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new header alert. i made a couple of different versions so feel free to use one (but give credit).

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FLORENCE PUGH as YELENA BELOVA in THUNDERBOLTS* (2025)

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Yelena going from closing her eyes in acceptance of her impending death at the beginning of the movie

to opening her eyes in acceptance of her new role as an Avenger at the end of it 🥹

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She’s just so *chefs kiss

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Me every second of the day

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happy pride month to every loser who celebrates

(personal headcanons idgaf and I don't wanna hear it if you disagree)

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The fact that Yelena in Thunderbolts has the same haircut as Natasha when they were younger is something that I did not need to realise today

LOOK 😭

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Cutie patootie <33

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op this is gold. i love u and ur writing.

Oh..

Pairing: Yelena Belova x fem!reader

Warning: angst, mentions of Yelena's alcohol problem obv, a lilll fluff !!SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS!

Summary: You come home to Yelena drunk and bruised, both mentally and physically.

Word count: 1,409

A/N:just recently watched Thunderbolts and i just HAD to write for her! There are such few fics for her so this is my contribution:) This is based off of the scene where she falls into the void and sees herself drunk in the bathroom:p also i slmost have 50 followers?????? This is incredibly huge to me thank you so much!!!!!!!

Masterlist

!English is not my native language!

The second your key turned and the door creaked open, you got hit with a strong, pungent smell.

As you pushed the door further open, your eyes wandered around to see your apartment almost fully thrashed. Glass shards all over the floor, blood drops here and there, clothes discarded, and several—too many—empty alcohol bottles, including your more expensive ones you had originally saved for a special occasion you and Yelena could drink together.

Granted, you hadn’t been home in a week due to a mission, but you most certainly did not leave your home in this state.

“Yelena?” your voice came out far more hoarse than you initially intended it to be. You opened your bedroom door to find nobody. Your eyebrows furrowed as your steps started to speed up in search of Yelena. Had she come here after a nasty mission that Valentina gave her? Maybe you were too late and she was bleeding out somewhere? Maybe she’s d—you didn’t even have time to finish the thought before your eyes landed on Yelena sunken on the bathroom floor, leaning against your tub with an empty bottle in her hand.

Your eyes scanned her, and you noticed multiple bruises and cuts that were far too deep to be left uncared for. As you squatted in front of her, you tightly closed your eyes and ran a hand over your face. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you’d wake up from this horrific dream and enjoy coming back home to bask in the warmth of your safe, happy, and definitely-not-drunk girlfriend.

When she had picked up this habit, you had no idea. At some point, you started to return home to her drunk more and more, and every single time you tried to talk to her, she would either blatantly ignore you or start yelling at you in Russian. And although you didn’t understand the words, you could still tell they were extremely vulgar. You tried to help her—many, many times—but she just wouldn’t let you. What was the point of living together and being together if she wouldn’t even let you help her? For God’s sake, she wouldn’t even let you clean a cut on her finger the other fucking week.

When you two first got together, it was just after she had lost Natasha. She found refuge in you and your warmth. You held her during the nights, comforted her when she cried after a nightmare, or when something reminded her of her past. You did everything you could—and you still would—so where did it all go wrong? What had you done that made her spiral so quickly?

Your hand, still slightly shaking from the anxiety you previously felt, brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. Before you could pull back, her hand darted up and harshly grabbed your wrist. She tumbled herself over you with the bottle raised in her other hand, ready to strike down—

“Yelena…” you said, voice harsh and warning as your other hand darted up to stop the bottle from crashing down on you. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” your voice rose with every word.

Her mouth fell open, eyes skidding from one of yours to the other. She remained so still, you could’ve sworn the Statue of Liberty seemed more alive. Her hand holding the bottle dropped immediately to the ground, chucking it away from you as she scrambled off. Mid-motion, she tumbled over herself, grabbing her shoulder where you now saw blood seeping through what looked like a two-week-old hoodie that she definitely hadn’t washed.

A small groan escaped her as she threw her head to the side, avoiding your gaze completely. By then, you were leaning back on your elbows. Your eyes drifted to the ceiling and a deep exhale left your lungs. You stood up to grab the first aid kit. “Where are you going? Are you leaving alrea—I’m sorry, I didn’t—” “No, Yelena, I’m not leaving. I’m getting the damn first aid kit. You almost have a full Santa Claus outfit with how fast your blood is seeping through your clothes.”

After that, she once again fell fully silent.

You managed to drag her to your bed, which surprisingly remained fully intact—as if she’d never even laid a finger on it. You slowly helped her out of her dirty clothes and into clean pajamas before sitting behind her to tend to her shoulder injury. It looked nearly fully infected, and you let out a sharp exhale of disbelief.

“Yelena, what the hell have you been doing since I was gone? Did you even touch this wound at all with, like, anything?” Your tone was sharp, and although you didn’t mean to sound harsh, it came out that way regardless.

Silence. Nothing. You weren’t even sure if she was still awake. You let out a sigh and placed the gauze down. Your forehead dropped onto the back of her neck as your arms wrapped around her waist.

“Yelena? Please talk to me…” you whispered into her skin, peppering small kisses along her neck and back. She raised her head and turned to look at you—and now, up close, you could truly see her. The deep purple eye bags under her bloodshot eyes, the downturn of her lips into a trembling C-shape. She looked like she was about to break into a million pieces… or cry.

Your hand went to cradle the side of her face, your thumb gently wiping away the tears on her cheek. “I know, baby… I know,” you whispered, nodding with the words.

She moved to turn fully toward you, ignoring the stinging in her shoulder as she buried herself in your warmth. You felt her trembling beneath your fingertips even before your arms wrapped around her—one hand on her head, the other around her waist, mindful of her wounds. “I just… I can’t stop this feeling an—and I don’t know—I don’t know what to do.” She took sobbing breaths between each few words, but you understood her. You always did, and she knew that.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated into the skin of your neck, thick with her accent, slipping into Russian phrases your brain couldn’t translate.Your hand scratched gently at her scalp to calm her. You couldn’t say for sure if it helped, but you kept doing it anyway.

You had recently convinced her to cut her hair short, and although now wasn’t the moment, you absolutely loved it. You had made sure she knew how much when she came home after cutting it.

It took some time, but finally, she stopped trembling. She simply moved fully on top of you as you held her. Maybe if you held her tight enough, she’d be able to feel your love—feel your warmth in your heart—and take it for herself.

You let out a sigh near her head, opening your mouth to speak, but no words came. Frustrated, you nibbled at your lip and lowered your head to meet hers, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead. You began rocking the both of you side to side slightly to help her calm down. Then you felt her raising her head to look at you. Her bloodshot eyes met yours as you looked over her face—the tear-streaked cheeks, the overly red lips from crying and biting them, the runny red nose.

Your eyebrows furrowed. She was barely holding herself together.

You hated this. You hated seeing her so disheveled, so out of your reach even when she was right there in your arms.

“Yelena…” you whispered, gently running your thumb under her eyes to catch the tears.

“I’m so sorry.”

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that was the inspo actually lol

Just imagine Yelena Belova dating an American girl and her go to phrase is „Oh my god! You are so American!” „That is so American of you!”

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Florence Pugh in Thunderbolts*

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Not my usual style but I wanted to do something cute with Yelena and her guinea pig :3

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whatever lana says

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And they’re all best friends 😊

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Watching Thunderbolts* after Hawkeye like