Insomniacs with a z
Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader x John Walker
Summary:
“Damn it, John, let go,” you whisper under your breath, carefully trying to pry one of his arms off your waist. No use. His super soldier strength is in full effect, and all you manage to do is shift the grip higher—great, now he’s got you in a chokehold. And as if the universe hadn’t punished you enough for choosing this sleepover, Bob snuggles closer behind you. You feel the warm tickle of his breath against your neck as his nose nudges into your hair, his arm casually thrown across your side like it belongs there. “Not you too,” you mutter, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to wiggle free. But with John locked on one side and Bob clinging to you like a sleepy koala, your options are severely limited. Or You form the New Avengers' very first sleep sub-unit. You, John and Bob all struggle to sleep, so you sleep in the same bed together to help each other out. And it's definitely platonic.
Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, smut, fluff, little angst, threesome, p in v, oral sex (female and male receiving), creampie, sex dream, John and Bob being cute
WC: 9.5k
A/N: Started this ages a while ago but finally finished it. I wrote this because who wouldn't wanna be in a John and Bob sandwich, and I feel like since it's May (Challengers month but every month is Challengers month imo) I need to write threesomes. And I love Sentryagent, Thunderbolts has brought back the multishipper in me. Enjoy!
***
Sleep was something that often escaped you. After the things you’ve done, the things you’ve seen, you’re surprised you sleep at all. It’s like your mind refuses to shut down, always racing, always bracing for something that never comes. Like there's a part of you that's always on watch, never letting you fully rest unless your body gives in from pure exhaustion.
So here you are again, wide awake at god-knows-what hour, standing in the kitchen in your sweats, staring into the fridge like it’s going to offer you something other than the same sad leftovers and a questionable bottle of juice. You close it. Two and a half seconds later, you open it again.
You pace. Open a cabinet. Close it. Lean against the counter. Wander to the sink. Insomnia’s a bitch. The hum of the fridge is loud in the quiet of the night, and the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet is the only rhythm to your restless routine.
“What are you doing up?” a voice asks from behind you.
You turn to see John standing in the doorway, looking tired, his old white army shirt wrinkled, hair an adorable mess (not that you’d ever say that out loud). His expression is soft, caught somewhere between concern and exhaustion.
“I couldn’t sleep,” you say, shrugging. “Staring at my ceiling was starting to drive me crazy. What about you?”
John exhales deeply, like he’s carrying the weight of something heavy. “Same. Too much on my mind.”
“Feel free to join me,” you say, hopping onto the counter next to him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just moves around the kitchen trying to get his bearings. You sit on the counter, watching him as he searches the cabinets.
You never quite knew what it was. It wasn’t anything obvious, just something about seeing him like this, all comfy in his pyjamas. You liked it more than you probably should.
"You're staring," He says, snapping you back to your senses.
"Am not."
“Are too,” he replies smugly, finally retrieving a jar from the cabinet like he just found buried treasure.
“You’re such a child,” you say, rolling your eyes, though you’re smiling despite yourself.
“And yet, here you are. Watching me like I’m the last man on Earth who knows how to make a sandwich,” He says, going over to the fridge to grab bread.
“I’m just making sure you don’t burn the kitchen down,” you lie, folding your arms.
“With peanut butter?” John questions, eyebrow quirked up.
“You never know.”
He rolls his eyes at you and tosses his bread in the toaster as he goes to try to find the jam for his PB&J.
Just then, there's a quiet creak, the unmistakable sound of someone stepping into the kitchen. You and John both glance over to see Bob walk in, clearly not realising anyone else is there yet. He grabs a glass, eyes still adjusting to the light, then turns around.
He stops in his tracks when he sees the two of you. His hair’s sticking up like he’d just rolled out of bed, and he's holding his empty glass like he’s just been caught stealing. In an instant, his powers kick in, the glass shattering in his hand.
“Oh shit, I’ll…” Bob blurts, immediately rushing to pick up the broken glass with his hands.
John’s on the move before the words even finish leaving Bob’s mouth, already halfway across the kitchen, when he heard the glass break. “Be careful, you’ll hurt yourself—”
“I can’t get cut, remember?” Bob says with a small grin, crouched and collecting the shards like it’s no big deal.
John hesitates, hand still extended like he might intercept him anyway. He often forgot just how strong Bob actually was, it wasn’t something he ever led with. Something about the way he carried himself made you want to protect him, even if he was as strong as a God. Same for the rest of the team, probably.
“Still…” John mutters, his concern clinging stubbornly to the edge of his voice, even if it had no real argument to stand on.
You hop off the counter, bare feet, making a quick dash to the broom closet. “What are you even doing awake, Bob?”
“My mind was too busy. Plus, I’m kind of hungry,” he replies, tossing the glass shards in the bin. You start sweeping up the remnants of glass left on the floor when you get an idea.
“Wanna have a midnight snack?” you offer.
“It’s 3 a.m.,” John cuts in, after glancing at his watch.
You flash him a quick grin. “Wanna have a 3 a.m. snack?”
Bob nods, his grin matching yours now. You make quick work of sweeping up any remaining glass on the floor, and the two of you start raiding the fridge like a pair of delinquents. John watches from the side, towel slung over his shoulder, arms crossed. He rolls his eyes, but there’s the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“I swear, the two of you are going to be the death of me.”
There’s a beat of silence as you and Bob settle on cereal, clinking spoons against mismatched bowls.
“Do you smell that?” Bob asks, nose wrinkling slightly.
There’s a very distinct burning smell filling the room, thick and bitter.
“The toast,” John grumbles, fingers running through his hair.
“I told you,” you gloat with a smug grin, watching as he rushes to the toaster.
He yanks the lever up and pulls out what is no longer a slice of bread but a small, blackened slab of charcoal.
“It’s cremated,” Bob says through a mouthful of cereal, casually stabbing another spoonful into his mouth.
John just sighs in defeat.
