#she's lovsk

[aphrodite-made-me-write-it]

Take My Breath Away

(A/N) so that first fic did pretty okay! here’s another natasha fic bc i have literally dozens just sitting around in my google docs bc i really didn’t think i’d ever post them anywhere but now i have this beautiful garbage can here and all you lovely little trash pandas! thank you so much for all the comments they were so sweet!! while i finish up my Long AF Diana Fic, I’ll try to post some shorter imagines i have shoved aside somewhere. Might open to requests soon, but no promises bc that diana fic really do be taking up all my hyperfixation... anyway, thank you guys sm i hope you like this one even if it’s not as intense as my 5+1 fic!

Rating: T (bc I swear a lot and cannot help myself)

Warnings: The overdone “I’m Sick And Refuse To Admit It” trope; pretty much entirely fluff; very little plot; weirdly enough i wrote this before the pandemic hit and i cant help wondering if that was god telling me to stop being a useless lesbian but oh well i left that bitch on read; another reader w fire powers bc i guess i was feelin like burning shit during this particular time

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count: 3,726

Synopsis: Natasha has the flu and to avoid her wrath, the Avengers decide to go on a top secret mission. Unfortunately, either because you’re the newest member of the group or because Natasha always seems to fixate on you, you’re tasked with staying behind and taking care of her. You may have bitten off more than you can chew.

this is my fav gif of her god damm get u a girl whos a cinnamon roll AND a sinnamon roll

“So is there a reason you guys are sneaking out on your missions so late?” You ask Steve, who looks over your shoulder with a shadow of fear and guilt. “And you’re leaving me behind?”

You had coincidentally been training later into the evening than planned. You were just exiting the gym when you saw Wanda and Peter tiptoeing down the hall as if they were a pair of school children trying to sneak into the kitchen for late night snacks. You followed them to the docking bay, where the quinjet was already firing up and ready to leave.

“Not you,” Steve shakes his head, lowering his voice to a whisper. “We’re leaving Natasha. She’s got a cold and refuses to take it easy. Wanda slipped her some NyQuil so we could have a few hours to prep and leave.”

“You’re scared of Natasha with a cold?” You scoff, and his grave expression makes your laughter die down quickly. You frown. “She hates me, Steve. I’ll probably be dead by the time you come back!”

The blonde rolls his eyes, a smile pulling at his lips. “She doesn’t hate you. You’ll be fine.”

“The entirety of the Avengers is running away from her, I really don’t think she’ll go easy on me because I’m new.”

“She’ll go easy on you because, when Nat’s got a cold, she’s miserable.” He places a comforting hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Trust me, (Y/N), you’ll be fine. Besides, the place we’re going doesn’t do well with… well, fire.”

“But Carol is going!” You whine and he laughs.

“Carol can’t set an entire building on fire at the drop of a pin. Just stay here and make sure Nat doesn’t get too dramatic.”

You relent, at last, with a defeated sigh and watch the others load onto the jet before leaving into the starry night.

Cowards, you think bitterly to yourself before returning inside.

-

You’re in the kitchen when Natasha slumps against the counter, her already pale skin a sickly pallor. Her nose is red, and you can tell by the way she sniffles that she can’t breathe out of it at all.

You finish fixing yourself a cup of coffee, feeling her tired gaze following you as you do so. 

“Where’s everyone?” She asks, her voice far huskier than usual, and to be honest it’s weirdly hot but you decide to shove that thought deep down.

“Out,” you answer, finally meeting her gaze. Her eyes are watery, and you suddenly feel a pang of guilt at fighting Steve so hard on staying here. She doesn’t seem so bad. Yet. “They snuck away last night. Told me to keep you out of trouble.”

“Cowards,” she starts, then immediately launches into a hard coughing fit. You set aside your mug and quickly get a glass of water. The redhead eyes you skeptically before accepting it, and you suddenly feel like you’re treading on thin ice. “I don’t need a sitter.” She growls after taking a long gulp of the water.

You snort. “Nurse, more like. You look like shit, Romanoff.”

