john f walker x reader (thunderbolts)
⁓0.9k words
teammates to lovers, making out, sub! john, suggestive, cumming untouched
you don't really know how you ended up here. last thing you know you were doing recon on a mission val had sent you on alongside john, and now?
john is already a mess by the time you pull back, separate your lips from his with a wet smack. he struggles for a second to open his eyes, but when they do, your breath catches in your throat. glassy, dazed, unfocused - drunk on you and your taste from a simple, passionate kiss alone.
to have his beautiful blue eyes staring wide up at you from where he's sitting on his haunches, knees digging into the carpeted floor of the motel room you share, is nothing short of sinful. a moan slips from you at the view, and you can't help but beckon him in once more.
he moves his cheek into your hand, obedient like an attack dog trained to serve your every command.
and his reward?
tasting you again.
a rough "fuck" falls from his lips when they meet yours once more, already wet and swollen from the intensity of the last one. your tongues tangle, move together in a filthy dance for dominance that john doesn't even get close to winning, and he all out whimpers when you hook the tip of yours behind his teeth so you can pull him even closer than he already is.
"taste so good," you murmur into the kiss, let your fingertips follow an invisible path up from his clothed chest until they carefully, ever so softly wrap around the base of his throat. john's breath catches immediately. there's no real pressure behind your grip, but the simple gesture makes his mind reel at the possessiveness of it, at the control you have over him with barely any of your strength or effort.
the angle of you, sitting on the edge of the bed, and him leaning up into your touch and searching out the heat of your body-
you groan at the image, press your mouth to his again, again and again and again until you're both breathless and gasping for air and still not stopping. still not pulling back. calloused hands clamber over your thighs, wide spread around his broad shoulders, until they find their hold right where your waist creases, wrinkles softly as you sit above him.
god, he wishes he could touch you more freely, but his own thoughts can barely form anything coherent that's more than just "please" and "again". and the only sounds that make it past his lips when you graze your teeth over his bottom lip are the weakest, whiniest of moans and gasps. he's pathetic, and he loves it.
a needy whimper falls from him when you separate, but he honestly couldn't care about any embarassment anymore, way past the point of that. so when you use your free hand to brush his hair back, already messy from running your fingers through it, not as neat as it was during your mission anymore - far from it, even - and keep his head steady so you can bully your tongue past his spit-ridden lips again, he begs. pleads for you with little, pleasure-drunk noises that break in the back of his throat.
"yeah?" you mutter into the kiss, double your efforts when he tries to nod against your hold. at another whine, you shush him. "don't worry, baby, i got you."
you had noticed the movements of his hips, trying to get any sense of friction to his achingly hard dick, confined still in his suit pants as the situation escalated before either of you could get any clothes off. having john this weak, this desperate for you, kneeling for you, whining for you, makes your heart beat faster than any mission ever could've done.
"baby-" you interrupt him with another kiss, just as searing as the last, add some pressure to your hold on his throat until his breath stutters. the wet spot on his briefs, hidden from sight, spreads just a little bit more. it would be uncomfortable - if john could muster any ounce of strength to care about it right that moment. he can't.
especially not when you allow his tongue into your mouth. when your teeth graze the wet muscle. when you close your lips around it. when you hollow your cheeks slightly and suck.
the groan that escapes him, raspy and wild and a little frantic, is downright feral, travels through your body and makes your stomach clench. but what makes you moan right back is the way his fingers dig into your thighs, sure to bruise, unable to control his enhanced strength when-
oh, oh fuck. john's legs tremble, his body tenses up before melting into a puddle right at your feet. small, barely audible moans keep passing his lips involuntarily, his hips stutter, and you let your gaze wander down to his lap before ripping itself back up to his fucked out, absolutely ethereal expression.
he came. in his pants, like a fucking highschooler - just unashamed, uncaring, because shit, that felt too good to make him have any sense of embarassment about it.
when his eyes open, they're droopy, dazed, almost glossy with the pleasure still coursing through his body and letting it twitch in the aftershocks. his tongue still peeks from behind his parted lips, a bead of your saliva threatening to drip down his chin before he swallows it with a heavy bob of his throat.
"was i- hah, was i good?" his voice is just as wrecked as he looks. you nod, run your thumb over his adams apple.
"yeah, y'were a good boy." a dull thud sounds when you drop to your knees right in front of him, back pressed against the bedframe, trapped between the wood and the solid planes of john's body. with one hand on his jaw, you pull him close again, speak against his lips when he gladly complies.
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