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1-800-styles · 2 months ago

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have you ever tried this one?

john walker x Bucky barnes x fem!reader

a/n: instead of searching for a fic. i figured i would just write it myself. thanks for @marveln4tural for the inspo ;)

warnings! contains sexual content, this is written for users 18+! established love triangle situation going on. lets just say they explore paris 💅

Post-Mission — Safehouse, Just Outside Madripoor

Rain lashes the windows. The team’s back from the mission, bruised, scraped, wired. It’s late. Everyone’s either asleep or pretending to be.

But not you. And definitely not them.

You’re in the kitchen of the safehouse, pacing in an oversized T-shirt and combat shorts, arms crossed, adrenaline refusing to die down. The door creaks behind you. John walks in first—wet hair pushed back, shirt clinging to his chest, a bandage sloppily taped to his side.

“You should sleep,” you murmur without looking at him.

“I should do a lot of things,” he says. “But none of them feel as good as this.”

You turn. He’s already close. You can see the pulse in his neck. but before either of you can speak, Bucky enters.

Quiet. Still. Soaked from the rain, towel around his neck, jaw locked tight. But his eyes—God, his eyes—are already on you. And he looks at John like he might throw him through a wall. per usual.

“I figured I’d find you both here,” Bucky mutters, his voice low, unreadable. his eyes dart to john “You always follow her around like a lost puppy?”

John rolls his eyes. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not jealous,” Bucky says, stepping forward, locking eyes with you. “I’m just tired of pretending like this doesn’t matter.”

You swallow hard.

John doesn’t back down. He stands on your other side now, arms brushing yours. “So what? You wanna fight again, Barnes?”

“No,” his jaw ticks. “Not unless she tells me to.”

Their voices. Their bodies. Too close. Too charged. It’s all too much.

Your back hits the counter. Their eyes are on you. Waiting. two super soldiers practically cornered you. you feel like your standing between do high school boys pathetically asserting their dominance.

You finally say it—quietly, but it drops like a bomb.

“I don’t want you to fight.”

there’s a Beat.

“I just… don’t want to choose tonight.”

Something shifts. the months of absolute loathing between john and bucky shift. a mutual agreement shared through one exchange.

John steps forward, hand ghosting the edge of your thigh. “You don’t have to.”

Bucky’s fingers lift your chin. “Let us show you what it feels like to be wanted.”

Your breath catches.

The air is thick with heat, unsaid things crackling like electricity.

“You tell us to stop,” he whispers, “and we will.”

But you don’t.

Not even close.

Rain still taps the windows. Thunder rolls in the distance like a warning shot. You’re caught between two walking weapons—both of them breathing heavy, both of them looking at you like they’ve waited too long for this.

John’s hand is hot, rough on your thigh now. Not just grazing. Holding.

Bucky’s mouth hasn’t left your ear. You feel the whisper more than you hear it.

“We’ll be good. Only what you want.”

And you want. God, you want.

Because for months, they’ve been circling you like wolves—sniping at each other, showing off during missions, catching your wrist when you fall, brushing too close in sparring, watching you like they want to consume you whole.

You’ve pushed it down. Over and over. Because they’re soldiers. Because you’re teammates. Because this isn’t supposed to happen.

But tonight? The rain, the adrenaline, the silence of the house, the way they look at you like you’re the only thing tethering them to anything human—

You’re done pretending.

You twist in place, grabbing John’s jaw and pulling him down, crashing into his mouth. He makes a low sound—half a growl, half a groan—as his hands find your waist, greedy, practiced. His body is heat and strength and that smirk that always gets him in trouble.

But before it gets deeper, another hand—cool, metal—slides to the side of your neck, gently tilting your face away.

Bucky.

He doesn’t say a word. Just kisses you slow—like he’s tasting something he never thought he’d get. His lips drag down your jaw, linger at your throat.

John’s breath hitches. “Jesus, Buck—”

But Bucky doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch.

His voice is low, dark, still wrecked from the mission.

he looks at john “so you gonna keep talking, or are we finally on the same page?”