“Just join us in having cereal,” you tell him, nudging the box toward him with a smirk.
“Fine,” he grumbles, grabbing a bowl. Eventually, the three of you relocate to the couch, cereal bowls in hand, because the counters weren’t exactly comfortable, and the kitchen still smelled like a small appliance fire.
“So… what’s keeping you both up tonight?” you ask, nestled between them on the couch.
John answers first, his voice monotone. “The usual.”
The usual being everything he never says out loud, all his regrets, everything he’s lost, everyone he’s lost. All the weight he still carries. It’s been quite some time since the divorce, but he still hasn’t quite gotten used to sleeping alone, constantly tossing and turning, wanting someone to be there.
Bob chimes in, “Same. The usual.”
His mind was always too awake at night, too weak and susceptible to slipping back into the darkness. It was impossible for him not to think about everything that haunted him. He was unbelievably touch-starved. He knew touch was one thing that could help soothe the restless chaos inside. Sleeping alone, just feeling the cold sheets on his skin, only made the emptiness grow louder and kept him up.
You raise an eyebrow. “What an open group we have here.”
John glances over. “What about you, then?”
You hesitate, staring down at your cereal for a beat, then sigh. “The usual…”
The silence that follows is oddly comforting. Each of you lost in your thoughts, shoulders brushing lightly, grounded only by the shared sound of quiet crunching. You all finish your cereal, the moment hanging in the air like a soft exhale.
Bob stands, collecting the empty bowls. “I’ll wash these.”
“Are you guys going back to bed?” you ask, stretching slightly as you glance between them.
John shrugs, sinking further into the couch. “I’ll stay here for a bit…”
Bob returns a few moments later from the kitchen and flops down next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “Same.”
The three of you start shuffling around on the couch until everyone finds a spot that feels comfortable, John leaning back with his feet on the coffee table, Bob sitting close enough that your knees touch, and you tucked between them like the final puzzle piece. From there, the conversation seemed to flow, distracting you all from what was keeping you up at night.
“I mean, you turned my shield into a taco,” John says, deadpan but with a slight edge. You’ve always known he was a little bitter about it.
“I said I was sorry!” Bob defends himself, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “I was a different man then.”
You chuckle at their banter, head resting back against the cushion as their voices wrap around you like a blanket. The warmth of their presence, the soft glow of the living room, and the gentle rhythm of familiarity start to lull you to sleep.
You don’t even remember when your eyes close. Just the sound of them, bickering, laughing, still talking as if the world outside these walls doesn’t exist.
***
You wake up the next morning, so well rested, you’d think you slept on a bed of clouds and dreams.
John’s arms are draped loosely around your waist, his fingers just barely brushing your skin beneath the hem of your shirt. Bob’s head rests gently on your shoulder, his breath soft and warm against your neck, making you shiver even as you smile sleepily.
The sun is barely peeking through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet living room.
You know you can’t stay here forever, so with great care and a ridiculous amount of flexibility, you begin to untangle yourself from their limbs.
You pause once or twice as Bob shifts slightly or John murmurs something unintelligible in his sleep, but they don’t wake.
It isn’t as easy as you’d think it’d be, especially once you realise you’re caught in a trap. John’s arms tighten around you in his sleep like you’re some kind of oversized teddy bear he refuses to part with.
“Damn it, John, let go,” you whisper under your breath, carefully trying to pry one of his arms off your waist. No use. His super soldier strength is in full effect, and all you manage to do is shift the grip higher—great, now he’s got you in a chokehold.
And as if the universe hadn’t punished you enough for choosing this sleepover, Bob snuggles closer behind you. You feel the warm tickle of his breath against your neck as his nose nudges into your hair, his arm casually thrown across your side like it belongs there.
“Not you too,” you mutter, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to wiggle free. But with John locked on one side and Bob clinging to you like a sleepy koala, your options are severely limited.
It takes at least fifteen minutes before you finally manoeuvre your way out of the human bear trap that is your two oblivious teammates.
Once you’re out, you decide to have a little fun. You gently lift Bob’s head and nestle it against John's shoulder, shifting John's arm so it's draped protectively over Bob. The sight almost makes you stay.
Finally, you tuck a blanket around the two of them and step back, admiring your work with a sleepy smile. They looked peaceful. Safe.
You leave the room quietly, knowing full well someone, maybe Yelena or Bucky, would be the first to stumble in and find the two of them cuddled up like that.
They wake up hours later, the distant hum of activity signalling it’s definitely already afternoon.
“Walker?” Bob murmurs groggily, his voice rough with sleep, as he blinks at the ceiling. Then he turns his head and freezes, feeling John’s arm slung comfortably across his waist.
They both jolted upright like someone had hit a panic button.
“Nothing happened,” John says immediately, running a hand through his hair, eyes wide.
“Obviously,” Bob replies, a bit too fast, already scooting to the far end of the couch.
But any attempt at saving face is promptly ruined when Ava walks by with a mug in hand and a wicked grin.
“You two make a cute pair,” she teases without slowing, not even sparing them a second glance as she disappears down the hall.
They sit there for a beat, stunned, before Bob mutters, “Please tell me no one took pictures.”
John groans, rubbing his face. “We’re never hearing the end of this.”
***
The next few nights are tough. Worse than jetlag, worse than missions, worse than running on three hours of sleep and no espresso. You toss and turn like your sheets are made of sandpaper, pillow doing nothing to muffle the ache of absence beside you. You wanted to ask them, just once, to sleep beside you again. Just to see if it would help. Just to see if it meant anything.
But how were you supposed to do that? Knock on their door and go, "Sleep with me!"?
Mortifying.
Still, the restlessness was eating away at your nerves. So, gathering all the courage you can possibly muster, you decide maybe, just maybe, you’d go to both of their rooms and… ask. Or not ask. Maybe just stand there awkwardly until they read your mind.
