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romugh · 21 days ago

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RUNNING IN CIRCLES- NR

ROMUGH’S KINKTOBER

october 23rd — stress relief, free use, friends with benefits

DAY FOURTEEN || kinktober masterlist || 2024.

pairing- natasha romanoff x medic!avenger!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!natty, fingering (n rcv), oral (n & r rcv), rough & vulnerable sex? not many tags in this one!

wc- 8438 words

a/n- absolutely loved writing this :') differs from my usual filthy stories, but it's still got it's smutty goodness hidden! :p very poorly edited and reread though, sorry in advance <3

synopsis- uhhh later i gotta study

taglist?- @lost-mortemanghel ♥︎, @idkwhatever580, @elliecoochieeater, @left-and-right-up-and-down, @deadlesbianwitches, @lizziewitchy ❀ - comment or dm to be added :)

The crisp autumn air carried a bite that sank into your skin, even through the thick fabric of your SHIELD uniform. Outside, the trees had begun their slow transformation, leaves turning from deep greens to vivid shades of amber and crimson. As you walked down the corridor, you could see the skyline of the city framed by the headquarters’ tall windows, the buildings standing tall against the grey-blue sky streaked with the orange light of dusk.

Autumn had always been your favourite time of year. There was something invigorating about the chill in the air, the way it sharpened your senses and reminded you of the changing seasons. It wasn’t just a shift in weather—it was a time of transition, of letting go and starting anew. The world seemed to draw inward, becoming quieter, more introspective. And yet, for all its beauty, autumn was also a time of unravelling, of revealing the underlying fragility beneath nature’s vibrant display.

It wasn’t much different from life at SHIELD, you thought. The polished surfaces and steel corridors held a kind of deceptive calm, a veil over the constant motion of agents moving from one mission to the next, patching themselves up and heading right back into the fray. The medical team worked tirelessly in the med bay, patching up wounds that spoke stories of close calls and dangerous encounters, although there were always those who chose to bypass the med bay entirely.

Natasha Romanoff was one of those.

You’d seen her a handful of times in the corridors and offices, her expression always calm, almost detached, as she moved with a purpose that never faltered. It wasn’t that she was unapproachable—she exchanged words with other agents quite often, actually—but there was a clear distance she kept, a barrier that kept others from getting too close. As far as you knew, she had not once come to the medical wing. If she had sustained injuries, she kept them hidden well to an untrained eye.

You suspect that she handled most (if not all) of her wounds herself, stitching up gashes in the quiet solitude of her room and bandaging bruises with the same efficiency as she did her missions. It was the kind of self-sufficiency you’d expect from someone with her background. She had come to SHIELD from a life that demanded resilience, a life where depending on others could mean the difference between survival and death.

But the traces were there if you, SHIELD’s best medic both on and off the field, looked closely enough. Sometimes, when she crossed paths with you in the halls, you’d notice a faint mark along her jaw, or the slight favouring of one leg over the other. Nothing major, but enough to suggest she wasn’t invincible, no matter how she made it seem. It was as if she considered her injuries her own secret to keep, never offering them up for anyone else to see.

You often wondered what it was that kept her from seeking help. Pride, perhaps, or a simple lack of trust in others’ abilities to treat wounds as precisely as she could. Or maybe it was just a habit—an old reflex from her past, carried over into the present, one that kept her self-reliant to the point of isolation.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity whenever you saw her passing by. What kind of person could continue like that, carrying their pain alone and never asking for anything? What did it cost her to keep everyone else at arm’s length? And what would it take for her to finally walk through the doors of the med bay, to let herself be cared for by someone else?

(You acted like it wouldn't matter if that someone else turned out to be you.)

(It did matter. Who are you trying to fool??)

The Avengers, Fury and his right hand eye Maria, and Agent Coulson were seated at the debriefing table, half-listening to Fury’s voice as he went over details of the recent happenings in New York. The room felt cold and stale despite the hushed murmurs and shifting bodies of the gathered Avengers. Natasha was no stranger to these debriefings, yet today felt different. There was a tension that hung in the air, a sense of expectation she couldn’t quite shake.

Fury paused, glancing toward Maria before asking, "Where’s Dr. [Y/L/N]? I want her in here for this."

Maria nodded, left the room with a quick stride, and the space fell into a brief, uncertain silence. Natasha’s brows furrowed as she stared at the door Maria had just exited through. She had heard the name before—Dr. [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. The head medic at SHIELD, supposedly one of the best in the business. Natasha knew your name, but that was it. She’d never bothered to seek you out, preferring to handle her own injuries anyway, to keep her vulnerabilities under lock and key.

As the door opened again and you entered behind Maria, the quiet murmur of the room seemed to still completely. You stepped in with a confidence that felt almost casual, your uniform fitting snugly against your muscular frame, showcasing the strength in your arms and legs, while still accentuating your femininity. You had a kind of presence that filled the room—bold yet serene. It was something that Natasha found herself drawn to almost immediately, her attention locking onto you as you came to stand near the table.

