Just Another Mistake [John Walker X AFAB!Reader]
Summary: John Walker catches you in a very compromising situation. It comes as a surprise to both of you, however, that being caught in the most private of acts is more of a turn-on than a devastating mistake.
Word Count: 3,053
Reader: AFAB (assigned female at birth). Reader is described as having female genitalia but she/her pronouns are not used. Can be read as cis female or transmasc.
Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY, minors DNI)
Warnings: Foul language and sexual content including: masturbation, dirty talk, fingering, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics (mostly dom!John), and mentions of unprotected sex fantasies (as well as a blink-and-you-might-miss-it hint of a breeding kink)
Notes: My ability to turn even the filthiest of smut into beautiful character studies should be studied...This may be my first Walker fic, but it certainly isn't my first dabble in shameless smut. (And more than likely not my last for either case.) Hope y'all enjoy this brazen little fantasy of mine.
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Everyone makes mistakes. You’ve always known that to be true. After all, you’ve made millions of ‘em. But of all the mistakes you could have made while living in the Watchtower with your new team, why did it have to be forgetting to lock the goddamn door?
Now, because of one deceptively tiny mistake, you’ve found yourself sitting on edge of the bathroom counter with your hand between your legs as John Walker barges into the room. And judging by the disbelief in those striking blue eyes that are now zeroed in on your naked lower body, clearly the last thing he was expecting to see today was his teammate getting off in the restroom.
“Jesus Christ, Walker!” You pull your hand away from your groin and slam your knees together. One hand—the one that hadn’t been knuckles deep inside you just a few seconds prior—fumbles clumsily with the hem of your shirt to try and cover your crotch. “Ever heard of knocking?”
There’s no denying that his cheeks have been dyed a muted shade of red. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times as he tries to find a half-decent response to your exclamation. And really, what the hell could a person say to defuse a moment like this?
“Ever heard of locking the fucking door before you jerk off?”
You scoff. “Of course I—“
The counterpoint in your head disintegrates as you notice his gaze actively wandering southbound. Instinctively, you press your thighs together even harder only to feel the familiar pulse of pleasure as a result of the increased pressure. Your heart skips a beat.
“Hey! Eyes up here, asshole!”
He hastily pries his eyes from your poorly concealed lower half. There’s a strange mixture of emotions emanating from his expression: guilt, embarrassment, annoyance, and intrigue. It’s a hard pill to swallow for you, but that dash of intrigue seems to be colored with something akin to lust.
Compromising situation aside, there’s something you hadn’t been expecting.
“Oh my god,” you exhale.
He tilts his head. “What?”
“You actually want to look at my pussy!”
John’s head jerks back as if you’d just took a swing at him. The look on his face betrays a level of shock words can hardly describe. Just as quickly as the surprise overtakes him, he does everything in his power to bury it beneath his usual irritation. His brows furrow.
“That’s a wild fucking accusation to throw at someone,” he says sharply. “Not every guy is as simple-minded as that.”
“Really? So, this doesn’t make you feel anything?”
Before he can utter a word, you lift your shirt up with one hand and spread your legs. Your other hand slides down your stomach and between your thighs to spread your lips apart and give him an unimpeded view. The cool air hitting your exposed and already aroused flesh makes your clit twitch eagerly. You’re already wet from the work you’d put in before he’d stumbled upon you but man, something about this whole scenario only gets you going even more.
He’s staring. His jaw is slack and the faux antagonizing expression has given way to more bewilderment. He looks downright mesmerized.
A swell of pride strikes you. This level of confidence isn’t usually one you carry to intimate encounters but it’s paying off immensely.
“See, John? You can’t bullshit me,” you tease him as you gently circle your clit with the tip of your middle finger. “I know you’ve gone a long time without getting laid. You may be a super soldier, but you’re still just a man.”
You reach further back, pushing your fingers between your lips to playfully tease your vaginal opening. One digit sneaks its way inside to rub along your inner walls. The pressure is a delight that draws a pleasant hum from your throat.
The delicate curve of his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“You like watching me, don’t you?” The question leaving your mouth feels more like the purr of a cat than tangible, enunciated words, especially when you add a second finger inside your pussy. “I bet you’d love watching me fuck myself properly. Not gonna lie, I could get behind the idea of having those baby blues of yours on me while I do it.”
You arch your back a bit more so you can bury your fingers deeper. At this angle—and with one leg propped over the corner of the sink—it’s so much easier to move your hand. You start to pump the digits in and out of your body, your breath growing more labored with each insertion.
“Mmm…Yeah, that’s it,” you hum as you finger yourself; the movement of your hand remains slow and steady despite the temptation to absolutely wreck yourself in front of him.
Still a few steps away, John is frozen in place with his focus locked on the hand between your legs. He hasn’t said a word the entire time you’ve put on your little show. It’s almost as if he’s a wildlife photographer capturing footage of a rare animal in its natural habitat: one wrong move and he’ll ruin a moment he’s waited his whole career to document.