“Fuck you,” Natasha looks longingly at the coffee machine. 

“Mm, not a fan of whatever cooties you’re infected with.” You tease, and to your absolute delight a blush spreads across her cheeks. “But the offer is definitely noted.”

“I hate you,” Natasha croaks, then goes back to chugging the water. 

“Well, hate me or not, I’m taking care of you, so you better get used to it.” You reach across the countertop to feel her forehead, and the action causes the redhead to stiffen so much you fear she’s turned to stone. Sure enough, she’s blazing hot - which, honestly, for you to feel her fever despite your powers, that’s a cause of concern. “Geez, how long have you been sick?”

“I’m not sick,” she sounds incredibly congested, despite her protests, and you let out a series of ‘tsks’. She hasn’t ripped your arm off yet, so that’s definitely a good sign. You retract your hand and hum thoughtfully.

“I’ll go to the drugstore and get you some cold medicine. Maybe some gatorade, too. And orange juice - I mean, unless you want what’s in the fridge?”

Her nose wrinkles. “I’m not drinking that pulp shit. Stark has a one way ticket to Hell for that.”

You snort in agreement. “Fair enough. Any other requests before you’re condemned to quarantine?”

“Quarantine?”

“I’m not catching your germs,” you repeat, to which Natasha rolls her eyes.

“You’d only be so lucky,” she mutters bitterly. 

“I’m gonna go get that medicine. If you aren’t either in the shower or in bed by the time I get back, I will have to use force,” you warn, though it’s a playful enough threat that Natasha almost smiles, before launching into a rather difficult sneezing fit.

Is it weird to find someone’s sneeze cute?

With this, you down your coffee and make for the elevator. You hear Natasha call your name, and pause mid-step.

“Can you, uh, get a new thermometer? Danvers ruined the last one.”

You nod, snorting at the memory of Carol suffering a cold herself and absolutely refusing to not go on missions. It’s hard to argue with someone who can rival even your own fire-based abilities, and, well, she was, technically, a Captain so there’s very little room for argument.

-

When you return, Natasha is not in her room, nor is she in her private shower. Groaning, you scour the Compound for her until, finally, locating her in the gym. She’s punching the hell out of one of the training dummies but she lacks her usual determination; her punches sloppy and her body drenched in sweat.

Look, you’re no doctor, but that cannot be healthy.

Especially with how hard she’s wheezing and stumbling.

You hurry over to her, and quickly realize that she’s shivering. It’s like she’s a goddamn chihuahua, a near-steady vibration rolling through her body when you reach out to grab her arm before she can swing another punch at the training dummy that’s hardly twitched since you’ve entered.

“Got- cold. Needed…” Natasha takes a long swig from her waterbottle. “Warmth.”

“Jesus, you’re going to kill yourself if you keep pulling this shit.” You don’t hide your genuinely worried tone, nor do you hide your irritation. “You aren’t stupid. What the fuck, Romanoff?”

Natasha turns to glare at you, but the effect is lost when she looks so pale and weak. You sigh, trying to keep your tone even as you offer something you don’t think you’ve ever imagined offering Natasha Romanoff.

“I can raise my body temperature. If you wanted to be warm, you could have waited for a literal human space heater.”

Okay, maybe that’s not really an ‘offering’, but it’s in a tone that wouldn’t make her totally weirded out. At least, that’s what you’d like to tell yourself. Thankfully, she seems to understand, and though she appears reluctant, she does step a little closer to you. You try to resist rolling your eyes as your arms snake around her waist, pulling her flush against you. You allow the heat that always boils just below the surface of your skin to manifest slowly, warming up your body as you keep Natasha’s against it.

Natasha once again feels as though she’s become stone, but she slowly relaxes into the awkward hold; her own hands tentatively make their way around your lower back. After another few moments, she hums, and melts into you.

“Wow, that’s nice,” she murmurs, moreso to herself than you. 

You laugh softly. “See? I’m good for something.”

The recollection of your last argument makes her freeze once more, and you’re worried that she’s going to push you away - or worse. She doesn’t, however. Instead, her face falls into the space between your shoulder and neck.