Your skin seemed to glow against the muted tones of the room, a healthy flush brought out by the brisk autumn air outside. Natasha’s gaze drifted over you, taking in the shape of your jaw, the arch of your brow, the curve of your lips. You looked… different from what she’d expected. Not in a way that was disappointing—no, far from it. It was more that she hadn’t expected someone with your kind of beauty to be the person who spent their days stitching together the wounds of agents, taking care of others in a world that offered so little care in return.

God, you were so pretty.

Natasha hadn’t meant for the thought to hit her so suddenly, but there it was. It unfolded in her mind with a kind of vividness that startled her. You were pretty. No—beautiful. Strong. Mesmerising, even. The kind of person who stood out without trying, who seemed to belong in the very air around them.

She cursed herself quietly, realising she was staring, and that her thoughts were running away with her. Her chest tightened with a strange, unexpected sensation, something that lingered in the back of her throat, catching at her breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this about anyone—let alone someone she had just met, or if she ever even had felt this way at all.

She hadn’t even really met you yet. She was just looking at you—right now, at this exact moment—for the first time.

And already, there was something there. An unfamiliar warmth unfurling beneath her ribs, spreading outwards in a way that made her wonder if it was adrenaline or something else entirely.

As you took a seat at the table, Maria introduced you to the Avengers, Bruce and Tony sending you a small smile in recognition, "Dr. [Y/L/N], head medic at SHIELD, also responsible for overseeing the field medics. She’s been with us for a while now, recently keeping out of the action but always ensuring our agents come back in one piece."

The explanation seemed distant to Natasha, drowned out by the thoughts that crowded her mind. You had been the head medic at SHIELD all this time, and she had never even thought to step foot in the med bay. How many times had she stitched herself up in her room, refusing to show any sign of weakness to anyone? And now, she couldn’t help but feel the slightest hint of regret. What would it have been like to be treated by you? To have those hands bandaging her wounds?

A blush crept onto her cheeks unbidden, and she clenched her jaw to hide it, forcing herself to focus on Fury as he spoke. But then there was that moment, that brief exchange when you glanced her way, and your eyes met hers for the first time. Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, a hitch so subtle she doubted anyone noticed. But she noticed it. She felt the way her pulse quickened just the slightest bit.

You were speaking to Fury now, your voice calm and unwavering as you discussed your hesitation about the new position. Natasha listened intently, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t like her to pay this much attention to a person she didn’t know. Yet, there was something about you—the way you carried yourself, the way you seemed both grounded and powerful, that made her want to know more.

She hadn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.

You let out a sigh, your mind racing with the implications of what Fury was asking. It wasn’t that you doubted your ability; you had proven your strength countless times in the field, and your physique—a testament to hours of gruelling training—reflected that. But something about this offer felt different. He was asking for more than medical expertise. He wanted you back in the thick of things, facing enemies head-on while patching up your teammates whenever that would be needed.

“What exactly would change?” you finally asked, voice steady as you pretended not to feel the Black Widow’s gaze boring into your soul.

She could sense your uncertainty as you spoke, could see the way you hesitated when Fury explained that the role would involve being more than just a medic. You’d be a full-fledged agent, an Avenger, basically. You looked at Fury with scepticism in your gaze, your lips pursed in a faint frown. Natasha almost smiled at that. She liked the way you questioned things, the way you didn’t simply accept everything at face value.

The weight of his words settled in. You would be more than a healer. You would be a warrior.

You sighed softly, shook your head, and stood up. You walked over to Fury, reaching into the breast pocket of his coat and pulling out his pen with a deft, graceful movement. It was such a simple act, but Natasha found herself watching every second of it, as if it were a dance unfolding right before her. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, the steady thrum of it filling her senses.

When you signed the paper and handed the pen back to Fury, Natasha could have sworn she saw the faintest hint of a smirk curling at the corners of your lips, as if you were silently challenging the world—or maybe just him. And just like that, you turned and walked out of the room, leaving behind an unexpected sense of anticipation in your wake.

Natasha realised then, as the door clicked shut behind you, that her curiosity was already blooming into something else, something she didn’t want to acknowledge, didn’t want to admit.

Yet for the first time in her life, she found herself wondering what it would be like to let someone in, to let someone see past the carefully constructed walls she kept around herself.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Natasha found herself standing at her room’s door, her fingertips grazing the very faint burn on her palm. The dull sting served as a reminder of her momentary distraction in the kitchen. She glanced at the door across the hallway—your door—still unoccupied. Her brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as her mind wandered to thoughts of you. You should’ve moved in by now, settled into your newly assigned Avengers room in front of hers. But for some reason, it remained untouched, a constant reminder that you weren’t there.

