i love you - John Walker x ftm!Reader
A/N: this is legitimately the longest fic I’ve ever written and I wrote it in two days on my way back from vacation 🫠
This was heavily inspired by the AO3 work Look my Way. It’s a WinterAgent fic but omg does it capture the essence of something I’ve been trying to write about for years now. Definitely check the series out if you like angst with a happy ending but absolutely mind the tags
Also, thank you so much to @fandoms-are-my-h0me for all your help with this story! It wouldn’t be this good without you! 😊
If I’ve forgotten to tag anything, please let me know! Also, don’t like, don’t read!
Dividers by @/enchanthings
CW: Reader is a fireball; Reader is an enhanced anti-hero; mentioned shame rooms; Reader is emotionally volatile; mentioned nightmares; mentioned dysphoria; obsessed!Reader; Reader is emotionally insecure; mentions of wearing a binder; Reader wears a suit; Bob is a good friend; jealous!Reader; Reader wears boxers; kissing; explicit sexual content; smut; biting; masochist!Reader (?); grinding; Walker carries Reader; Reader’s parts are referred to as core, dick, and hole; Walker calls Reader a brat; one mention of the words pussy and whore; dom!Walker; praise kink; oral sex (Reader receiving); cumming untouched; cumming in pants; making out; mentioned top surgery scars; doggy style; dirty talk; fingering; light spanking (?); multiple orgasms; penetrative sex; intense sex; cumming inside; no aftercare; cuddling; angst; protective!Walker; Reader is bad at feelings; Walker is also bad at feelings; ‘I love you’s
4444 words
You and Walker aren’t dating.
That’s what you tell everyone. That’s what he tells everyone. That’s what Valentina tells the public.
You and Walker are just teammates. Teammates with a hell of a lot of tension between the two of you, but teammates nonetheless.
In reality… things are a lot more complicated.
You don’t know how to explain how things started.
You and Walker had always been more amiable towards each other. You’d treated him cordially when you’d first met. It had been easier for you than for the others. You understood the pressure of performance, the way grief turned to anger.
After all, you were supposed to be America’s sweetheart. The pretty, perfect, sweet one. Instead, you’d been angry. Violent. Ferocious and uncontrollable. You’d lashed out where you should’ve been sweet. You’d fought when you should’ve been peaceful.
And it had earned you the scorn of nations.
But when you’d stared Walker down in that death trap of a vault, he hadn’t snapped at you. Hadn’t sneered at you or mocked you beyond a mild comment. Instead, he’d just looked at you with an expression akin to begrudging respect.
And that had started it all.
When everything with Bob went down, you’d been the first to charge after Yelena. The memory of your shame rooms still haunted you, trailing after you in nightmares and in the dark corners of rooms.
It had been Walker who’d found you. Punching through the wall with a yell. Shaking you from your fear and shame and grief and riling you back up into the fierce image of anger the public knows you as.
It’s Walker who continues to rescue you from your nightmares. When you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, terror clawing at your chest. Bitter fear bubbling inside you. It’s his room you seek shelter in.
It’s his arms you hide in. It’s his body you seek relief in. It’s his murmured words that soothe the roaring beast of dysphoria beneath your skin.
But you’re not dating.
Not for lack of want. Definitely not for lack of want.
You want him so bad it feels like a physical thing in your chest. A lump slowly growing and simmering, collecting scraps of obsession and adoration and need. You need his presence to breathe. To function. To exist without feeling untethered and broken.
But you’re scared to ask.
Walker likes you. You know this. He’s told you, in murmured words after sex. In between morning breath kisses. With every meal he cooks for you. You know it as surely as you know who you are.
But it’s not enough.
You don’t want him to like you. You want him to need you. You want him to adore you. You want him to love you.
But you’re pretty sure his heart still belongs to Olivia.
And you’re scared of losing him. Of losing the first bit of stability in your life you’ve had in years.
So you don’t ask. You just want in silence and hope that it’ll be enough for your starving heart.
Most of the time it is.
Tonight it isn’t.
You all are at some gala or other. A charity event, probably. In any case, you all are dressed up. Valentina pulled out all the stops this time, even going so far as to get you a fitted suit. One with a corset vest that hides your chest so you don’t have to struggle with a binder for tonight.
Everyone’s giving you space, except for Bob, of course. He’s clinging to your arm like a nervous dog, using your reputation for starting fights to keep from being asked prying questions. You don’t mind his presence. He’s good company and he’s good at keeping you from drinking too much.
Which you are definitely about to do.
Your mood is worse than usual. You’re practically glaring daggers across the room, wishing with all your might that Ava will phase through the floor all of a sudden and leave John alone.
