#natbucky

She's leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Black jumpsuit clinging to her body, her red hair tied in a low ponytail. Natasha Romanoff doesn't smile—she examines you. Like someone who sees flaws before finding potential.

"Standing up is better than that." She approaches slowly, her eyes roving over you. "Spine straight. Chin up."

You obey. You don't argue. But the shiver that runs down your spine has nothing to do with fear.

"Hmm. It's going to be hard work." Natasha turns around and starts walking. "Come with me."

You follow her through the hallways to a large, empty room—mirrored walls, a mat in the center, impact pads on the columns. The combat room.

And then, you see the second instructor.

Bucky Barnes. Hair tied in a low bun, a gray t-shirt clinging to his broad chest, training gloves. He doesn't look at you. He measures you. With his eyes, with his jaw set, with the uncomfortable silence of someone who doesn't usually smile—or perhaps of someone who prefers not to be read so easily.

"She?" he asks, glancing sideways at Natasha.

"She," she confirms.

"She'll break." He walks toward you. His clear eyes dig into you like hooks. "But she'll learn. Broken or not."

You swallow hard. You don't know if it's a threat or a promise.

The first two hours are torture.

Impossible stretches, endless running, focus training with blunt weapons and direct thrusts against you. Natasha is cruelly meticulous. She corrects your posture with sharp touches to your waist, neck, and thighs.

Bucky is impatient. When you hesitate, he advances. When you miss, he throws you to the ground. Literally. But never without purpose.

"Again," he growls, offering his metal hand to lift you for the fifth time. "If you fall, get up. If you get up, get it right."

You rest your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath.

"Is this normal?" you ask, panting.

"Only until it's not," Natasha replies. "And it will be."

At the end of the day, you're covered in sweat, bruises, and wounded pride.

They remain impeccable.

But there's something in their eyes that changes. A different glow. An interest. As if you've passed the invisible test no one mentioned. As he leaves the mat, Bucky walks beside him.

"You don't give up easily. That's good."

"I didn't come here to give up." His voice is firm.

He smiles at the corner of his mouth for the first time.

"We'll see.

You feel it. It's not just training. It's not just discipline.

It's a game."

You've lost count of how many times you've fallen to the mat today.

Natasha seems to feed off your imbalance. Every mistake is corrected with a firm tug, a brusque touch. She moves as if her body were made of silk and a razor blade at the same time. She takes you down with a simple headlock, holding your wrist firmly, her face inches from yours.

She doesn't pull away. She stays there, her weight on yours, her hips wedged between your legs. Her red strands fall loose, sliding across your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Her voice is a sharp whisper:

"If this were a real mission, you'd be dead." Her voice is low, sharp. But her eyes say something else. A gleam. A hint of interest.

You want to respond, but you're speechless, unable to tear your gaze away from hers—so intense, so deep, it seems she reads every fear you hide. Despite the silence, charged with something beyond training.

She doesn't get up immediately. She stands there, her body on top of yours, her hips pressed against yours, her hair escaping her ponytail and brushing your cheek.

She finally stands, but lets her hand rest for a moment on your waist before leaving. You feel the touch like a promise.

You hold your breath.

"Get up," she says finally, releasing your arm. "And don't expose your left side."

You obey. And you swear she offered lightly as she turned her back.

Bucky assists from the side of the room, arms crossed, shoulders tense, jaw set. The way he crosses his arms and presses his lips together reveals it's not just training. He feels something too much. When Natasha leaves the center of the mat, he steps in. He walks toward you slowly, as if hunting.

"Your guard is up," he says.

"I heard that before today."

"Then hear it again." He snaps his fingers and advances.

When he finally advances, he wastes no time. The metal hand grips your wrists, and you turn quickly, pinning him to the mat with his knee between your legs, firm, dominating.

The weight of his body against yours traps you, suffocating, but doesn't hurt. His scent—sweat, hot metal, something raw—invades your nose. Your heart races, but it's a strange mix of fear and desire that makes you want to stay away.