It was absurd, really. She wasn’t used to this—this strange, inexplicable feeling of missing someone she barely knew.

With a frustrated sigh, she turned on her heels and headed down the corridor, her steps picking up pace.

She wasn’t sure why she was doing this—why she was making her way to the med bay for something so minor. The skin wasn’t even burned, just red and slightly tender, the kind of irritation that would go away in an hour or so. Normally, she wouldn’t even give it a second thought. But this time, as she approached the med bay, she found herself hoping that you were there.

The sliding doors parted, and Natasha hesitated at the threshold, her gaze searching the room. There you were, sitting in your office behind the glass walls, a faint frown on your face as you worked on some paperwork, your work glasses perched delicately on your nose. Her heart gave an unsteady thump as she took you in, the way the light cast gentle shadows across your features. It was so mundane, so normal, yet something about seeing you there—focused, calm, and completely unaware of her presence—sent a jolt of nervous energy rushing through her.

As if sensing her gaze, you looked up from your work. Your eyes met hers, and for a second, everything seemed to slow. The tension in her chest unravelled just a bit, the weight of her own uncertainty lifting at the sight of the small, welcoming smile you sent her way.

But then, the reality of the situation crashed back in, her nerves flaring up once more. What was she doing here? Natasha wasn’t used to feeling nervous—she was the Black Widow, for god's sake. Yet the warmth creeping up her cheeks betrayed her, and she quickly averted her eyes, glancing around the med bay in a futile attempt to hide the flush that tinged her skin. She scanned the empty beds, hoping for any distraction, any excuse to turn back. There wasn’t a single medic in sight.

When she glanced back at you, you were still watching her, your expression now tinged with a hint of curiosity. The small smile remained on your lips, but your brows drew together slightly, a question forming in your eyes as you took in her hesitant stance. Natasha stood there, rooted in place, her hand still pressed to the burn that she’d nearly forgotten about.

You tilted your head, motioning her inside with a simple gesture. She took a steadying breath, feeling her pulse quicken as she pushed open the door to your office. Her steps were quieter than usual, hesitant even, as she crossed the threshold. She took a steadying breath, walking into your office with a calm that didn’t quite reach her racing pulse. Your eyes tracked her movements, and she could feel your gaze lingering on her, keen and observant.

“Natasha,” you greeted, your tone light, yet there was an underlying note of concern. “This is a surprise.” You glanced at her hand, then back to her face, as if piecing together the puzzle before you. “What brings you to the med bay?”

She swallowed, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. “Burned myself,” she admitted, her voice steady, though it felt like every nerve in her body was lit up with the awareness of how close you were, of how you were looking at her with such careful attention. She showed you her hand, revealing the reddened skin of her palm.

Your gaze flickered down to the ‘burn’, your expression softening as you took her hand in yours. Your touch was gentle, professional, but even so, it sent a jolt of awareness through her.

You gave the faintest chuckle as you looked at the ‘injury’, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Not sure this qualifies as a burn,” you said, your tone dry, though not unkind. “More like… a heated reminder that pans get hot.”

Natasha huffed, her lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. “Guess I’m not much of a chef,” she murmured. The words tasted foreign on her tongue, an admission of sorts, one she wouldn’t normally make. But there was something about the way you looked at her—patient, unhurried—that made her feel like she could let that slip.

You motioned for her to sit on one of the medical beds, and though you knew you wouldn’t need to treat her ‘burn’, you figured it would be better than letting her stand there awkwardly. “Go ahead, take a seat,” you said with a nod toward the bed. “Might as well make you comfortable while I bandage you up for, uh, safety reasons.”

She sat onto the bed, her movements graceful but not entirely relaxed, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself in this setting. You took your time gathering a few supplies—far more than you needed, really—giving her a chance to settle in. As you approached, you couldn’t help but wonder what had truly brought her here. The faint redness on her palm wasn’t worth a trip to the med bay, especially not for someone like Natasha, who you knew could take a bullet without flinching.

You gently took her hand in yours, inspecting the skin. “Honestly,” you murmured, keeping your tone light, “I’ve seen paper cuts worse than this.” You dabbed at the redness with a disinfectant wipe, more out of habit than necessity. “If you’re planning on cooking again, though, I’d recommend sticking to things that don’t involve open flames. Or hot pans. Or, well, anything that could potentially burn the whole tower down.”

A faint scoff escaped her, but there was a trace of amusement there, even if she wouldn’t admit it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, her voice laced with dry humour. But as you worked, she found herself less focused on the barely noticeable sting of the wipe and more on the warmth of your hands, the way your touch was careful and gentle, even though it really didn’t need to be.

“You know,” you started again, your tone conversational, “I didn’t think I’d ever see the infamous Natasha Romanoff in the med bay.” Your lips curved into a teasing smile. “I thought you were allergic to hospitals.”

Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes even as a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Not allergic,” she replied.

You began to wrap a small bandage around her palm—a completely unnecessary measure, but you had a suspicion that there was more to her visit than a minor kitchen mishap. You chuckled softly, and the sound wrapped around her, disarming her in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Well, I’m honoured to be your first doctor,” you said, your tone light but sincere. “I solemnly swear to do my best to make it worth your while.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence as you finished bandaging her hand, your touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. When you finally stepped back, Natasha found herself reluctant to leave the warmth of your presence. It felt strange—this desire to stay, to linger in your office just a little while longer. But before she could come up with an excuse, you spoke again.

“Try not to make a habit of burning yourself, okay?” you said, your tone gently teasing. “But if you do, you know where to find me. Well, you’re welcome here anytime, actually not just with me,” you said, the warmth in your tone unmistakable. “Even if it’s just to burn yourself on another pan.”

Natasha shook her head slightly, a small smile curling at her lips as she slipped off the bed. “Thanks, doc,” she murmured, her voice softer now, the weight of her unspoken thoughts hanging in the air between you. She turned to leave, but not without glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer.

When she walked out, she felt an odd mix of relief and regret, like she’d left something important behind in that small, sterile room. But there was also a sense of quiet anticipation, a nagging thought at the back of her mind that maybe, just maybe, she’d be finding her way back to you sooner than she’d expected.

As the med bay’s room clicked shut behind her, Natasha couldn’t help but notice the absence of that soothing calmness your presence brought.

Her thoughts trailed back to the feeling of your hands on her skin, the way you looked at her with such genuine care. It was foreign, this sense of wanting to be seen, to be taken care of. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. But as she headed back to her room, her mind kept drifting to you, to the thought of what it might be like to let herself be vulnerable for once. To let someone in.

And it was that thought that left her standing in the hallway, staring at your empty room again, with a faint glimmer of anticipation she didn’t quite know how to name.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

The dimly lit corridors of the Avengers Tower were quiet at this hour, the stillness only broken by the sound of Natasha’s footsteps as she made her way down the hall. It was well past midnight when she returned from the mission, her body aching from bruises and scrapes that ran deeper than they looked. There were no major injuries—nothing that would keep her from reporting for duty tomorrow—but she knew she needed to see you. There was something different about this mission, something that gnawed at her. The kind of thing she didn’t talk about.

When she reached the med bay, she found the lights still on in your office. You were hunched over a tablet, reviewing some data from the Regeneration Cradle project, still in your scrubs despite the late hour. Natasha hesitated for a moment, unsure of what exactly had drawn her here yet again. But before she could question it any further, you glanced up and saw her standing there, framed by the doorway, your brows knitting together in concern as you took in her dishevelled appearance.

“Natasha,” you murmured, rising from your chair and crossing the room in a few swift strides. “What happened?”

She shrugged, the motion a little stiff, her expression unreadable. “Mission got a bit rough. Nothing I can’t handle,” she replied, though you noticed the faint tremor in her voice. It was almost imperceptible, but you’d spent enough time with her now to pick up on the small cracks in her otherwise flawless façade.

“Sit down,” you said softly, your voice steady but firm, leaving no room for argument. She obeyed without protest, settling onto one of the medical beds while you began to gather supplies. As you worked to clean and dress her wounds, you could see the signs of fatigue written across her features, the way her shoulders sagged and the dullness in her usually sharp eyes.

You tended to her in silence for a while, your hands moving with practised ease, but as you wrapped a bandage around her arm, you noticed the distant look in her gaze. Her mind was somewhere else, reliving whatever had unfolded on that mission. It wasn’t just the bruises or the cuts—something deeper had left its mark on her, something that bandages couldn’t heal.

When you finished, you packed up the supplies and glanced at the clock. You could see the exhaustion settling over her like a weight she couldn’t shake off. “Come on,” you said quietly, your tone gentle yet insistent. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity and surprise flickering across her expression. “And go where?” she asked, though her voice was softer now, not challenging.

You didn’t answer right away, just gave her a small, reassuring smile as you started toward the door. She fell into step beside you, and for a moment, the silence stretched on, neither of you quite sure what to say. It wasn’t until you reached your floor, walked into the hallway and passed by the door to your own room that she noticed your hand lingering on that handle.

Natasha watched as you pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was the first time she’d seen you enter your room, and something about it felt significant, like you were crossing a line that had been quietly drawn between SHIELD-you and Avenger-you. But just as quickly, you emerged again, pulling the door shut behind you as if it had been nothing at all.

You turned to her, and before she could think of anything to say, you placed your hand gently on the small of her back, your touch grounding her in the quiet darkness of the hallway. Leaning in close, you whispered, “You’re not going to be alone tonight, Natasha. I’m not leaving you to deal with this by yourself.” Your voice was firm, yet so tender it almost broke her resolve.