While one hand steadily fucks your pussy, you bring the other down to toy with your clit. A few good rubs and you feel yourself starting to lose control. Your breath is getting heavy, your eyes harder to keep open. It’s almost embarrassing to admit but having him there watching you pleasure yourself makes it all so much hotter.
The noises that start to leave your throat at that point come from a place of genuine satisfaction rather than the taunting source from earlier. They’re raw, unfiltered moans. You do your best to maintain eye contact with him as you gasp, “Oh fuck…I’m getting close…John…”
The sound of you moaning his name triggers something that had been dormant inside him. He snaps out of whatever hypnotic state had pinned him across from you and lunges forward. His hands wrap around your wrists to still your movements; you’re now trapped in cuffs the shape of war-weathered appendages.
“Stop,” he growls as he towers over you. “That’s enough.”
Frustrated with the interruption to your rhythm, you groan and glare up at him. “You’re such an asshole. Couldn’t have just let me cum, huh?”
His eyes triangulate between your eyes and half-gaped mouth. That signature scowl of his is plastered to his face but underneath it, you still register that undeniable lust. He wants you. He wants you bad.
“Oh, you’re gonna cum. But it’s not gonna be while you sit here tryna provoke me.”
You make no attempt to fight him as he removes your hands from your lower body and pins them up to the mirror behind your head. He’s a super solider with years of experience dominating others. What’s the use in struggling against that kind of inhuman strength and militant resolve? Besides, a surge of excitement courses through your flesh at the very notion of being man-handled by him anyway.
His voice is an animalistic rumble as he continues, “You’re going to cum with my fingers buried inside of you. And you’re only going to do so when I let you. Do you understand me?”
You bite your lip to contain the amused smile that’s threatening to curl upward. Oh, what fun it is to see the failed Captain America leaning into his dark side. Whether out on a mission or just arguing about the ins and outs of life over dinner in the Watchtower, you have always loved giving him a hard time. So, it should come as no surprise to either of you that you’re resisting him at a moment like this too.
Those disarming blue eyes narrow as he lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. His frustration is manifesting in the form of a clenched jaw and flared nostrils. If you were an enemy, he’d be pulling his pistol on you or shoving your head into the mirror just for denying him the satisfaction of a meek “yes, sir.”
He shifts his posture, transferring his grip on your wrists into just one of his hands so that his other can seize you by the chin. The way his thumb and index finger press into your jawbone makes it just uncomfortable enough for you to flinch without truly harming you. Holding your head in place like a clamp, he leans in so that his eyes are level with yours and his mouth is but a breath away.
“You and I both know I don’t have a lot of patience. So, if you want any chance at being fucked right and leaving this room without bruises wrapped all the way around your neck, I suggest you start answering me when I speak to you.” The question that follows his threat is drawn out. “Do I make myself clear?”
You swallow the temptation to argue and nod into his iron grip. As curious as you are to find out what would happen if you didn’t cave into his demands, your intuition tells you it’s best not to find out on your first sexual encounter together. That sort of competition would require some actual preparation and consideration for consequences. Undoubtedly, the rest of the team would have a plethora of questions if you both emerged from your rooms in the morning covered in bruises despite not having actually been sent on a mission in days.
Satisfied with the silent acknowledgment, John eases his grasp on you chin. “Good. Now, suck.”
The hand on your jaw repositions itself so that his index and middle finger are pressed against your bottom lip. For the briefest moment, you just stare at him. That tantalizing lure of defiance is scratching at the back of your brain. But when he lowers his head in a menacing yet subtle display of authority, you let your mouth fall open and allow his fingers to find respite on the warm pillow of your tongue.
You do as you were commanded and suck on his fingers until they’re coated from tip to knuckle in your saliva. Once content with your work, he pulls them from your mouth. A string of spit drips from his departing finger onto your chin and, judging by the hooded look in his eyes, the sight is a major turn-on. He licks his lips like a ravenous wolf.
“Keep it up and I’ll make sure you don’t have to wait long,” he murmurs lowly as he lowers the spit-soaked fingers to your cunt.
The first contact of foreign digits against your clit forces your breath to catch. It’s been so long—too long—since you’ve had another person pleasure you. After countless missions and years of attempting to right the wrongs of your dubious past, it’s almost impossible to even recall the last time anyone had touched you like this.
John rubs his fingers over your clit a few times before dragging them down between your lips. Desperation and instinct drives your knees further apart to welcome him.
Calculated fingertips tease at your entrance as he says, “Jesus, you’re so fucking wet. I can only imagine how good it’d feel to bury my cock inside you.”
He pushes the digits into your body. The combination of penetration with his filthy words stirs your imagination and elicits a low moan from somewhere deep in your chest. He doesn’t start off gently, either. The second he’s got his fingers inside you, he starts assertively pumping them in and out. No doubt, he’s got a fantasy in his head too.
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? The way your pussy is dripping for me like this, I just know you’d be a goddamn mess if I actually fucked you.”