John lets out a sharp breath, his hands flexing where they rest on your hips, like he’s trying to ground himself—trying not to lose control completely.

But it’s happening. It’s already happening.

Because you’re here. Letting them. Wanting them.

And that look in your eyes? That soft defiance mixed with surrender—it undoes them both.

John’s mouth is back on your shoulder, his voice rasping against your skin.

“You really wanna do this?”

You nod once but it’s not enough for him. He wants to hear it. Needs to.

“Say it.”

You lift your gaze—stormlight flickering outside the window, shadows painting the room in a low blue haze.

“I want both of you.”

It’s not a confession. It’s a dare. And it breaks the last thread holding them back.

John’s hands are on your waist again, firm, possessive—pulling you back against him as Bucky steps in closer from the front. You’re sandwiched between them now, chests rising and falling, heat radiating in every direction.

They don’t touch each other. They don’t need to.

But you feel the unspoken truce hanging in the air like gunpowder.

Bucky dips his head again, lips brushing your jaw, then trailing down the curve of your throat. “You’re shaking.”

“Not from fear,” you whisper, breath hitching as John’s hand starts to trail lower.

And Bucky—he just smirks.

“Good.”

Everything is intentional. Measured. Heavy with meaning.

Bucky slips the edge of your shirt off one shoulder like it’s sacred. John kneels first, hands sliding down the back of your thighs, eyes locked on yours like he’s memorizing the exact moment you fall apart.

You laugh once—low, breathless, giddy. “You two always compete like this?”

John grins against your skin, teeth grazing.

“Only when it counts.”

And Bucky? Bucky doesn’t even smile.

He just tilts your chin again and says. “We’re not competing anymore.”

Bucky leans in to taste you again—not rough, but slow enough for his tongue to slip into your mouth. Your body lets out an exhale, hating to admit to yourself how weak you are in this very moment.

John slowly continues, his mouth leaving kisses up your thighs, his hot breath trailing closer and closer to your core.

Your back arches slightly, caught in the unbearable space between Bucky’s mouth and John’s teasing touch. Bucky kisses you like he knows every secret you’ve ever tried to hide—gentle but devastating, as if he’s taking his time memorizing the taste of your surrender. His hand slides to your jaw, grounding you in him, thumb stroking softly along your cheek.

John exhales a soft laugh against your skin, low and hungry, the vibration sending a shock straight through your spine. “You gonna beg for it, sweetheart?” he murmurs, lips brushing just where you’re aching for him. But he doesn’t give in yet. No—he just watches your thighs tremble, his fingers digging in ever so slightly, keeping them parted.

Bucky pulls back for just a second, lips swollen, eyes dark. “Don’t tease her, Walker.”

John grins. “She likes it.”

And you do. God, you do. Even as your breath comes in uneven pulls and your pride tries to claw its way out—you’re helpless. Wrapped in their voices, their mouths, their hands.

Then John’s tongue finally meets you upset thigh he pulls your shorts along with your panties, his tongue meeting your core. your body jolts. Bucky catches the gasp in another kiss, swallowing it down like he needs it to survive.

You’re shaking now—your body barely your own, your mind foggy with the pressure of their attention. John’s mouth works in slow, devastating circles around your clit, and it’s not enough—not nearly enough—but the way he holds your hips down says you’ll take what he gives you.

Bucky kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your jaw, like he can’t get enough of you either.

“Doing so good,” he whispers, voice frayed with restraint, watching you fall apart under John’s mouth. His hand slides down your sternum, slow and deliberate, fingertips dragging just enough to make your skin buzz.

“Look at her,” John groans, voice gravel and fire. “She’s perfect like this.”

He’s watching you now—every little reaction, every breath that breaks too quickly, every twitch of your thighs.

Bucky leans in, forehead pressed to yours. His voice is barely audible. “Tell us what you want.”

And you try. You really do. But all that comes out is a desperate whimper, a hand reaching blindly for more. Any part of them. Both of them.

you sputter to get any words out of your mouth “i want you to fuck me”

They share a glance over your body, something dangerous and unspoken passing between them.