“You’re good for lots’ve things,” she mutters, and you realize that her voice has become quite groggy and sluggish.

“C’mon, you gotta take your medicine before you go back to sleep,” you urge, your tone becoming soft. 

If Natasha notices the unusual tone, she doesn’t comment. She nods into you, and allows you to lead her out of the gym and into the kitchen once more, where you’d placed your bag of goodies.

After encouraging her to take the cold medicine, you put the new thermometer between her plump lips and wait. Her eyelids droop dangerously as she patiently waits, and you’re a little ashamed to say the sight makes your stomach flop pleasantly. 

The digital thermometer beeps, and you have to do a double-take on the number. You have to give Natasha several minutes of encouragement to take a shower before going back to sleep, but to your utter astonishment she does give in - and in just three tries! This, perhaps, is among the most worrying of symptoms.

Once she’s showered and changed into new pajamas, you’re ready to leave her to sleep when her voice, very quiet now, calls out:

“Wait, I need…” Her hesitation causes you to turn around, an eyebrow arching in confusion. “I’m cold,” she finally says, though her tone is a little off. 

You swallow thickly, all thoughts of cooties leaving your mind like they hadn’t been there at all as you move to lay next to her. Truthfully, you aren’t tired at all, but you think that makes this all the more terrifying; you’re just going to lay here, Natasha cuddling with you, for hours while she recovers from a cold-medicine-induced coma? Shit. 

She’s never been this nice to you before. It’s always hard-comments, witty banter - nothing like this. This tenderness - it’s foreign, and you daresay it’s making it impossible to deny your attraction to her.

Still, as guilty as it makes you feel, you cherish this weird moment of softness. Natasha’s body curling against your own, letting you wrap your arms around her and focusing on a steadying warmth for the girl in your arms.

“Thanks,” she whispers, almost inaudibly against your collarbone. Your head is spinning wildly.

Has this always been there, you wonder?

You’ve definitely been attracted to her from the start - that’s undeniable. She’s the Black Widow - one does not simply wear skin-tight bodysuits unless they are confident in their appearance. And, wow, does she deserve that confidence. 

But this is different.

It’s weird. That’s all you can really sum it up to. It’s weird. Natasha curled around you, red-nosed and sniffly, acting like you’re all she needs in this world.

You want to fucking punch every single damn Avenger.

-

The next several days follow much the same pattern; you keep Natasha in bed, drinking plenty of fluids and eating enough of your homemade soup that you’ve just started improvising in ways to keep her entertained. Her fever hasn’t gone down by much, but she’s becoming a little more coherent. She’s admitted to spending a lot of time in the gym before Rogers condemned her to your care, and /that, you suspect, is a primary cause of her condition being so shitty.

And, for once, she’s civil. No snide comments, no crude remarks - nothing. Just… a normal woman, as she would be with the rest of the Avengers. You wonder, briefly, if you’ve somehow earned your place on the team in her eyes simply by taking care of her, but you also aren’t entirely sure why her opinion has changed so abruptly.

Not that you’re complaining.

Natasha and you have been binge-watching shows left and right, and in this time you’ve come to appreciate - and even /enjoy - her presence. Her laugh.

Tonight, you’ve turned to a Russian stew recipe you’d found online; Natasha has turned on some old detective movie, black-and-white, that she’s been claiming to be “The greatest cinematic experience you will ever have in your life.” 

She has said that about most old movies she’s gotten you to watch, and thus far you are unconvinced.

“I just can’t get over the incredibly oppressed homosexuality of these men. Or the way the cinematic industry portrayed any heterosexual couple, ever-” 

To which Natasha would almost always groan dramatically, and the action was so damn adorable that you end up letting her pick another classic film just to see it again.

You definitely hadn’t expected her eyes to fill with tears after the first few spoonfuls.

Your mind immediately runs into overdrive. As another woman, you should probably be better at these things - but, honestly, you’re shit at cheering people up, so you aren’t sure what to do here at all. Cheering up the average gal wasn’t always so difficult, but cheering up Natasha? 