He whispers in your ear, his voice husky and low:

"Are you selling?" His mouth too close to your ear. "You tense when I touch you."

"I'm alert."

"No." He presses harder. His hip brushes against yours. His breath warms your neck. "You're curious."

The blood rushes too fast through your veins.

He pulls away slowly. He stands, extending his metal hand to you, his gaze fixed.

You hesitate. But take it. He pulls you hard enough to make you collide with his chest. Your bodies press together for half a second. Long enough to feel the heat. And the volume.

"Focus, newbie," he says, his voice grave. "Or we'll have to repeat this training until you learn to protect yourself."

He's not just talking about strikes. And you know that.

Later, you trained alone, trying to replicate the moves Natasha taught you. The room is now almost empty, only the muffled breath of your exhaustion filling the air.

Natasha appears silent, like a shadow. She watches you try to replicate the movements, her expression implacable, but with a different glint in her eyes.

"You need to release your hips," she says.

You stop. Look over your shoulder.

"Release?"

"Here." She comes closer. Places her hands on your waist, adjusting your posture from behind. Her hip touches yours. "Trust your body."

"That's not in the manual."

"Good thing."

She looks at you in the mirror. And for a second, her eyes slide to your mouth. Just for a second.

But it's enough to erase something you're still trying to ignore.

You leave the room with your heart racing and your thighs throbbing from the tension of training—or something else.

And there's Bucky, leaning against the hallway wall, drinking water straight from the bottle. His neck is sweaty. A shirt clinging to his broad chest.

He doesn't say anything. Just watch.

You walk past him. Pretend you don't see.

But you feel it. Both of them. Always watching. Always waiting.

Like two predictions we plan to wait... until you're ready.

And you begin to understand that it won't be easy to escape what Natasha and Bucky want to do to you.

You feel the air thickening as Natasha approaches the mat. Her body so close to yours that you could swear you feel the heat radiating from her, a mixture of defiance and desire. Natasha stands inches away from you, her green eyes fixed on yours, a silent invitation that puts your entire body on alert.

She doesn't say anything—she doesn't need to. The tension between you speaks for itself.

Suddenly, her hands are on your waist, firm, holding you in place. Her gaze deepens, exploring and intense. Her face is close, slow, almost like a cruel game of patience.

Her scent invades your nostrils—a mix of sweat, fresh perfume, and an almost wild promise.

Then, suddenly, she pulls you close, her hands on your waist. Her lips touch yours in a kiss that explodes like a spark lit on gasoline. Her mouth is hot, moist, demanding, her tongue exploring every inch of yours with voracity and care at the same time.

You surrender, feeling your heart race, your head spinning. Her hands slide down your body, pulling you closer, guiding your hips against hers. Your body vibrates at her touch, thirsty, desperate for more.

You respond with the same intensity, tasting her, the warm scent that drives you wild, the touch of her hands roaming your body, squeezing, pulling.

But before you can completely lose yourself, Bucky appears at the side, his gaze dark, almost fierce. He doesn't hide the jealousy burning inside, the possessiveness that wants to dominate you as much as Natasha does.

Before you can react, he grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back, his knee firmly between your legs, preventing any movement of escape. His body is warm, strong, and you feel the pressure of his erect penis pressing against your sex, making your body write with desire.

His breath is hot on your neck, and he whispers in that husky voice associated with possessiveness and desire that makes your skin crawl:

"Don't forget I'm here too."

You softly moan, unable to hide the motivation building inside you. Natasha, far from pulling away, smiles mischievously, sliding her hands to your back, squeezing your skin as she watches the scene with eyes full of fire and challenge.

Natasha doesn't back down, on the contrary—the provocation between them is palpable, a silent duel that only fuels the fire within you.

Their hands begin to explore your body, a symphony of touches that drives you wild. Bucky holds your waist firmly, pulling you closer to him, while Natasha massages your breasts, squeezing and teasing your nipples until they become hard and sensitive.

Your body burns with fire as their mouths begin to trail down your neck, Natasha's tongue nibbling and licking as Bucky leaves a trail of hot kisses down the curve of your shoulders.