You stumble out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and go to open your door—only to stop short at the sight of a tall brunette swaying nervously right in front of it, arm halfway raised to knock.
“Bob?” you whisper, blinking.
He jumps slightly, caught red-handed. “Oh… hey.”
You tilt your head, heart thudding. “What are you doing out here?”
He scratches the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I was just… walking. Or, not really. Thinking. Or maybe… not sleeping.”
You smile, because yeah, you know exactly what that’s like. “Same.”
There’s a pause. The moment stretches, as you both tiptoe around the same thought. Then, finally, you take the leap.
“So do you… wanna stay in here?”
Bob’s eyes flick up to yours, and his smile is small, but relieved.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Both of you lie next to each other on your bed, talking about nothing and everything. It feels more comfortable, and you can feel your body starting to relax a bit.
But ten minutes later, there’s a knock on your door. You and Bob exchange a look, and you walk over to your door to see John standing there. He looks as tired as you are, eyes rimmed red, posture slack, like sleep has been eluding him for days.
John notices Bob already there, sitting cross-legged on your bed, half-wrapped in one of your throw blankets.
“I’m interrupting, aren’t I? I can—”
“Stay. Please, it’s okay. The more the merrier,” you say quickly, stepping aside. You were happy to see him, and judging by the soft smile tugging at Bob’s lips, so was he.
“So, I’m assuming you’re both here to sleep with me,” you start, watching as they both sit down on either side of you. They pause. Blink. The silence stretches, thick with implication.
“Well, you know what I mean,” you clarify, cheeks heating. “Sleep next to me. Next to each other in a totally platonic and cool friend way.”
“Yeah, like that…” John says, nodding way too seriously. “I actually slept really well when we crashed on the couch the other day, so…”
“Same,” Bob adds. “I… haven’t really slept since then. Not like real sleep.”
You look between the two of them, then glance at your bed.
“So… how are we all going to fit?”
There’s a beat of silence before John offers, “I’ll take the edge.”
“I don’t mind an edge either,” Bob shrugs. “Unless you want it.”
“I want pillows, that’s what I want,” you say, flopping backwards across the bed. “We’ll make it work.”
And somehow, you do. There's a bit of shifting, a tangle of limbs and blankets, someone’s foot ending up in the wrong place and being shoved off with a muttered complaint. You’re in a Bob and John sandwich, and it’s actually very comfortable. Just knowing that you didn’t have to fall asleep alone did more for you than you thought it would.
You smile to yourself and relax, the warmth of them on either side soothing you more than any blanket ever could.
“Are you guys asleep?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Bob lets out a soft, “No,” and John follows with a groggy, “I was.”
“I thought of a name for us. We’re ‘insomniacs… with a z,’’ Good right?” you whisper with a grin, and though you can’t see his face in the dark, you know John rolled his eyes at that.
“You need to go to sleep,” Bob murmurs, leaning into you, his voice low and full of fondness.
You hum in response, already halfway to unconsciousness again, feeling his hand settle gently on your waist while John’s leg brushes yours under the covers.
***
For the next few nights, the three of you fall into an unspoken routine. Cramming into your bed, trading dumb jokes and half-whispered stories until sleep takes over. It’s oddly comforting. Easy. You've never slept better.
Sometimes when you’d walk in, John and Bob would already be there, lying next to each other, leaving just enough space for you, but close enough that their legs touched under the blanket. You saw it even if they didn’t. The way Bob’s shoulders relaxed just a little more when John was near. The way John’s usually guarded face softened around him. Bob’s quiet glances when he thought no one was looking. John’s compulsive need to take care of him, even in the smallest ways, like adjusting the blanket around Bob’s shoulders or handing him a snack before he could ask for one.
You even caught John absentmindedly running his fingers through Bob’s hair once, his other hand resting casually on your shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And maybe, for the three of you, it was.
It was your little (not-so-secret) secret. Until one morning when Bucky catches you all red-handed.
He rounds the corner, coffee mug in hand, just in time to catch John and Bob exiting your room. They're both rumpled and sleepy-eyed, Bob rubbing the back of his neck, John trying to quietly shut your door.
They both freeze when they see him.
Bucky raises an eyebrow, lips already twitching.
“It really isn’t what it looks like,” John says quickly, holding up his hands like he’s surrendering.
Bucky takes a slow sip from his mug, never breaking eye contact. “And I’m really not sure I want to know, Walker.”
Bob makes a small noise of protest, like he wants to clarify something, but then thinks better of it.
“But whatever helps you sleep at night,” Bucky deadpans, walking past them.
John takes a breath while Bob chokes on air.
Trying to eat breakfast after that was… an ordeal, to say the least. Ava was in the kitchen, minding her business but clearly listening, her facial expressions and raised brows doing all the talking. And Alexei (of course) was making himself at home, throwing not-so-subtle glances your way that made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Alexei comments casually, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Young people need warmth. Back in my day, we shared beds all the time for survival.”
“Right,” you mutter, pushing cereal around in your bowl.
“Nothing brings people closer than shared body heat,” he continues.
“Ugh…” you groan, dropping your spoon. But all this was worth it. You needed them in your bed… for completely platonic reasons. Obviously.
That night, you open the door to see John already leaning against the frame like he owns the place.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” you say with mock grandeur, stepping aside to let him in.
John heads straight to your bed, dropping onto it like it's his. He leans back, gets comfortable, then pauses—his brow furrowing.
“Have you been eating cookies in here?”
“…No,” you lie, a little too quickly.
John shifts, brushing a hand across the blanket with exaggerated suspicion. “I can feel the crumbs,” he says, deadpan.
You roll your eyes, not wanting to hear the full lecture. “Okay, maybe one cookie. Or maybe it was more like… four.”
John sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, clearly fighting the urge to launch into a full monologue about hygiene and cookie crumbs.
“I’m not sleeping in your cookie-infested bed,” he mutters, shooting you a look. “Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, used a plate instead of just rawdogging it with your comforter?”