Fucking hell. Might as well be fighting a dragon blindfolded.

“Uh- is it really that bad?” Is the idiotic shit that spews out of your mouth instead of any well-thought-out sentence.

To your relief, she lets out a watery chuckle. “No! It’s- it’s great.” She looks down at it, a rare smile playing at her lips. “It just reminded me of Russia, is all.”

“Oh,” it leaves you in a breathy sort of exhale. There’s a pregnant pause before you ask, “Do you… miss it?”

Her green eyes turn to you with a heated sort of intensity that makes you wary of one of her all-too-familiar outbursts. To your surprise, however, the heat simmers, and she turns back to the stew, taking another spoonful. “Sometimes,” she answers finally, and you begin eating your own bowl of stew.

The movie she’d put on is easy to follow; you watch it in companionable silence, your mind racing on countless tracks. As they seem to often lately, they focus mainly around the woman beside you, and what could possibly be behind her odd behavior.

Is she actually opening up, or is this just another persona? When the others come back, will she return to her almost cruel attitude towards you?

It keeps you awake late into the night, Natasha’s slow breath against your neck hardly soothing as you try to separate your personal feelings from your logical ones. You’re several hours into your brooding when Natasha starts twitching and muttering.

You don’t quite catch what she’s saying, but you assume it’s in Russian - quick and near-silent whispers as her face contorts into expressions of pain and anger. Her arm that’s thrown around your stomach suddenly constricts its hold, and you let out a huff of air at the action.

Fucking hell, she’s strong.

Then, sharp and fearful, Natasha snarls, “No!” and separates from you entirely, a cry of pain ripping through her. You sit up quickly, turning on the light and frantically murmuring to her to try and wake her up. Not wanting to end up dead on the floor, you’re careful in coaxing her out of the nightmare. When she finally wakes up, she jolts up so fast that she nearly knocks her head into yours.

Sweat lines her forehead, her pupils dilated and her breathing uneven as she looks around the room as if expecting shadows to turn into monsters.

“Nat, you’re okay,” you keep your tone gentle, your hand daring to reach out towards her own. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Natasha practically throws herself back into you, and you aren’t sure if she’s crying or trying to catch her breath. You wrap your arms around her, rubbing slow circles along her back and summoning a bit of heat in your palms until she finally relaxes. She takes several slow, even breaths before pulling back a little, wiping under her eyes swiftly.

“Sorry,” she mutters, looking away from you. 

Frightened of her closing herself off again, you make a brave move. The bravest damn move you’ve ever made - possibly your last. “You can trust me, Nat.”

There’s a terrifying silence wherein you fear, genuinely, for your life. To your surprise, when Natasha looks back at you, she’s got that vulnerable expression once again. She swallows, running her tongue over her lips.

“Just… bad memories,” she says at last, and you frown.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head, closing her eyes tightly. “Not… not right now.” A pause. “But, maybe, someday.”

That’s enough, for now.

You turn the light back off, laying back down against her silk sheets and numerous pillows, a far cry from your own messy bed. Natasha lays on her side, looking over her shoulder expectantly. Unused to the idea of /spooning Natasha, you fall into your place with understandable apprehension. 

It’s nice, though.

It’s always nice to hold her.

Fucking hell does she even know what she’s doing to you?

One of Natasha’s hands moves up to your own that’s resting comfortably on her waist. Her fingers curl with yours, and you can’t hear whatever it is she says thanks to the roar of your heartbeat in your ears.

You’re going to kill Steve Rogers.

-

Natasha has been quiet all day. The team is supposed to come back soon, and that means you’ll probably be sent to clean up after them. Natasha will likely be forced by Steve to hang back, which she’ll hate but do anyway, so you spend much of the day preparing yourself for the inevitability of your coming mission.

You’ve grown so used to chatting with Natasha that the silence feels louder than words. She’s getting better, but keeps getting the chills so you switch between checking your gear and training with your powers, as well as giving Natasha the cuddles she needs to keep her teeth from chattering.