"Friday, off the mat's security cameras and lock the doors, no one can come in here," Bucky says, his voice breathless and authoritative. That sends shivers through my body. Are we going?

They both begin to undress you urgently, as if they're angry at your clothes.

Without warning, Bucky lifts you enough to position his hard, throbbing member against your wet entrance. His pressure is firm, an almost imperative invitation that makes your body open automatically, yearning to be filled.

As he enters, the wet sound of his body slamming into yours echoes in the empty room. His thrusts are firm, fast, brutal, filling you with a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure.

Bucky's thrusts are hard, fast, and each time he enters you, the wet sound of your body colliding echoes through the room. You grip the mat, trying to find support, while the sensation of being filled by him so forcefully is so intense it takes your breath away.

Bucky increases his pace, thrusting his cock deeper, marking you as if he wants to possess you completely. His husky voice growls your name amidst your moans, while his hands grip your waist tightly to maintain absolute control.

You feel the pleasure building, intense, ravenous, until it explodes into an orgasm so strong you lose yourself in it. Your body contracts around the cock filling you, your legs trembling and your mind entering a whirlwind of sensations.

They don't stop. They don't let you escape.

Natasha moves up to kiss Bucky, their tongues dueling in a wild kiss, full of possession and desire. You watch, exhausted, but wanting more, knowing you're at the center of it all—the one and only owner of that fire.

As soon as Bucky pulls out of you, Natasha wastes no time in kneeling before you, spreading your legs, and plunging her mouth between them with insatiable hunger. Her tongue is agile and cruel, licking and sucking your clit with a pressure that makes you shiver.

Her fingers move in and out of you at a frantic pace, moving you in a way that throws you off balance. You arch, loud moans escaping uncontrollably, the pleasure building, uncontrollable. Natasha sucks you harder, her fingers moving quickly, the heat of her mouth almost unbearable.

You arch, crying out loud, your body trembling with your second orgasm, which explodes in intense waves. She doesn't slow down—on the contrary, she seems determined to take you further, to dominate you, to destroy and rebuild you with pleasure.

Natasha climbs in, planting one last intense kiss on your lips, while they both help you dress. Without wasting any more time, Bucky lifts you into his arms with strength and care. They don't even let you breathe properly before carrying you to their bedroom, a space full of shadows and promises. There, the door closes behind you, and the world shrinks to the three bodies nestled together, lusting after each other without restraint.

Natasha takes command with a firm, seductive voice:

"Now it's our turn to show you how much we want you."

You barely have time to respond before they pull you onto the bed and position you just the way they want.

Bucky lies sideways on the bed with his legs dangling to the floor and holds your body firmly, aligning his cock so you straddle him, feeling the heat and weight of it against your skin.

As you ride Bucky's steady rhythm, Natasha switches places, straddling his face, grinding her pussy eagerly into his face.

You moan loudly, your entire body burning, sensations exploding through you as they take turns caressing, kissing, and biting. Sweat trickles down your skin, their scent invading your nostrils, the sound of their moans filling the room. When you finally lose yourselves in ecstasy, it's an explosion of endless pleasure.

You're still panting in Bucky's lap, your body trembling from the previous orgasm. But Natasha isn't satisfied. Her eyes roam over you with hunger and determination, and she moves closer to the side of the bed, licking her lips as if already tasting you.

"I want you all to myself now," she says, her voice low, firm, and completely stained with desire. "I want to feel your skin against mine. I want to come with you."

She pulls you by the hand, and you obey without thinking. Natasha lies on her side, naked, her body strong and feminine at the same time, the sheen of sweat trickling between her breasts, her red hair clinging to her skin.

You lie facing her, feeling the heat of your bodies approaching, and when her thighs touch yours, an electric shock runs through your belly. Natasha grips your leg and positions herself better, until you're both intertwined, your pussies pressed together, your clits rubbing in a direct, wet, desperate friction.

"That's it... now move with me." Her voice cracks with lust, and her eyes close for a second, absorbing the sensation.