Her breath hitched, and she felt a shiver run through her at the closeness, at the feeling of your warmth pressed lightly against her. The words hung in the air, wrapping around her in a way that made her want to lean into you, to let down the walls she’d so carefully built up. But she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to someone offering to tend to her in this way, to look beyond the bruises and cuts and see the wounds that lay beneath.

You saw the hesitation flicker in her eyes, so you took a step forward, pushing the door to her room open with your foot and guiding her inside. She let you steer her, grateful for the quiet control you took over the situation. It felt strangely freeing to relinquish that power, even just a little, and she found herself relishing the way you took charge, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Her mind was racing now, her thoughts blurring into a haze as she imagined you continuing to take control—not just over this moment, but over her entirely. She could almost see it, feel it—the way your hands would travel across her skin, guiding her to let go, to forget about the burdens that weighed on her. It was a dangerous line to tread, one she’d never dared to walk before. But as you gently steered her toward the bed, keeping your hand at the small of her back, she found herself wishing for it, craving it.

You closed the door behind you with a quiet click, the sound almost like a promise. “You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered, your voice steady, yet carrying a note of command that sent another shiver down her spine. “Just let me take care of you tonight. Whatever you need.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, the emotions swirling inside her too complex, too raw to unravel right then. But as she sank down onto the bed, she allowed herself to look up at you, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. There was none. Only the steady calm of your gaze and the silent promise that you wouldn’t let your friend and teammate be alone with the darkness of her thoughts.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning and the gentle rustling of sheets as Natasha settled onto the bed. You could see right away now that something was different about her tonight—her movements were slower, her gaze unfocused, and there was a hesitance in the way she held herself. This wasn’t the confident, self-assured woman you’d come to know. She looked almost… lost.

You didn’t comment on it, though. There was no need to call attention to what was already evident in the way she slumped slightly, or the way her eyes drifted to the floor, avoiding yours. Instead, you pulled up a chair beside the bed, lowering yourself to her level. "Natasha," you said softly, your voice laced with concern, "is it alright for you if I stay here tonight?" She looked up at you, a flicker of surprise crossing her expression. "I see what you're going through," you continued, your tone gentle and reassuring. "You don’t have to say anything, but I just want you to know that you’re safe here. I meant it when I said you could always come to me.”

She nodded, a small, almost imperceptible motion, but there was a weight to it that spoke louder than words. "You can stay," she murmured, though the admission seemed to make her tense up even more, as if the very act of accepting comfort was something foreign to her.

You moved to sit beside her on the bed, and she hesitated for a moment before scooting closer, leaning into you ever so slightly. Her mind must have been racing, you realised, because the look in her eyes was distant, glazed over with something that lay beyond mere exhaustion. A soft flush began to bloom on her cheeks, high up on those sharp cheekbones of hers, and you could see the way her breath quickened ever so slightly.

Curious, you tilted her chin up with your fingers, guiding her gaze back to you. "Natasha," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, "talk to me."

Her composure cracked like thin ice under the weight of her emotions. Her shoulders slumped, and her breath shuddered out of her. "The mission," she began, her voice raw and tired, "it was… draining. More than usual." She took a shaky breath, her eyes glistening with a vulnerability you hadn’t this explicitly seen from her before. "I’m so exhausted, in my head… But my body doesn’t know how to stop. I can’t seem to switch off, not even for a few hours of sleep."

You pulled her into your arms without hesitation, feeling her melt into your embrace as you held her close. Her head rested against your chest, her breaths coming in uneven patterns as you gently stroked her hair, your fingers running through the strands in a soothing rhythm. She nestled herself deeper into you, finding comfort in the steady beat of your heart, and for a long while, you simply held her, letting the silence stretch on as she settled into the warmth of your touch.

After a while, she tilted her head up, resting her chin against your sternum so she could meet your gaze. Her eyes were dark, filled with a yearning you couldn’t quite place, and she whispered, "Do you… have a remedy for that? For this? For helping me sleep?" There was something in the way she said it that carried more weight than just the words themselves, like she was asking for something deeper, something that went beyond comfort and rest.

You shook your head softly, your fingers still combing through her hair. "I don’t," you admitted, your voice low and steady, "but I can stay with you. I’ll be here, Natasha. For as long as you need me."

A small, frustrated whine escaped her lips as she burrowed her face into your chest again, trying to get comfortable in your embrace. She shifted against you, the silk of her bralette brushing against your skin as she cuddled closer, her hands slowly trailing down your sides. You continued to rub her back, your hands tracing gentle circles over the soft material, pressing into the tense muscles to release the knots that seemed to have built up there. She sighed into your touch, her breath hot against your skin, her body relaxing bit by bit under your ministrations.