It’s odd, because Natasha hasn’t had a fever in at least twenty four hours, so you can’t imagine why she still gets the chills. Maybe this flu is worse than you thought? But she wasn’t sniffly anymore, either, and her cough seems to be entirely gone.

You don’t say any of this, though. Part of you - a very selfish part that, honestly, probably shouldn’t exist - enjoys the fact that the redhead wants to snuggle up with you. After enduring her attitude for months, it’s a change in pace you aren’t eager to let go of anytime soon. She fits so perfectly in your arms, feels so good to hold - how can you go back to sleeping alone in your bed after all of this?

Natasha inhales slowly, then exhales in a harsh breath. Her head rolls onto your shoulder, a hum slipping her lips. “I have to tell you something,” she says slowly, cautiously. “But you have to promise not to be mad.”

You scoff. “What, are you about to declare your undying love for me?”

“Uh- well, actually…”

Your heart leaps into your throat. You look down at her with wide eyes. “Wait, what?”

“I was lying about being cold,” Natasha admits, blushing. “And I picked all those fights with you because I, um,” she mumbles something incoherently.

“What was that?” You can’t fight the rising smirk.

Natasha huffs. “You heard me.”

“Nope, I didn’t,” you start to withdraw your arms but Natasha pushes further into them in protest.

“Okay! Okay. I… sort of have a… y’know. Crush, or whatever. On you.”

Now your smirk is a full on shit-eating grin. “You mean to tell me that I’ve officially woo’d the Black Widow?”

Natasha pushes your shoulder away. “Cute, but I could still kick your ass.” Her cheeks are crimson - you’ve never seen her so flustered before. You wish you could take a picture with your mind and cherish it forever. “I just didn’t think they’d leave you with me when I got the flu, and then you were being so sweet and-

“Nat,” you interrupt. Her emerald eyes meet yours, wide and a little afraid. “I like you, too.”

“‘Like’. What are we, sixth graders?” Natasha rolls her eyes despite the smile pulling at her lips.

“And here I was going to offer you a kiss to make up for all the teasing.” You drawl sarcastically.

Natasha moves suddenly into your lap, pulling your lips against hers in a passionate kiss. It’s like she’s been waiting months to feel your lips on hers - and, honestly, she might have been. You know you’ve certainly thought about this more than once, even before Natasha got sick.

When she pulls away, Natasha leans her forehead against yours with a disbelieving grin on her now parted lips. “You talk too much.”

-

When the team returns, looking a little battered but not too terrible, Natasha seems back to her normal self. Everyone definitely catches onto the sudden change in her behavior towards you, but thankfully, nobody questions it. As nice as it is to see Natasha healthy, the morning everyone returns you feel a little woozy. Everyone sounds a little muffled, and you can’t really breathe out of your nose, like, at all.

You don’t have much time to dwell on it, though, as you’re sent to meet up with some SHIELD agents to clear out the rest of the HYDRA facility the others had destroyed. This only takes a few days, but when you return, you feel like you’re on death’s door. You’re unnaturally cold, nose running and a sneeze always building in the back of it.

Tony, weirdly enough, is the first to mention it. Unsurprisingly, he decides the best time to bring this up is during the first dinner the entirety of the team can share since their mission.

“So, did you and Romanoff swap spit or are you just sick from being stuck with her?”

You nearly choke on your pasta. “Fwhap?” 

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “You look like shit, (Y/N).”

“Oh,” you blush when Natasha turns her intense gaze on you. “Uh- I’m- I mean, I’ll get over it fast. I’m fine, really.”

“Nope,” Natasha shakes her head sternly. “Absolutely not.”

Everyone looks at her with blatant surprise.

She shrugs lightly under the attention. “You took care of me. Let me return the favor.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Tony asks Steve in a terrible whisper.

Natasha happily responds with a kick under the table, her eyes never leaving yours. “C’mon, get to bed.”

“This is payback, isn’t it?” You groan as you stand up, earning a roar of laughter from the others.

Natasha’s sadistic grin is response enough. This is going to be a long recovery week.

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