You begin to move lightly, then harder, more rhythmically. The sound of your skin colliding is indecent. Juices run between you, making everything even hotter and slicker, and each friction makes your clit throb.

"So wet for me," she moans. "So fucking perfect. Come on, cool down. Make me come like this."

You hold each other's thighs, increasing the friction. Natasha's moans are husky, deep, delicious. Her mouth finds yours again in a hot, wet, desperate kiss. Your hips slam together hard, your clit pressed together, rubbing precisely against hers.

Bucky watches from the armchair, completely hard, his hand slowly touching his cock, mesmerized by the scene—you and Natasha, pussy against pussy, dripping, moaning, trembling, fucking hungrily.

Natasha lets out a low cry as she begins to come. Her entire body trembles, her muscles clenching, her legs pressing tightly against you. You come with her, with a husky, uneven moan, pleasure exploding in the pit of your stomach, taking over everything.

Your bodies are pressed together, soft, breathless, sensitive. "Fuck, you're perfect," Natasha whispers, kissing your mouth tenderly now, her breathing still ragged.

Bucky gets up from the armchair, smiling, walking to the bed.

"Now... it's my turn to play with you both."

Sweat still drips between your breasts, Natasha's ragged breathing mingling with yours. Your bodies pressed together, your hips still jerking in involuntary reflexes from the orgasm you'd just shared.

But there was no time for rest.

Bucky was already standing in front of the bed, completely naked, his cock hard and lingering in his hand, looking at you both with a smile of pure, dirty desire on his lips. The way he looked at you was almost reverent... almost.

"You two together... fucking like that." He licked his lips, his metal hand stroking the base of his cock with teasing slowness. "It's the most beautiful fucking sight I've ever seen. But now... it's my turn to play too."

He climbed onto the bed with his heavy body, his heat radiating as he positioned himself behind you. Natasha was already sitting up again, her eyes hungry, her nipples hard, and her gaze fixed on his cock.

You barely had time to breathe before Bucky grabbed your waist and placed you on all fours over Natasha, her face right below yours. The redhead spread her legs with a teasing smile, pushing your hair back with one hand and cupping your chin with the other.

"Want a taste?" she whispered. "Come on, love. Come lick my fucking pussy."

You dove headfirst between her thighs, licking hungrily, still sensitive, still trembling. Natasha moaned loudly, spreading her legs even wider, her hand pulling your hair harder while the other squeezed her own breasts, teasing herself.

Bucky was behind you, kneeling. He leaned over your body, kissing the back of your neck, your sweaty back, until he pressed his head against your wet entrance again.

"Still so tight... after everything we did to you." He chuckled against your skin. "But you love it, don't you? Your pussy begging for my cock again."

And without further warning, he penetrated you.

Deep. Fast. Hard.

You spoke against Natasha's pussy, your tongue losing its rhythm for a second before resuming, guided by the sound of her moans and Bucky's firm thrusts.

He held your hips tightly, the rhythm intense, wild, his body pressed against yours, sweating, breathing deeply, fucking you like the world was ending. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, along with Natasha's hoarse moans. She came first—hard, her legs trembling and her voice cracking, her fingers digging into the back of your neck.

But he didn't stop.

Bucky flipped you onto your front easily, without pulling out. Natasha was already moving closer, climbing on top of you, her breasts swaying, her eyes hungry.

"Now let us use you together," she whispered, licking your lips. "Let's fuck you until we can't take it anymore."

Natasha positioned herself behind you, kissing your neck, biting your shoulder, one hand stroking your clit as Bucky continued to thrust deep and hard. Her other hand cupped your nipple, squeezing and rolling it between her fingers.

You came again, trembling, feeling your body being pulled, pushed, invaded. Bucky couldn't take much more. He grunts, his muscles contract, his cock throbs, and he explodes inside you, moaning your name against your neck, breathless, almost desperate.

Natasha holds him, kisses his mouth hard, before kissing you again.

"It's only ours," she growls, her voice low and intense. "Only yours, only mine, only ours."