And suddenly it hits you—you’re not in control anymore.

they are.

John’s grip tightens just enough to make you gasp, holding you open like something fragile and meant to be worshipped. His mouth moves with more intent now, drawing you closer to the edge with slow, devastating patience. Bucky watches the way your body trembles, how you arch into every sensation like you’re chasing something just out of reach.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, brushing his knuckles over your ribs, then lower. “Just like that. Let go, sweetheart.”

You feel him everywhere—his words, his hands, his heat. Your fingers curl into his shoulder, the only thing anchoring you while John keeps pulling you under, over and over again.

John groans against you, low and wrecked. “She’s losing it. Fuck, Buck, she’s gonna—”

“Let her,” Bucky says, a quiet command, his lips brushing your temple. “Let her fall apart.”

And you do. You break in their hands, your body shaking with the force of it, pulse racing as the world tilts sideways and goes white-hot.

as you let out a guttural groan you feel your legs bucking down losing balance, Bucky holds himself onto you. John using his tongue like his a starved man.

By the time you come back to yourself, Bucky is holding you close, grounding you with soft touches, while John presses kisses to your inner thigh like he’s still not ready to let go of the taste of you.

You’re not sure who speaks first—maybe it’s you, or maybe it’s Bucky murmuring your name like a prayer—but suddenly they’re both hovering above you, faces flushed, eyes hungry and impossibly tender.

“Still with us?” John asks, brushing your hair off your face.

You nod, breathless. “Barely.”

Bucky smiles, just a little. “Good. Because we’re not done yet.”

You’re still breathless when Bucky lifts you with ease, carrying you to the couch like you weigh nothing. His eyes stay locked on yours, even as he lowers you onto the cushions, and for a moment he just stares—like he can’t believe you’re real.

John’s following close behind, his lips still glistening, eyes dark. “She looks dangerous,” he says, voice low.

“She is,” Bucky murmurs, breath catching as your hands slide down his chest.

You rise to your knees between them, one hand on each of them now—gripping, guiding, claiming. “My turn,” you say softly, but there’s steel behind it. A warning. A promise.

Bucky groans as your mouth brushes his jaw, your teeth scraping just enough to make him shift under you. You trail kisses down his neck, slow and possessive, your fingers undoing his belt with practiced ease.

John chuckles behind you. “Fuck, I love this side of you.”

You glance over your shoulder, smirking. “Good. You’re next.”

You ease Bucky’s pants down just enough, watching the way his breath hitches when your hand wraps around him. You stroke him slow, deliberate, feeling every inch harden under your touch before you lean in, letting your tongue trail along the underside of him, lips teasing until he groans deep in his chest.

Then you take him into your mouth—inch by inch—your eyes locked on his the entire time.

Bucky’s head drops back, jaw clenched, hands fisting the couch cushions like it’s the only thing anchoring him. You take your time—watching, learning what makes him twitch, what draws those beautiful broken sounds from his throat.

John can’t sit still. He’s watching like a man starved, hand running down his own stomach, biting back a curse when your eyes flick to him with that wicked little grin.

“You’re gonna kill us,” Bucky mutters, voice wrecked.

You hum around him in response, the vibration making him curse under his breath as he tries—and fails—not to buck into your mouth.

You keep going, letting your hand twist at the base as your tongue swirls around the tip, tasting every inch of him until he’s panting above you, his thighs trembling.

And when you finally switch—turning to John with a look that makes his cock twitch before you even touch him—Bucky’s still catching his breath, chest heaving, pupils blown.

John doesn’t play it cool. Not even close. He practically falls into you, rough hands guiding your face up to his as he kisses you like he needs it to stay alive. His belt is already undone, pants halfway down when you push him back against the couch, sinking to your knees between his legs.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind.”

“Good,” you whisper against his lips. “That’s the plan.”

You wrap your lips around him without hesitation, taking him deep enough to make his hips jerk. He grits his teeth, one hand buried in your hair while the other grips the back of the couch, holding on like he’s afraid he might fall apart if he lets go.