Not that you’d be able to dance with him tonight. That’d be too close to a scandal. Too close to boyfriend behavior. But you can at least be angry at those who do get to dance with him.
“You know it’s not Ava’s fault, right…?” Bob asks, waving a hand in front of your face. Your jaw clenches and you turn away.
“I know.” The knowing doesn’t help the burning jealousy in your chest.
Bob frowns at you as you down another drink, the alcohol only making you a little fuzzy. You’re by no means a super soldier, but you’re enhanced nonetheless. You haven’t been able to get really drunk in years.
“Maybe you should slow down,” Bob says hesitantly. You don’t respond; your glare intensifying as Ava laughs at something John says.
That should be you.
It burns at your mind, itching under your skin. A furious beast snarling to be released.
“Hey.” Bob nudges you. Your glare turns on him, but softens immediately when he flinches.
“Sorry,” you mutter. You turn away, putting your back to John and Ava’s little happy moment. “It’s just…”
You don’t finish your sentence. You don’t have to. It’s Bob. He knows.
He flashes you a sympathetic smile. “You can dance with me if you want.”
You shake your head. It’s a sweet offer, but it wouldn’t be the same. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
You exhale slowly and assess the room. Yelena’s chatting with Bucky. Alexei’s talking to a reporter while Mel hovers nearby. Valentina is nowhere to be seen.
Giving you the perfect opportunity to slip away.
“Alright.” You nudge Bob in Yelena’s direction. “Go be a duckling with ‘Lena. I’m turning in for the night.”
Bob casts you a worried look. “You sure?”
You force a smile and nod. “Yeah. It’s… probably best I leave now. Before…” You wave your hands vaguely.
He nods. “Alright.” But he lingers for a moment. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
That makes your smile turn genuine. “Don’t call John stupid.”
Bob snorts. Shakes his head. And walks away.
You stay at the bar for only a moment longer before you start making your way towards the door. Predictably, no one stops you. They’ve all seen you glaring. No one wants to be the one to pick a fight with you.
“Hey!”
You turn. Walker jogs up to you, giving you one of those stupidly attractive grins that you love so much.
“What?” You wince internally at the sharpness of your voice but he doesn’t even seem fazed.
“Wanna get out of here?” He asks, slinging an arm around your shoulders. Guiding you out of the room with ease.
You should resist. The bitter jealousy is still curled behind your ribs, but you can’t help it. You can’t say no to him.
“Do something fun?” You ask, giving him a small but genuine smile.
He chuckles and pats your shoulder. “Read my mind.” He leans in closer, his voice a soft breath in your ear. “You look goddamn handsome in that suit. I wanna see how handsome you look without it.”
That’s all it takes for your body to light up with arousal. A few words and you’re already wet for him.
“Only if you let me wear your coat while you fuck me,” you murmur back.
His answering grin is blinding and makes your heart thrill.
Your camaraderie turns to lust as soon as the elevator doors close and the cameras are off you. The two of you collide like gravity’s pulling you together. Your hands find his waist, your lips crashing together.
It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s hungry and desperate and you want to be mean. So you bite at him, nipping at his lower lip till the acrid tang of blood spices your mouth.
He groans, nudging a knee in between your legs. You growl into the kiss, hands working at his shirt. The buttons are a pain to undo but you’re persistent. As soon as enough are undone, you’re pulling at his undershirt and smoothing your fingers over his abdomen.
You can feel his muscles flexing under your touch and you grin into the kiss. He knows how much you love his muscles.
His lips find your neck and he bites. You moan, arching against him. “Fuck, John!”
The pain makes your head all floaty; the sensation sharp enough to soothe the ache in your chest. He pushes his thigh harder against you and you grind down against it. Not caring in the slightest that you’re ruining your suit.
By the time you reach the floor with your rooms, you’re panting into each other’s mouths. You’re palming him through his pants, already soaking through yours.
You move to pull away and he grunts. With one fluid movement, he scoops you up. Carrying you through the darkened common room like you weigh nothing. It makes your core clench; the feel of his arms supporting you making your head spin.
You bury your face in his neck, kissing and nipping like crazy. Making him stumble and groan as he makes his way towards his room. “Fuck, babe. Gonna make me cum before I even get inside you.”
You smirk against his skin. “Like you wouldn’t just get hard again within a few minutes.”
He chuckles and kisses your shoulder. Giving you a soft bite through the fabric of your suit. You groan and roll your hips against his, grinding hard against his bulge. He curses, stumbling again.
“That one was on purpose,” he growls.