“Who takes a plate of cookies to bed?” you argue, arms crossed, as if this is a totally reasonable lifestyle choice.
John just stares at you. “People who respect baked goods and their sheets,” he rebuts dryly, rubbing his temple like you’re this close to giving him a headache. “When Bob gets here, we’ll just go to my room instead.”
But ten minutes pass. Then fifteen.
And still—no Bob.
You glance at the clock, then at John. “Think we should check on him?” you ask, the teasing drained from your voice now.
You were both beyond concerned.
Something wasn’t right.
John nods, and you follow behind him in silence, heart tight in your chest, hoping Bob’s alright.
“Bob? Are you in there?” John calls out, knocking once, then again, louder this time. But there’s no response.
He tries the handle. Unlocked.
Pushing the door open, you’re met with a rush of cold air. The window had been left wide open, the curtains fluttering slightly in the night breeze. The room is dim, quiet, and strangely still.
Then you see it—a Bob-shaped lump curled in the corner, knees drawn in, arms wrapped around himself like he’s trying to hold something in… or keep everything else out.
“Bob?” you say gently, voice soft but urgent, as you and John step carefully inside.
He doesn’t move. Still cradled in the same position. Shoulders tight. Breathing shallow.
The two of you lower yourselves to the floor, sitting near but not too close, not wanting to spook him, not wanting to leave him alone either.
“I’m fine,” Bob says after a long silence. His voice is thin. Flat. The kind of “fine” that clearly means anything but.
“This doesn’t look fine,” John replies quietly, a mix of concern and frustration in his voice.
You take in his dishevelled form—hair messy and clinging to his forehead, eyes wet with tears that he hadn’t bothered to wipe away. His whole body looks like it’s holding something heavy, like whatever’s going on inside him is too much to carry alone.
“You can tell us when you’re ready,” you say gently, your voice steady despite the ache building in your chest. “But we’re not leaving you alone.”
“We’ll stay on the floor with you all night if we have to,” John adds, firm and honest, with no hesitation.
Bob looks between the two of you, eyes wide and shining, like the idea of someone staying is new and almost too much to believe.
“You don’t understand…” he whispers, voice cracking. “If I lose control... I don’t hurt just me. I hurt everyone.”
Bob closes his eyes, and the memories hit him like a freight train—what happened in New York flashing through his mind as vividly as if it were happening again. He can still hear the screams, the panic in the streets, the chaos he caused. What he became. The helplessness of knowing that at any moment, it could all slip again. He could become that thing. And there’d be no undoing it.
“Bob,” you say gently, grounding him, your voice pulling him back from the edge.
His glassy eyes flutter open to the sight of you and John. He could see that you cared, more than he was used to.
“If you lose control,” you continue, steady and unwavering, “every single one of us will be here to bring you back.”
“This will never be something you have to fight on your own. Never again,” John says, his voice thick with conviction.
And that’s when Bob breaks.
The weight he’s been carrying finally cracks, and he collapses into John’s arms, sobbing, raw and unfiltered. He reaches for your hand, grip tightens around it as soon as you find it.
You stay there, the three of you, only the sound of Bob’s soft, trembling breaths audible. No one rushes him. No one lets go.
By the time you’re all finally drifting into sleep, slouched against each other on the floor, the first light of morning is creeping through the window.
***
The next day is a lot brighter.
The whole team is sent out on a mission that almost goes smoothly, if you don’t count the narrowly avoided international incident and the flaming jeep that somehow ended up in a fountain. But no one’s seriously hurt, and considering the usual chaos, that’s practically a win.
By the time you all make it back to the tower, bones are aching, eyes are heavy, and moods are dangerously close to cranky.
Then someone smells it.
Food. Real food.
The delicious scent winds through the hallways. The team practically floats toward the kitchen on instinct, lured like cartoon characters by the promise of actual food.
You spot Bob at the stove, apron slightly crooked, sleeves rolled up, a little flushed from the heat. You rush over to him, ruffling his hair without hesitation.
“You didn’t have to,” you say, smiling.
“I felt better today,” Bob says, glancing at you shyly, then smiling a little more freely. “So… I thought this might help. Everyone seemed like they needed something good.”
His eyes flick briefly to John, who’s leaning against the doorway, watching with soft approval.
“Well, thank you. We really appreciate it,” John says. “Plus, it’s definitely better than whatever the hell Alexei made last week.”
Alexei pipes up from the table, “It was fusion.”
“It was a war crime,” Ava mutters.
Everyone laughs, the tension melting into the kind of easy camaraderie that doesn’t come often, but when it does, it means something.
The whole time you eat, you feel it, that strange warmth in your chest, like a string pulled gently taut between the three of you. You catch yourself looking forward to nightfall in a way you never used to.
Like clockwork, they enter your room that night, John with a tired smile, Bob already carrying a pillow under one arm like he’s making himself at home. You scoot over to make space as they settle in on either side of you.
“Can you both do something for me?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper.
“Name it,” Bob replies without hesitation, already leaning closer.
“No judgment,” you say, a bit embarrassed, “but… can you run your fingers through my hair?”
There’s a beat of silence, then two sets of hands move almost simultaneously. No teasing. No questions. Just soft fingers brushing through your hair, careful and gentle.
You lean into their touch. Each stroke sends a calm shiver down your spine, melting tension from your body. You don’t mean to fall asleep, not that fast, but your eyes flutter shut and the weight of the day slips away before you even realise it.
“She’s been falling asleep a lot quicker lately,” John comments quietly, pulling the blanket up over you.
Bob nods, watching your steady breathing. “Yeah… think she just needed to feel safe.” His hand lingers for a moment, brushing a stray strand from your face before settling back. Then something happens that makes them question everything.
You moan.
“Did you…?” John starts with a mix of hesitation and curiosity, but he’s cut off when you mumble in your sleep.
