers.
“For loving me back,” you answer earnestly. And then you close the gap, kissing her sweetly. And when she smiles against your lips, you smile too.