You grin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
Your grin vanishes when his eyes gleam with triumph. Your head turns, but you already know. He opens the door to his room, kicking it shut behind him as he enters. He drops you on the bed, already shedding his coat.
Walker tosses it next to you on the bed, gazing down at you with a smirk on his face. “What am I gonna do about it? Well, darlin’…” He leans down, resting his hands on either side of your hips. “I think I’m gonna eat that bratty little hole of yours out.”
You flush and squirm, core clenching at the thought. If there was anything he was good at, eating pussy was number fucking one the list.
He grabs your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Then, I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own damn name. Understand?”
You swallow and nod.
His eyes darken. “I said, understand?”
“Yes, sir!” You gasp out.
He smirks, all slow and smug. “Good boy.”
You bite back a moan. If your boxers weren’t soaked already, you’d’ve soaked them through just from that. He knows how weak you are to praise. His praise from him especially.
He pulls back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Strip.”
You swallow again and obey. You work as fast as you can, tossing your clothes carelessly on the floor. You hesitate for a moment before taking off your undershirt. Exposing your scars to his gaze.
His expression softens, but he doesn’t say anything so you continue. Stripping off your pants and boxers before sitting back down on the edge of the bed. Completely and totally naked in front of him.
When you slowly spread your legs, you can see his gaze darken. Hunger filling his eyes. He drops to his knees in front of you, groaning softly. “Fuck, babe. You’re so handsome.”
A whimper crawls up your throat. You can feel your arousal spill from your core, dampening the sheets beneath you. He growls softly, reaching out to swipe two fingers against you. Gathering up your slick. You gasp, hips jolting. He just smirks, popping his fingers into his mouth.
His eyes flutter shut, a moan spilling from his lips. “You taste so goddamn good. Could fuckin’ feast on you all day long.”
You just groan and thread your fingers into his hair. Tugging him towards your aching core. “Shut up and eat me out, Johnny.”
Magic fucking words. He shoves his face against you, growling against your core. His stubble scrapes against you, making you gasp. Then he’s going down on you like a starving man, licking and sucking and eating you out like he needs you to live.
And you wail. “Fuck! Johnny, Johnny, fuck, yes!”
Your heels dig into his back, pulling him closer. You writhe, squirm, grind against his face. It feels like heaven, his stubble adding a layer of pain that makes you delirious with pleasure.
He pins your hips to the bed and sucks on your dick. Swirling his tongue around it and over it in that way that has you seeing stars. You cum with a cry, a broken gasp of his name.
You can feel the way his body jerks. The muffled groan that spills against you. He pulls back, expression dazed and hazy.
You pant, gazing down at him with wide eyes. “Did you just—“
“Shut up,” he grumbles, smacking your inner thigh. He rests his forehead against your leg, exhaling harshly. You grin. “Oh, you did.”
He lifts his head to give you a mild glare, but you don’t care. You push yourself up, giving him the smuggest look you can muster. “Big bad John Walker, cumming in his pants like a teenager. Whatever happened to fucking me till I forget my own— Fuck!”
He surges upward. Lips colliding messily with yours. You moan at the taste on his lips. Your taste.
He bites at your lower lip, sucking it harshly into his mouth. “Fuckin’ brat. Can’t give me a moment of goddamn peace, can you?”
You open your mouth to answer and he pushes you down. Climbing on top of you and shoving his tongue in your mouth to keep you quiet. You moan, legs wrapping around his waist. Hands sliding up his toned chest. Shamelessly feeling up his muscles as the two of you make out.
He’s too distracted to notice when you brace yourself. With a grunt and a huff, you flip the two of you over. Switching so you’re straddling him. Your dripping core nestled right over his covered cock.
You smirk down at him. He scowls. “Don’t even say it—“
“Is that a gun in your pocket, Walker?” You ask smugly. “Or are you just that happy to see me?”
He growls and rolls his hips up against you. Making your breath stutter in your lungs. You moan, thoughts flying away as you start to grind down against him. He’s big and he feels big, even through his pants. And you’re oh so empty, clenching down hard around nothing.
You quickly melt into whimpers, half-humping him as he groans underneath you. You’re just beginning to chase your high when he taps your thigh. You whine, but slide off him. Giving him space to breathe and room to yank off the rest of his suit.
While he fumbles with his belt, you snatch up his abandoned coat. Slipping your arms into the sleeves and buttoning it up just enough to hide your chest scars. It’s comfy. And the collar smells like him; like his nice cologne. The one he wears when he wants people to like him.