“John…” you whisper softly, dream-heavy and far too sweet.
Both of them freeze. Bob’s hand goes still on the blanket, and John stares at you like you just hit him with a truck. You continue, a few more unintelligible whimpers slipping out. They’re soft, needy little sounds that make both men immediately and awkwardly alert.
Your brows scrunch in your sleep, and then another mumble: “Bob…so good…”
Their hands are completely out of your hair now, as though it burned them. They exchange a wide-eyed look.
“What’s happening?” Bob says, whispering like the room itself might judge him.
“She’s dreaming,” John mutters back, blinking at you. “But… of what exactly?”
“She said both our names.”
“I know.” A pause. “Do you think we should wake her up?”
“No,” Bob cuts in quickly, eyes fixed on you, like you might say something even more incriminating. “We should let her sleep.”
They both sit stiffly now, backs straight, trying very hard to think about anything else as you sigh contentedly in your sleep, clearly having a very different kind of night than they are.
“Whatever it is,” John finally mutters, “it must be really good.”
“Walker…” Bob says, voice low and barely above a whisper.
“I’m just saying,” John mutters, lifting his hands in defence. The blonde’s ears were still pink, eyes wide. “I’ve never heard her make noises like that. That had to be… something.”
Bob runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “Yeah, something. Something that included both of us.”
John sinks a little deeper into the mattress, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. “That’s what I’m saying.”
You gasp softly in your sleep, a breathy “Holy shit…” slipping out before your voice finally fades into silence. Your breathing evens out, those needy little noises replaced by soft, peaceful snores.
They both freeze, eyes locked on you like you’re a live grenade in the middle of the bed.
And then, finally, you shift slightly and curl in, utterly unaware of the absolute panic you’ve left in your wake.
John exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s just… go to bed.”
“Goodnight, Walker,” Bob says, still sounding dazed.
They lay back down, each careful not to touch you or each other as if contact might electrocute them. They eventually fall asleep, but their minds? Nowhere near quiet. And between the memories of your sleep-talking and the unanswered questions hanging thick in the air, it ends up being the most uncomfortable restful night either of them has had.
***
The blankets rustle and shift, and you move closer to the two of them, shuffling about as you fight to get comfy.
“You need to stop moving,” John grumbles, his voice gravely as he's already half-asleep.
“I’m just trying to get comfortable,” you argue, shuffling over to press against Bob, who whines in protest.
“You really do need to stop moving like that,” Bob chimes in, his voice a little breathy, not entirely annoyed.
John’s hand finds your hip, firm but gentle, holding you still. “John…” you whisper, suddenly aware of how close his body is pressed against your back.
He leans down, lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “Do you want this as much as we do?”
You look between the two of them and let out a soft, shaky breath. “Yes.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for days, and then John’s lips are at your neck, slow and deliberate. Bob’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you.
“Can I?” he asks gently, his eyes searching yours.
“Yes, Bob…”, you reply, and he leans in, your lips meeting in a kiss that’s careful at first, but quickly deepens. It’s a little messy, a little desperate, like he’s been waiting too long to do this. Pulling back, you gasp softly, breath mingling in the space between you.
Looking up at both of them, your words are a whisper, “I need you so bad.”
Your pleas are interrupted as John’s hands climb up your shirt and under your bra. It’s like everything he did was made to make you fall apart.
As if you weren’t overwhelmed enough, you feel Bob’s lips on your neck. His tongue tracing patterns, his lips kissing your sensitive spots so hard that it makes your toes curl.
Then suddenly all the touches stop, and you find yourself trying to catch up to the shift in the air. You’re about to open your mouth and whine about it when you notice them looking at each other.
It’s charged and quiet, electric, even.
Then John’s hand lifts, tentative, almost hesitant, and his fingers curl into Bob’s hair, like he’s done it before, or thought about doing it a thousand times. He leans in, and they kiss. It’s entrancing, the way their bodies shift toward each other like magnets finally giving in to the pull.
You’re sure you saw tongue.
Watching them kiss was a once in a lifetime experience and the fact that it was happening on top of you, “Holy shit…”
Was this heaven?
You wake up, still a little dazed from that crazy dream you had, but feeling refreshed nonetheless. But you can’t lie, you wanted (needed) to see the end of that dream, but life couldn’t be so easy.
As you start to shake off the haze, you’re expecting the usual warmth, an arm slung around your waist, maybe a leg tangled with yours. Instead, there's nothing but cold sheets and the sharp absence of closeness. Your hand stretches out and touches only air. You blink groggily and glance around to see both Bob and John at opposite ends of the bed, practically clinging to the edges like there’s a force field between them, and you.
You let out a big, unfiltered yawn, and both of them twitch. Like actual startled animals.
They exchange a glance above you, a rapid, silent conversation with widened eyes and furrowed brows before both sit up like someone just sounded an alarm.
“What’s up?” you ask, squinting at them suspiciously. “You two look like you just got caught doing something illegal.”
“N–nothing,” Bob stammers, eyes flicking to John, then back to the floor. “I should get going, though. Breakfast… cleaning… stuff.”
“Yeah, I’ve got training,” John says, not meeting your gaze either. “Mission later, gotta prep.”
“Guys?” you press, voice dipping slightly with confusion.
“I need to, uh, do some chores. Important chores. Early morning chores.” Bob’s words tumble out of his mouth clumsily as he untangles himself from your sheets. “I have to go.”
And just like that, they both bolt, practically tripping over each other in their haste to leave the room.
You're left blinking at the door, your head spinning.
“…What the hell just happened?” you mutter to no one.
Did you miss something? Or worse, did you do something?
Because whatever it was, they’re clearly spooked.
All day, they ignore you, and you’d never seen either of them act like this before.
John, who’s normally a chatterbox, could barely talk to you on the mission; it was like when it came to you, it was like he couldn’t even hear your voice. And Bob, sweet and usually glued to your side, sat across the room at dinner like being near you might set him on fire. Every time your eyes met, he looked away.