But then, as your hands wandered lower, you felt it—the slight roll of her hips against your thigh, a subtle motion at first, as if she hadn’t quite realised she was doing it. But there was no mistaking the soft, breathy moan that slipped from her lips as she continued, her body responding to the contact in a way that betrayed her exhaustion. It was instinctual, unthinking—her hips moved with a slow rhythm, grinding against the muscle of your thigh, her breath quickening as she unconsciously chased some kind of relief.

Your hands stilled for a moment, and you could feel your pulse quicken at the realisation of what was happening. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t anticipated that her need for comfort would turn into something else. But as she pressed herself against you, her breath becoming more laboured with each movement, you found yourself reacting to her in ways you hadn’t thought you would. Heat pooled low in your belly, and you felt the tension building as she rutted against you, completely unaware of just how much she was affecting you.

You slipped your hands lower, cupping her behind and giving it a firm squeeze, feeling the way she gasped, the sound escaping her lips louder than before. "Natasha," you breathed, your voice low and gravelly as you massaged the flesh beneath your hands, the heat of her skin searing through the thin silk.

She whimpered at your touch, burying her face even deeper into your chest as if to hide the flush that burned across her cheeks. Her hands fisted the fabric of your pyjama shirt, tugging at it almost desperately, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly as you reached down to help her peel it off. She pushed it up and over your head with trembling hands, her gaze still filled with that desperate, confused need that made her look so beautifully vulnerable.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice gentle but laced with a hint of command. “I’m here, Natasha. I’m your best friend, remember? I said I’d help you with anything.” The words hung in the air between you, their meaning sinking in as you brushed your thumb over the curve of her cheek. Her breathing hitched, her eyes searching yours for reassurance, and you gave it to her without hesitation, pulling her closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

Natasha’s body trembled against yours, the air thick with a mixture of tension and anticipation. Her breath came in shallow pants, and you could feel the way her muscles tensed as your hands wandered over her curves again, massaging the silk-covered skin beneath your touch. You kissed along the side of her neck, gentle and slow, as if to coax her into relaxing even further, but you could sense the way she craved more—something deeper, something stronger.

Her hands gripped your shoulders, nails digging in as you eased her back onto the bed. She lay beneath you, her hair fanned out across the pillow, and you took a moment to admire the flush on her cheeks, the darkened look in her eyes that spoke of need.

Natasha’s breath hitched, her back arching instinctively as your hand slid between her thighs, grazing the damp fabric of her underwear. She gasped, hips jerking up to meet your touch, the thin barrier doing nothing to hide the wetness that had already pooled there.

"You're so tense," you whispered, your voice low and soothing as you slipped a hand inside her panties, finally touching her bare. The heat of her arousal coated your fingers, and Natasha’s head fell back with a sigh as you began to trace slow, teasing circles over her clit. "Just let go for me… I'm right here."

Your words seemed to unravel something in her, a barrier breaking down as her legs fell open wider, inviting more of your touch. You slid a finger inside her, her walls clenching around you instantly, hot and slick.

Her moans were soft at first, barely audible as you set a gentle rhythm, the pads of your fingers curling up to stroke that sensitive spot inside her that made her toes curl. She was dripping, her arousal coating your fingers as you slipped another one in, filling her more. Her hips moved in time with your thrusts, as if seeking even more pressure, more friction.

It was pure bliss for her; your touch was skilled, coaxing her closer to release with every deliberate stroke. Her hands fisted the sheets as you leaned down, kissing along her collarbone, and you could feel the way she trembled beneath you, her thighs quivering.

It didn’t take long before you felt her tightening around your fingers, her breath coming faster, her moans growing higher and more desperate. You kept your pace even as she came, her body shuddering in pleasure, riding out the waves of her first orgasm.

You kept your touch and movements gentle, drawing out her pleasure, letting her ride the waves as they gradually ebbed, not wanting to overwhelm her just yet.. But just as her breathing steadied, a hoarse whisper escaped her lips, "More… please, I need… rougher."

The desperation in her voice was raw, unfiltered, and it made something tighten in your chest. This wasn’t just about pleasure; she was asking for something deeper, a way to escape the weight she carried.

Natasha’s skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat, the warmth radiating off her body mixing with the coolness of the room. As you leaned over her, your hands travelled the curves of her ribs, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her silk bralette. The fabric felt smooth against your fingertips as you traced over the taut muscles of her abdomen, her body tense and ready beneath you. She let out a soft sigh, a quiet surrender as she allowed herself to let go, to focus solely on the sensations you were creating.

You shifted your weight slightly, your hips pressing into the firmness of her pelvis as you slid your fingers back into her, this time with more force and speed than before. Natasha moaned, the sound vibrating in her chest as you pushed in deep, filling her completely. Her walls tightened around your fingers, clenching with each thrust as you built up a rhythm that left her gasping, her hips rocking back against you. Her body was a mix of heat and tension, the friction of your skin against hers heightening every touch, every sound.