John eyes you as he steps out of his clothes. You eye him right on back. You don’t even try to hide the way you’re ogling his dick. The way you’re practically drooling over it. He’s big and he knows it.
He nods at you, jerking his head a little. “Go on. On your hands and knees.”
His tone makes you shiver and you scramble to obey. You get on your knees, ass up in the air. Dropping hole on perfect display for him.
He smirks. And you get no warning before he’s lightly smacking your core. Not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel it. “Look at you. Soaked already. You get this wet from my mouth or from grindin’ on my dick?”
You moan. Loudly. Unashamedly. Your whole body feeling hot from his words.
He chuckles, slipping two fingers inside you, all the way up to his knuckles. “Look at you. Moanin’ like a whore and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
You whimper, eyes squeezing shut when his fingers curl inside you. He’s a god at eating you out, but his hands know your body like nothing else. You’re a mess within seconds. Whining and sobbing pitifully as he fingerfucks you.
And he doesn’t stop when you cum. He keeps going; the sounds obscene in the air around you. You cry his name, chanting it over and over. Voice cracking as he coaxes wave after wave of pleasure from your body.
And then he pulls his fingers out. And you cry from the emptiness instead.
“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles softly. Nothing but quiet affection in his tone. “You’re so needy.”
With a grunt, he lines himself up. Thrusting forward a few times to coat his cock in your slick before pressing in. And you both melt into delirium.
He’s so big. And the angle is just right, making the stretch delicious as he slides in.
He’s panting, forehead dropped against your back. His hips stutter, a moan ripped from his lips. And he cums, spilling inside you with a gasp of your name. You don’t make fun of him this time; too wrapped up in the moment to care.
It only takes him a moment to recover anyway. And then he’s pounding into you. Not even giving you a moment to breathe before he’s bullying his dick deep inside you. And you cry out; desperate pleas of his name, urging him on.
He fucks you with superhuman focus. Hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. Yanking you back against him as he thrusts in. You babble his name, face shoved into a pillow. You can’t think; you can’t breathe. All you can do it take it, drowning in the pleasure.
You cum a third time. He fucks you through it. But his hips stutter, his pace messing up. And you know you have him. His hips slam home. His dick twitching inside you as he fills you up with hot cum.
It leaks out of you as he slowly pulls out. A swear bursting on his tongue as he watches his creamy seed spill from your core. You can see the desire in his eyes. The involuntary motion forward, as if to lean down and taste his own cum leaking from you.
You pull him down next to you instead. Both of you take a moment to breathe. To rest. To bask in the afterglow.
And then he pulls you to him. Tucks himself up along your back and nuzzles into your neck. His breath ghosting along your skin.
It’s the perfect moment. The words spring up behind your lips. I love you. But you wait, desperately hoping he’ll say them tonight. That he’ll finally give name to what’s between you.
But his breathing evens out. His body relaxing against yours.
The disappointment is immeasurable. Soul-crushing and bone-deep. Any other day you’d shrug it off. Feed your hungry heart with imaginary scraps of a relationship you’re still not in.
But tonight it’s not enough. It’s never really enough. And, once you’re sure he’s asleep, you get up and leave.
The next two weeks are… weird. You don’t avoid Walker, but there’s an odd sort of tension in every interaction you have with him. A quiet strain on the easy routines you have with him.
You feel it like a gaping chasm.
It’s when the team starts to notice that you know it’s not just in your head. It starts with Bob, a soft question of “Are you okay?”
Then it’s Yelena making a quiet comment about your training session with Walker. You catch Ava talking with Walker in the kitchen one morning. It makes a spike of jealousy jump in your chest; one you do your best to stifle.
Finally, Bucky pulls you aside. “What’s going on with you and Walker?”
“Nothing.” Your answer is immediate and blank.
He’s visibly not convinced. His brow furrows and he steps closer. “If something’s going on that’ll affect the team…”
You exhale and look away. Across the room, Walker’s watching the two of you. An unreadable expression on his face. You meet his gaze for a moment.
“Nothing’s going on,” you say quietly. You turn back to Bucky. “Walker and I aren’t dating, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Bucky frowns. “Still?”
Something about the way he says it makes you bristle. You can feel yourself going on the defensive, your stance shifting a little. “Yeah. Still.”
Bucky runs a hand over his face. “Look, you two need to get your shit together.”
Your jaw sets. You force your mouth to stay shut. Biting back the scathing words that itch to be let out.
“You can’t keep dancing around each other forever,” he says tiredly. “Something’s gonna give and I don’t want it to be—“
Whatever he was about to say is cut off. Because the second he reaches out to rest a hand on your arm, Walker’s there. Chin raised and shoulders back. Slowly nudging his way between the two of you before you can do something rash.