To make matters worse, they break their ‘Insomniacs with a z’ club commitment. You wait up at night, waiting for them to come, but they don’t. Midnight, 1 am, 2 am, and they’re still not here, so you lie down in your sheets on your cold and empty bed, trying to sleep. You can’t, though, it’s the first sleepless night in a while, and there’s no other reason than the fact that they’re not by your side.
You wake up alone again and with a mood. It was one thing if they didn’t want to do it anymore, but to drop you with no explanation wasn’t fair.
You were practically a walking sigh at this point.
Moping in the kitchen, tragically stirring your cereal like it personally offended you.
Moping in the gym, aimlessly walking on the treadmill like your heartbreak was some dramatic indie film montage.
You even moped in the laundry room, staring into the dryer like it could somehow spin your problems away.
And Yelena had had it.
“You want to talk?” she asked finally, catching you mid-mope as you stood in the hallway holding a half-folded towel like it was a fragile relic of a better time. “Because this sad little ghost routine is killing the vibe around here.”
You groaned, dragging the towel dramatically over your face. “They don’t want to sleep with me anymore.”
Yelena blinked. “Wait, what?”
You lowered the towel. “No—I mean—not like that.”
She arched a brow.
“I mean like… they used to come into my room. And sleep. With me. Next to me. It was a whole thing. We’d talk, they’d run their fingers through my hair, but no funny business, and now? Nothing. They’re avoiding me like I’m radioactive.”
“Well,” Yelena says dryly, “There’s only one way to fix it.”
“…How?”
“Easy. Corner them. Trap them. Use emotional honesty and eye contact. Or—if that fails—lock them in a room until they start talking like adults.”
You blinked.
“You’re a genius.”
“That’s what I keep telling people,” She gloats before she disappears down the hallway.
You just had to lure them in. That night, you send them a message that’s sure to have them running to you.
“Where’s the spider?” They ask, both rushing into your room at the same time.
You appear behind them, locking the door behind them, “Fools.”
They froze. Like deer in headlights.
Bob blinked first. “You… tricked us.”
“You sent a code red spider alert,” John added, accusatory, like that was the crime here.
“And it worked. You two aren’t leaving until I get some answers. So now, sit. Talk.”
They hesitated, glancing at each other like maybe, just maybe, one of them could break down the door and flee. But they decided not to test your wrath.
“Why didn’t you show up last night?” you repeated, slower this time, folding your arms like a disappointed parent. “You can’t just… vanish, and not just that, but you’ve been avoiding me. It’s been miserable.”
“Did I do something?” You ask quietly, and from the subtle little flinch, you know it’s true. “Oh…”
You suddenly feel self-conscious and start rubbing your arm to subconsciously comfort yourself. Bob then steps forward, unable to let you be so distressed. “It’s not really your fault. It’s not like you can control it.”
You tilt your head at him, confused, “Control what?”
They both take a deep breath, doing their whole little silent conversation thing before obviously deciding on something. “Your dreams,” John finishes.
“My dreams–” You cut yourself off as your memories of last night's particularly steamy dream come to mind. Did you talk in your sleep?
“Did I.. Oh, I did, didn’t I?” You cry out before almost launching yourself into your bed headfirst.
“It’s not a big deal, I mean it’s understandable,” John says, gesturing to himself with his usual little grin. “I am kind of dream worthy.”
You want your bed to just swallow you whole. “This is unbelievable. I’ll never be able to get over this. This will quite literally haunt me for the rest of my life.”
You lie still like a plank, bathing in your self-pity before a question snaps you out of it.
“What happened exactly?” Bob asks, and your head snaps towards him.
“You want to know what happened in the dream?” You question, your mouth agape.
Rolling onto your front, you suck in air as you replay the dream in your head, both of them shirtless, Bob’s lips on your neck, John’s fingers rubbing your clit through your panties, watching them kiss. “I don’t think that‘s the best idea.”
“It involved a few things here and there…” You say hesitantly as you try to downplay it, but the way they were looking at you from either side of you.
“We want to know,” John says, sitting down next to you. At this point, they’re both crowding around you, and you thought you were the one supposed to be trapping them.
“Well, as you can probably guess, it was a sex dream.”
You twiddle your fingers as if that’s going to make things any better and delay the inevitable awkward silence.
“And we all kissed,” you finish, voice barely above a whisper.
“Like… we both kissed you or…” Bob asks, eyebrows raised, needing the clarification more than anything else, though his voice is gentler than you expected.
“We all kissed,” you reiterate, firmer this time, like saying it with more certainty would somehow make it less embarrassing.
Bob opens his mouth, then closes it again, clearly processing before glancing over at John, who’s staring off, lost in thought, his brow furrowed as if trying to puzzle something out.
“Huh…” John finally says, scratching the back of his neck.
Bob exhales, rubbing the back of his neck too. “That’s… not what I expected, but, uh, not entirely unwelcome.”
You blink. “Wait, really?”
“So…” you begin, your voice quiet, unsure. You hesitate, wondering if you’re about to cross a line, if you're reading too much into the charged glances, the way they’ve both been orbiting closer each night. “Want to make it a reality?”
You almost regret the words the moment they’re out. But then, to your surprise, they both say yes.
You blink. They’re closer than you remember them being, shoulders brushing, heat pooling in the small space between the three of you.
They look at you, clearly unsure where to start. Taking things into your own hands, you reach for them gently, fingers threading into their hair. Bob’s hair is soft and slightly damp from a shower; John’s is shorter and messier, like he’s run his hands through it a dozen times today. They both look at you, wide-eyed, alert, hungry for your attention but waiting to be guided.
You kiss Bob first, slow, deliberate. He melts into it, moaning into your mouth like you're his salvation.
Then you turn to John. His kiss is different—deeper, more controlled—but just as wanting.