“More,” she whispered, the word slipping out like a plea. “Please… I need more.”

The raw need in her voice spurred you on, and you complied without hesitation. You could see how much she was aching for it, her body craving the kind of release that came not only from pleasure but from being overwhelmed, from being taken. You angled your fingers upwards, finding that perfect spot deep within her, and began to stroke it with every thrust, sending sharp jolts of ecstasy through her. Natasha’s breath hitched, a choked moan escaping her lips as her hips bucked, seeking more of the relentless pressure you provided.

“Is this what you needed?” you asked, your voice low and rough as you watched her come undone beneath you. “For me to fuck you like this?”

Her response came in the form of a breathless cry, her fingers digging into the sheets as her back arched off the mattress. Her body trembled with each deep thrust, the wetness coating your fingers making each movement slick and easy, allowing you to pound into her at a brutal pace. You could feel the way her walls gripped you tighter and tighter, the pressure building up inside her like a coiled spring ready to snap.

Then, in one swift motion, you turned her over onto her stomach, and Natasha let out a surprised gasp as you pressed her down against the bed. You kept her legs spread, your hand slipping between her thighs once more, but this time your other hand slid up her spine, following the curve of her body until you were gripping her shoulder. The position allowed you to thrust even deeper, the new angle making her whole body shudder as you buried your fingers inside her, the wet sounds of her arousal filling the room.

Natasha whimpered, burying her face into the sheets as you began to pound into her from behind, the pressure of each thrust making her toes curl. The sensation was overwhelming, her senses consumed by the way your fingers drove into her, the roughness of your touch giving her exactly what she’d begged for. She pushed back against you, her hips meeting every thrust with desperate need, as if she couldn’t get enough. The force of your movements rocked her body forward with each plunge, and you could feel the way her muscles tightened, the tension building in her core with each deep stroke.

As you drove her closer to the edge, you leaned down, your lips brushing against her ear. “You look so beautiful like this,” you murmured, your voice thick with desire. “Falling apart, just for me.”

Her body shivered at your words, her breath catching in her throat as a flush crept up her neck. You could feel the way she was spiralling, her control slipping away with every thrust, every stroke of your fingers inside her. And then, just as she teetered on the brink, you withdrew your fingers, only to replace them with your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat against her slit, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from her entrance to her clit, tasting the heady mix of her arousal on your lips.

The sound Natasha made was somewhere between a gasp and a sob, her body jerking in response to the sudden shift in sensation. You felt her thighs tremble as you dipped your tongue inside her, savouring the wet heat of her. Her taste was intoxicating, each flick of your tongue drawing out another moan from her as she pressed her hips back, desperate for more contact. You alternated between licking and sucking, your lips closing around her clit to draw it into your mouth before swirling your tongue over it, sending sparks of pleasure racing through her.

Natasha’s body tightened, her legs trembling as the pressure built to an unbearable peak, her orgasm finally crashing over her in a wave that left her gasping for air. Her moans were unrestrained, desperate, as her body shuddered beneath you, the intensity of her climax making her limbs quake. You didn’t let up, continuing to lap at her with slow, thorough strokes, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until she was completely spent.

As her breathing began to steady, you pulled back, allowing her a moment to catch her breath. Natasha's body lay limp against the bed, the flush still lingering on her cheeks, her hair a wild mess around her face. But even as the exhaustion settled in, you could see a renewed hunger in her eyes as she turned over onto her back again, reaching for you. Her hand slipped down to your thigh, tugging at you weakly as she whispered, “I… I want to taste you.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then obliged, positioning yourself over her. As you settled above her mouth, you felt a shiver of anticipation run through you. Her breath was hot against your core, the warmth of it making your skin prickle.

Natasha's tongue darted out, hesitantly at first, tracing a slow path along the inner curve of your thigh before moving higher. Her touch was unsteady, as if she was still recovering from her own release, but you could feel the eagerness in every movement as she began to lick at you, her tongue sliding over your folds, tasting the arousal that had gathered there.

The first real contact sent a jolt through your body, a sharp intake of breath escaping you as Natasha pressed deeper, her tongue curling upwards to tease your entrance. The sensation was electric, the wet heat of her mouth surrounding you, and you couldn't help but let out a quiet moan as she began to suck gently, her lips closing around your sensitive clit. She licked with a kind of desperation, her mouth moving in frantic, needy strokes that made your hips twitch involuntarily. You could feel your own release building, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every flick of her tongue, every gentle suck.

But then her pace faltered, her movements growing slower and more languid as the exhaustion pulled at her. You felt her head slump slightly, her breathing uneven. Acting quickly, you grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled sharply, your voice a low growl as you demanded her attention. “Natasha,” you said, a dark chuckle slipping past your lips as you looked down at her. “You’re not done yet.”