“Back off, Barnes.” There’s nothing but icy steel in Walker’s voice. It makes the ball of anger in your chest loosen a little.
Bucky says something about good intentions. It makes Walker scoff, his arms folding over his chest. “I said, back off.”
They glare at each other for a moment before Bucky takes a step back. He glances between you two for a moment before nodding and walking away.
You gaze at Walker’s back. He lets out a breath and the tension slowly leaves his body. He turns to you, eyes searching yours. Neither of you say anything.
He reaches out, brushing a thumb over your cheek. Your breath hitches. Some quiet part of your brain screams at him to kiss you.
But he just lingers for a moment before pulling away. Leaving disappointment and uneasy butterflies behind.
He gives you a nod. Some unspoken affirmation of something you didn’t know needed an answer. And the disappointment smoothes over.
You give him a half-smile and take a step back. Slowly you tear your gaze away and turn to leave. He doesn’t stop you, but you can feel his gaze on you all the way to the elevator.
It makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks heat. And for the first time in days, the chasm between you two doesn’t feel so wide.
That night, there’s a knock at your door. It startles you, but doesn’t surprise you. You pull on a shirt and answer the door.
It’s Walker. Standing there quietly. Looking not all stern and demanding, but soft and determined. You smile a little. “Hey.”
His lips quirk up. “Hey.”
You step back to let him in. He lingers by the door, closing it softly behind him. You take a seat on the edge of your bed, gazing at him. You both are silent, as if waiting for the other to speak.
Finally, he clears his throat. “We need to talk.”
You try to ignore the shards of panic that splinter through your heart. Nothing good ever comes of those words. Still, you nod. “Okay.”
He takes a breath. You brace yourself.
“What are we?”
You blink. “What?”
He swallows. “What are we?”
“No, I heard you.” You stare at him. “What do you mean?”
He shifts as if uncomfortable. “Are we dating? Are we friends? What are we?”
“Well, we’re not dating.” You mean for it to be a joke, but it comes out harsher than intended.
Walker flinches. You scramble to continue. “I mean, I guess we’re fuckbuddies?”
It’s your turn to wince. Just saying it aloud hurts. It feels cheap, like it’s lessening whatever you two have between you.
“Fuckbuddies.” He stares flatly at you.
You avoid his gaze. “Friends with benefits, maybe?”
His expression doesn’t change. “Right. That’s all we are.”
Your chest hurts. Like someone’s slowly but surely ripping your heart from its home. You swallow and stare at the ground. Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, all of them screaming to be spoken.
Silence stretches out between you. Walker’s expression slides into something like disappointment. He scoffs softly. “Fuckbuddies.”
He shakes his head and turns away. “Of course that’s all we are.”
You just stare at him wordlessly. He sounds so… bitter. And you can’t help but wonder if this is it. If this is the moment he’ll turn and say it’s over.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks at you. Gives you this pained look. Gaze flicking across your face like he’s searching for something.
“Is that all we are?” His voice is quiet. Bordering desperation. It sinks into your heart like a knife, gutting you from the inside out.
The whirlwind in your mind comes to a screeching halt, only one thought left in your mind. A selfish, greedy, hungry thought. “No.”
He steps closer. Gaze now intensely focused on yours. “No?” It’s barely a whisper.
You let out a breath. “I don’t know what we are.”
He steps closer again. Something changing in his expression. “But we’re something?”
You nod. Your palms are sweaty; your breath coming out all shaky. It takes a terrifying amount of courage to speak. “We could— We could date. If you wanted to.”
He doesn’t look away. “I want to.”
The wall of fear around your heart cracks and shatters. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “You do…?”
He reaches out, cupping your face in his rough hands. “Yeah.”
A smile twitches at your lips, tugging them up until you’re grinning at him. “John?”
“Hmm?” His thumb brushes your lower lip.
“Will you be my boyfriend?”
His gaze flicks up to yours. His lips quirk up. He leans in. “Hell fucking yeah.”
The kiss is soft. Slow and deep, like you both are savoring the contact. You pull back slowly, smiling. He chases after you, pulling you into another, hungrier kiss.
You nip at his lower lip, making his breath catch. “John Walker,” you whisper. “My boyfriend.”
He chuckles lowly, dipping his head to nuzzle along your jaw. “We should make that my new alias. John Walker, your boyfriend.”
A laugh startles from you and you lean back to grin at him. He smirks up at you.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
Your eyes widen. “I love you too,” you whisper back. And something in your chest curls up and settles down.
Finally, finally no longer starving.