You pull back, eyes flicking between them, your hand still in John’s hair as you whisper, “Kiss him.”
They hesitate, eyes locked on each other. But only for a second.
Because they trust you and they trust each other.
You watch as they lean in, cautious at first, a brush of lips like testing the edge of something new. Again, another enlightening experience. It’s softer than when it happened in your dream, but no less passionate.
They pull apart to breathe, Bob laughing a little as he catches his breath. He catches the look on John’s face and immediately goes to explain himself.
“No, it’s just your beard is tickling my face,” Bob says with a shy smile.
Bob chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling.
John opens his mouth, about to apologise or say something, but Bob stops him gently.
“No, it’s okay… I like it,” Bob admits quietly.
They turn to you, noticing the way your eyes linger, how much you liked seeing them together.
“Oh, you really like that, huh?” John teases, a smug little grin on his face as he runs his fingers through your hair, right behind your ear, like he knows exactly how much that gets to you.
Bob leans in closer, voice softer but no less intense. “Didn’t know watching us would get you this worked up…”
Then, in a rush, like they can’t wait another second to get their hands back on you, they start removing their clothes. Shirts pulled off, pyjama pants too, movements frantic but focused.
You could scream.
It’s one thing to have one good-looking, shirtless man standing in front of you. It’s another to have two, both looking at you like you're the only thing in the room that matters.
You know exactly what they’d put in your autopsy report if you died right now:
“Cause of death: Abs.”
And honestly? Worth it.
It’s a mix of heat and motion, hands everywhere, so much that you don’t even know who’s touching you half the time. Fingers trailing your skin, lips brushing yours, pressure and pleasure blending until it’s all one glorious blur.
Your hands glide up and down Bob’s abs, firm and warm beneath your palms, while your lips trace along John’s bicep—so close you could just…
Before you know it, your teeth sink into him, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.
“Did you just bite me?” John asks, blinking at you with a half-shocked, half-amused chuckle.
“Sorry,” you mumble, grinning. “Intrusive thoughts took over.”
“Bite me all you want,” he says, voice dropping low, “I can take it.”
Bob leans in from behind, his breath ghosting over your neck. “We both can.”
Just hearing that stole all the air from your lungs. In a flash, you’re lying on your back, as John ruts against you. You suspect he’s been hard ever since he and Bob made out, and you don’t blame him.
Bob’s on the sidelines, completely entranced by John railing you, his desire on full display. Without hesitating, you reach out and palm his cock in your hands. “Can I?” You ask, and Bob swears your lips have never been so inviting.
“Yeah, I…yeah.”
You take him into your mouth, with a kind of reverence that takes him by surprise.
When you feel the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, you gag, a well of spit dripping out of your mouth onto the bed.
“Doing so well,” Bob praises, watching you in awe, as he starts using your mouth more confidently. You moan desperately in response, and that’s all you're capable of right now.
It’s almost too hard to keep up with. And you swear you’ve never been more full in your life. Your eyes screwed shut in pure ecstacy as you try to breath through your nose... You can’t think.
“That’s a good girl,” John says as he pulls you close with each snap of his hips. You had to admit, you loved the praises they were giving you. Each one brings you that much closer to the edge.
Suddenly, you feel Bob’s cum flooding your mouth, his hand holding onto yours as he comes down from the high you had given him.
Then John pulls out of you, climbing off the bed and pulling the bottom half of your body with him.
“John…” You whine, needing him back inside of you as soon as possible, because how dare he deprive you of his touch for even a second?
“I know, I know... so impatient,” He laughs. You’re about to complain at him, but you’re interrupted by him getting on his knees, licking at your hole. “John!” You scream out. No part of you was expecting him to start eating you out. Every part of your body, is freaking out and your hands scramble until they find Bob.
As if to placate you, he kisses you, tongue invading your mouth just as John’s invades your pussy.
You and Bob pull apart, a line of saliva still connecting your mouths as John continues to wreak havoc on your sanity—hands, mouth, voice, all driving you further under.
“Need you, Bob,” you whisper, breath shaky, and your mouth finds his neck, lips and teeth leaving a trail of heat. You press open-mouthed kisses along his throat, then bite down, again and again, each mark deliberate.
Bruises blooming like constellations across his skin.
You always thought he’d look nice all marked up with love bites, gasping out your name like you’re all he needs.
And now you know he definitely does.
Just as you pull back to look at your masterpiece, John’s mouth pull away from your core only to be replaced with his cock.
You hold onto Bob as John starts fucking you, each thrust hitting your sensitive spot dead on. “Please, John… please,” you gasp, voice wrecked with need as your words dissolve into incoherent babbles. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore—his hands, his mouth, just more.
You feel him smirk against the back of your neck, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His grip tightens, steadying you.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” he murmurs, low and teasing in your ear. “But I like you like this—messy and desperate.”
"Please, fuck me harder," You whine, not caring what you needed to say to keep feeling this good.
Bob groans softly behind you, his breath hot as he presses kisses along your shoulder. “You should see yourself right now…”
And just like that, you're gone again.
“Please never stop,” You gasp out to both of them and with another thrust from John, your orgasm hits you so hard, you think you might be done for. “Fuck!” You cry out, your legs trembling as you slide down Bob’s body, landing in the sheets next to his thigh.
But John doesn’t stop, continuing to pound into you, not once losing pace. Damn that super solider serum. All your restraint and any trace of common sense were long gone. It had left the building as soon as their shirts came off.
You fade in and out, until you feel him fill you up with his cum, your name coming out of his mouth in pants.
John pulls out of you and immediately checks on you, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you puff out, chest rising and falling as you collapse onto your back, completely spent and dazed in the best possible way.
The room is warm with afterglow, breath and heat and tangled limbs. You barely register the sound of movement before John and Bob exchange a glance over you.
“Let me help you out,” John offers, seeing that Bob’s already half hard again.