To say he knows just how to handle you would be a wild understatement. A few steady pumps in and he’s changed his rhythm and angle to brush the most delicate flesh within you. Your back arches violently in response to a particularly good stroke and a pathetic mewl escapes your throat.
“See what I mean? I could easily bend you over this counter and pound your brains out, but I’m afraid you’d wake half of New York making noises like that.”
A part of you wishes your hands were free from his grasp so you could cling to his shirt or tug at his hair. It would only be fair to dig your nails into his flesh considering the way he’s completely destroying you with his touch. But the inescapable restraint of his grip paired with his ruthless taunting is only making this whole encounter that much sexier.
“If only I could fuck you now,” he carries on in a haughty whisper, “You’d feel so fucking tight wrapped around my cock. I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from cumming inside you. But that wouldn’t bother you would it?”
His fingers curl upward and stimulate your g-spot perfectly. You let out another loud moan and gasp desperately for air while your body naturally rocks and bucks in search of a way to better ride his fingers.
“Admit it.” He pointedly shoves his hand forward to force his fingers as deep as they can go. “Tell me you want me to fuck you raw.”
At this point, you’re so far gone, there’s no use in putting up a fight. You crave the sweet surrender of release and know the only way to taste it is to give him what he wants.
“John, please! I want you to fuck me…H-harder! I’m begging you,” you whimper as he drives you closer and closer to the edge with his expert fingers. “Cum in me, put a baby in me, I don’t fucking care just—Ahhh, fuck…Please!”
There’s a cocky smirk ghosting at the corner of his mouth as you beg for him. Of course the bastard would find shameless euphoria in having you come apart in the palm of his hand. John Walker never passes on an opportunity to prove he’s right or stronger than those around him. Although, what is he really proving in this situation other than he’s remarkably good at fingering pussy?
“Good. Now you can cum for me.”
The angle of his pumping digits shifts once again to unleash a barrage of relentless strokes against your g-spot while his thumb manages to swipe sporadically over your clit. He’s going in for the kill and there’s no way you can survive the assault. Your back arches, your head tilts back, and every muscle in your body tenses until the wave of your orgasm crashes into you with the violence of a hurricane making landfall.
He skillfully strokes you right on through your orgasm, watching with satisfaction as you whine his name and gasp for breath. Never before have you had such an all-encompassing release. He’s completely ruined you in a way you’re confident no other man ever could.
“Shit,” you huff breathlessly when he finally pulls his hand free of your cunt with the quiet squelch of excess fluid. “You’re fucking crazy, Walker.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, well, judging by the way you just soaked my fingers, I think it’s safe to say you like it a little crazy. So, you’re welcome.”
He releases your captive wrists and makes a move to step away only for you to cup your hands around the sides of his neck. His brows twitch upward in surprise as you hold him in place.
“Kiss me.”
“What?”
“You may be blond, but you’re not a total idiot, John,” you tease. “You really think I’d let you finger-blast me into oblivion without wanting something a little sweeter for dessert?”
There’s an endearing level of genuine confusion plastered on his scruffy mug. “So…you weren’t just using me to blow a load and call it a night?”
You roll your eyes. “I take it back, maybe you are an idiot.”
A frown tugs at his lips.
“No, I wasn’t just using you! Not that I had any intention of having you walk in on me rubbing one out in the first place…But, all things considered, I’m actually glad you did.”
“Kinky.”
“Shut up,” you grumble despite the blush threatening to color your cheeks. “You know what I’m trying to get at.”
“Maybe I do.”
His brilliantly blue eyes are soft as he gazes between your own eyes and your lips. There’s a hint of a delicate smile curling at the corners of his mouth too. Such tenderness from John Walker is something rarely seen by the world; your heart skips a beat knowing that such a treat is being shared with you.
He’s leaning in closer as if drawn to you like a magnet. But just before your mouths make contact, he stops and lets out a long, almost wistful breath. The air is hot on your lips.
“Ask me again,” he murmurs. “I need to hear you say it one more time.”
You’re not a hundred percent sure why he asks you to do so but you have a pretty well-founded guess: he doesn’t believe you truly want this. Deep down, beneath all the trauma and the mistakes he’s made in the past, he doesn’t believe that anyone could want anything good from him. The little voices in the back of his head that tell him he’ll never be anything more than a killer and a dead-beat dad have made him think he doesn’t deserve to be wanted. He genuinely thinks that the only passion he’ll ever get to experience is that of unadulterated violence and meaningless sex.
But oh, is he wrong.
You gently stroke your thumb over his bearded jaw as you whisper, “John, please kiss me.”
So he does.
Your first kiss is slow and passionate, buried in layers of unspoken hunger for the warmth of another person’s compassion.
You both have made mistakes. You both have killed and bled and hurt people who never should have been caught in the crossfire of your tainted histories. But neither of you are defined by those wrongs and neither of you will ever be able to right them all no matter how hard you try.
And that’s okay.
In moments of weakness—in the event of a mistake, no matter how small—you’ll still have each other.