You work him over with your mouth, your hand stroking what you can’t reach, letting him feel every inch of you—every flick of your tongue, every soft gasp and wet sound echoing through the room.

The room is heat and breath and sweat and sound—your name on their lips, their bodies writhing under your hands. You don’t stop. Not until they’re both wrecked, undone, ruined by your touch.

You’re barely catching your breath and wiping your mouth when John pulls you to your hands and knees on the couch—his grip strong, steady, guiding. Behind you, he settles in close, one hand on your lower back, the other pulling your top over your head and dragging slowly over your hip.

Then Bucky steps in front of you.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back with a gentleness that completely contradicts the heat in his eyes. “Think you can take us both?”

You answer him with a look that makes his knees buckle—and then with your mouth, wrapping your lips around him without hesitation.

John groans from behind. “She’s already dripping,” he mutters, fingers digging into your hips. “Fuck.”

You hum around Bucky, the vibration making him hiss as you take him deeper, one hand wrapped around the base of him, the other braced against the couch. He cups your jaw gently, his thumb sweeping across your cheek, guiding your pace while his eyes stay locked on yours.

Then John pushes in.

The stretch makes your elbows buckle, your whole body arching, and Bucky groans as he watches the way your eyes flutter, your lips parting around him. He doesn’t thrust—not yet. He just lets you hold him in your mouth, breathing hard as John begins to move behind you, each roll of his hips pushing you forward slightly, deeper around Bucky.

“Just like that,” Bucky whispers, voice frayed. “Taking both of us like you were made for it.”

John lets out a ragged curse. “Look at her. Fucking perfect.”

You’re sandwiched between them, overwhelmed in the best way—John’s hands anchoring your hips, Bucky’s fingers threaded in your hair, both of them moving in sync like they’ve done this before, like they know exactly how to break you apart and keep you together all at once.

Bucky’s voice is hoarse now, every word punched out between moans. “You’re so good, baby. So fucking good for us.”

John growls from behind, picking up his pace. “Ours.”

And you—helpless, powerful, dizzy with the rhythm of them. You moan around Bucky, your body arching into every touch, every movement, caught between them in the most intoxicating way. You’re not sure which way is up anymore. You only know the heat, the weight of their bodies, the tension growing by the second.

“You feel how good you make us?” John growls, voice rough and unsteady. “You drive us crazy, baby.”

Bucky cups your cheek, thumb brushing across your cheekbone, his voice softer now—wrecked. “Can’t get enough of you.”

You can barely breathe, caught between their bodies, their voices—low, raw, praising. Every nerve in you is alight, every movement sending shivers through your spine. Bucky’s hand rests against your jaw, thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek as you pull back just enough to gasp for air.

“You’re a goddamn vision,” he mutters, awe bleeding through every word.

Behind you, John’s rhythm falters for half a beat—like even he can’t handle how good this feels, how utterly wrecked you look between them. His hand slips around your waist, holding you flush to him, like he needs to feel every inch of you, to keep you grounded while you shake.

“Can feel you falling apart,” he groans against the back of your neck. “Don’t hold back.”

You don’t. You can’t.

Your fingers grip Bucky’s thighs, nails digging in, desperate to anchor yourself as the tension inside you coils tighter, higher. Every breath is a whimper, every sound a plea. And they hear it all—feel it all.

Then it hits.

The wave crashes through you—body trembling, vision blurred, a sound breaking from your throat that doesn’t even feel like your own. Bucky’s hand tightens in your hair. John curses under his breath, losing himself to the feeling of you unraveling around him.

They don’t stop until they’ve wrung every last tremor from you, until you’re left limp and breathless, trembling in their arms.

Bucky’s the first to move, reaching out to catch you as John slowly pulls you back into his chest. “Got you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’ve got you.”

a/n: holy shit i did not expect to write this much. enjoy you dirty little animals 💅

tags: @river-reads-things

#have you ever tried this one?#oh my god #john walker x reader #bucky barnes x reader #john walker #bucky barnes #john walker x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #marvel #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#wyatt russell #sebastian stan

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