“You sure?” Bob asks softly, hesitation in his voice. He didn’t want to inconvenience him, but the words falter when John moves closer, solid and warm, his presence filling the space between them.
“I’m sure,” John murmurs, voice low and steady, his hand finding Bob’s hip like it belonged there. His touch is grounding, confident, and it makes Bob melt under it, like everything he was holding tense finally lets go.
“You don’t have to take care of me,” Bob adds, almost whispering.
John leans in, their foreheads brushing. “Maybe I want to.”
And with that, Bob exhales, letting him take control. His strong hands wrap around Bob’s dick, and Bob holds onto his arm, needing him so bad, he doesn't know what he’d do without him.
“Walker…John I—” He stutters as he moves his hips, thrusting into his hand with fervour. They look at one another. Bob’s eyes start glowing, the light pulsing with an intensity that feels almost alive. Unearthly, charged, and very imposing. It hums in the air between them, making John's chest tighten.
Afraid it might push Bob too far, might tip him into something he can’t come back from, John starts to pull away.
But Bob grabs him, firm, unyielding. “Don’t.”
It’s sharp, clipped, nothing like the sweet, careful way Bob usually speaks. The tension in his clenched jaw, the rawness in his voice, it’s not a plea. It’s a command. An order.
So John follows it.
He thrusts into John’s hand again and again, the control now flipped on its head, and John doesn’t mind one bit.
It was something else to see. Bob Reynolds, glowing, tense, his usual restraint stripped away. And still, like he was holding the universe back with his bare hands just to be gentle with him.
Then Bob’s eyes fall on you, intense and burning gold.
“Come here,” he says, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
He doesn’t wait for a response. You move, almost without thinking, drawn in by something magnetic and undeniable. You make your way over to him, and before you can even ask what he wants—
He’s kissing you. Like he’s been holding back for far too long.
John moves his hand away, letting Bob guide you until your back hits the bed.
“Are you ready?” Bob asks, smiling at you.
You consider your current position—John is beside you, lips trailing down one side of your neck, his hand firm on your waist. Bob’s cock is pushing against your hole, so close to giving you what you’ve been aching for. Your body is lit up like a live wire, and you feel like you might die.
And yet, heart racing—you let out a soft, breathy, “Yes.”
Bob pushes in slowly, and you find yourself mewling, John soothing you with his kisses. He starts slow, each thrust deeper than the last.
As you start to get used to it, he picks up the pace, just enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Everything about this—your sounds, your body, the way you looked at him like he was the only thing in the world—was making him lose control.
He didn’t know it could feel so... so good. Overwhelming, all-consuming, better than anything he'd imagined in the haze of lonely nights and quiet want.
His voice is rough when he speaks, barely more than a whisper:
“I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”
And honestly, neither are you.
And when John starts rubbing your clit, it’s over for you. Your moans become higher-pitched until you whimper out, “Holy.. I’m gonna…”
A blinding orgasm hits you so hard, your back is arching off the bed. The sight is almost too much for them both, but especially Bob. When you come back down and relax against the bed, they both go back to touching you. Making sure you would have no peace while you’re with them.
Bob’s eyes glow again, and there’s a sharp cracking sound as a piece of your headboard is now somehow in his hand, splintered clean off without him even realising it.
Your eyes widen but there’s no time to focus on that, not while he’s fucking you into a new dimension.
A few moments later, your bedroom mirror shatters, fractured by the force of the moment as he loses himself in you completely.
He starts to hesitate, breath catching, the weight of everything creeping in, but then he feels John’s hand on his back, steady and grounding, soothing him.
“Keep going,” John says, and all Bob wants to do is listen.
He ruts into you, fingers digging into your hips so hard, you know they’re going to leave bruises.
Then Bob feels something, strong fingers threading into his hair as John pulls their lips together for the second time. This kiss is more desperate, more needy, like something inside him has snapped loose and there's no putting it back.
It’s messy and raw, and he doesn’t even try to slow down; his rhythm with you never falters, never once losing pace. You love a man who can multitask.
The kiss breaks only when breathlessness forces it, and Bob pulls back just slightly, eyes blown wide, lips swollen, his mind a complete daze.
“I’m close,” You tell him, and he moves faster, doubling his efforts to make you feel good.
“So perfect for us,” Bob says, matching his thrusts to how John was rubbing your clit. It feels too good to hear him say that. There’s something in the way he says us, the way his grip tightens on your waist… it makes you want to lose your mind. There was no holding on any longer, so you let go.
“I–” You start but cut yourself off with a guttural cry, as your climax rips through you. It’s like you're on fire with how the pleasure overcomes you. Your hip stutter against John’s hand, as your walls quiver around Bob’s cock.
The feeling of you orgasming around him became too much for him to bear, sending Bob into his own.
Bob finishes inside of you, his breath ragged as he buries his face in your neck, holding you tight as the last waves of his release shudder through him.
Your chest is heaving with effort and aftershocks, your body trembling, but this wasn’t over.
Not even close.
They're nowhere near done with you. You can feel it, see it in their eyes.
And when John leans in again, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked with want, he murmurs, “Hope you weren’t planning on sleeping yet…”
They could and would go all night long.
***
The next morning, you wake up tangled in their embrace again, and you're happy.
Sore, thoroughly exhausted, slightly disoriented... but happy.
Your bedroom, however, looks like it barely survived the night—mirrors broken, half the headboard gone, and a John-shaped hole in the wall. You're honestly surprised anything’s still intact, especially the bed frame, though it gives a warning creak when you shift to slide out from under the pile of limbs.
You stretch, muscles aching in that oddly satisfying way, and glance back at the bed.
John’s arm is slung over Bob’s waist, both of them blissfully asleep. Hair messy, skin littered with red marks—some from you, some from each other. You can’t help the little smile that tugs at your lips.
You didn’t quite know what this made the three of you now, but there was time to figure it out.
Eventually.
For now? This felt like a damn good place to start.
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