Her eyes fluttered open, filled with a renewed determination. You stroked her jaw, feeling the wetness smeared across her cheeks and lips before guiding her back to your core. “Keep going,” you instructed, your voice firm and commanding as you bucked your hips forward slightly. “You’re doing so well. Show me just how good you can be.”

The words seemed to ignite something in her, and she dove back in with fervor, licking at you greedily. Her tongue moved in long, deep strokes, lapping up every drop as if she were trying to devour you entirely. You could feel your own body trembling with the effort to hold back, the pleasure cresting higher and higher with each pass of her tongue over your clit, each eager suck. Your fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her movements as you rode the waves of pleasure, the sensation building to an almost unbearable peak.

The tight coil in your belly finally snapped, sending you tumbling over the edge into a mind-numbing climax. Your thighs clamped around her head, your moans spilling out uncontrollably as the pleasure coursed through you in heavy, pulsating waves. Natasha’s mouth never left you, her tongue continuing to stroke you through every spasm, every shiver, milking every last bit of your release until you were left trembling and breathless above her.

Natasha’s body moulded perfectly into yours, her weight a soft, reassuring presence as she settled against your chest once more. The aftershocks of pleasure still lingered faintly in her, and you could feel the slight tremble in her muscles as she curled tighter into you, seeking comfort. Her breath was warm against your neck, her chest rising and falling slowly, as if her exhaustion was finally overtaking her.

You stroked her back, fingers moving with practised tenderness, tracing small, soothing circles over the silky fabric of her bralette. Her skin beneath was flushed from the intensity of what had just transpired, the heat from her body sinking into yours. You could feel the subtle tension still in her muscles, the kind that came from more than just physical exertion—it was the emotional weight she carried, the one that had been gradually cracking through her tough exterior tonight.

“You’re okay now,” you whispered into her hair, your voice barely more than a breath. The words were simple, but you knew how much she needed to hear them. “I’ve got you, Natasha.”

She made a sound in the back of her throat, a low hum of agreement or maybe relief, her arms tightening around your torso as if she didn’t want to let go. “You’re always good to me,” she murmured, her lips grazing your collarbone with each quiet word. There was a vulnerability in her voice that was rare, as though she was allowing herself to drop her walls completely, if only for this moment.

“And I always will be,” you reassured her, your voice soft but firm. “Whenever you need me, for anything… I’m here.”

The weight of those words seemed to hang between you, not just as a promise but as something deeper—an acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you, shifting from mere friendship to something with far more gravity. Natasha tilted her head back slightly, her eyes heavy-lidded but searching yours, as though she was trying to understand why you were so steadfast, why you remained by her side even when she was at her most vulnerable.

Her lips curled into a small, almost fragile smile. “It goes both ways, you know,” she said, her voice low and still tinged with that post-orgasmic haze. “If you ever need… anything… anytime, I’m here for you too. I mean it. If you need to blow off steam, or… just… need someone to take care of you.” Her gaze flickered with an unusual openness, her green eyes catching the low light in the room. “I’ll always be there. For you.”

You felt your chest tighten slightly, a warmth blooming inside you at the thought of what she was offering, what she trusted you with.

“You’d be up for this… whenever?” you asked, a teasing edge to your voice, though your heart pounded a little faster at the idea.

Natasha nodded, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment, clearly struggling against the heavy pull of sleep. “Anytime,” she whispered, her words soft and sincere. “Even if it’s the middle of the day… middle of the night… if you need me, I’ll be there.”

Your lips quirked into a soft smile at her honesty, feeling the significance of her admission. Your hand found its way to her cheek, gently tilting her face back to you. She gazed up at you with exhaustion and trust written across her features, her breath slow and steady, her body pliant against yours.

"Good to know," you murmured, running your thumb along her jaw, feeling her relax into your touch.

Natasha's eyelids fluttered shut as the weight of sleep began to pull her down, her body growing even heavier against yours. Just when you thought she’d drifted off entirely, she spoke again, her voice slurred with drowsiness. “Let’s… keep this just between us,” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “No one else… needs to know.”

You pressed your lips to the crown of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. “Just us,” you promised, your voice low and soothing as you cradled her closer. “No one else has to know.”

Natasha gave a small, sleepy nod, her arms tightening around you as if clinging to the comfort you offered. “Good,” she whispered, her words barely audible as sleep finally claimed her. “Just… ours.”

As she drifted off, you continued to hold her, feeling the steady rhythm of her breath against you, your fingers still tracing soft patterns over her skin. You knew this arrangement, this shared need for each other, was more than just a temporary fix. It was a deeper understanding, an unspoken promise to be there in whatever ways the other needed—whether for comfort, for stress relief, or something more that neither of you was ready to name yet.

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