slow dance
pairing: john walker x f!reader
warnings: 18+ MDNI, riding, cowgirl, desperate!john, i refuse to reread this😭
a/n: i wrote this on my old account at the start of august and as i was stalking my old likes, i found it in my drafts !! so why not post it here :’)
dt:@buckyfmd for coaxing me to find this on my old account’s drafts<33
John Walker loves to fuck up into you when you’re on top.
He cant help it. Most of the time its involuntary, just something his body automatically does— shifting himself downwards to get a better angle, hands splayed on your ass moving you up and down to gain momentum.
It’s like his body has to try and chase up inside you, gain some power he let you take away from him for a blissful few moments.
He tries so hard to suppress the need to take control, but it’s what he always does. It’s practically engraved into his being. But having you over him, hands splayed on his chest or clutching his shoulders, knees bracketing his thighs, pumping yourself up and down his length at a perfect steady and consistent pace, up and down. Often burying himself to the hilt inside you, letting yourself rest as you roll your hips back and forth, the coarse dirty blond, auburn hair littering over his pelvis, leading to a trail up his abdomen to his bellybutton, tickling over your clit, sending glittering pleasure around your thighs and spine.
And John, poor John tries so hard to keep himself situated. Lie back and let you work yourself on him, let you lead for once. But his hands always find a way to you.
Kneading into the soft skin of your breasts, thumb skimming over your nipples softly, teasingly, letting you know he’s getting restless and flustered by your movements, hoping the desperate attempt at getting your attention would ease you down and let him take you. They skim to your waist, his head falling back into the pillow, now gravitating to your hips, touching the skin, hovering over, fighting the need to take over.
But you lean forward. Chest to chest. Hips still moving up and down, back arching over him in waves as you take him in an achingly slow motion. Your head finds its way to the curve where his neck meets his shoulders, resting your cheek, letting yourself lick the soft sheen of sweat on his skin as his hands snake themselves down to your ass.
The heels of his hands kneading into the fat like a baker kneading dough, slow and teasing— only for himself— until his hands finally find their righteous place, spread out on both cheeks, pulling them apart, molding his hands into the skin in massages, pinching, grabbing. Desperation and worship all in one.
And, fuck, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love you on top of him. John always tells you he prefers it when you’re under him, all twitchy, lips parted in soft sighs— but when you’re over him, he’s unlike himself. A softer version, looking up at you with his blue eyes, half-lidded and blissed out of his mind. Watching you take care of him, bare-belly like a dog, trusting him. He watches your face contort to his size, ease yourself down him until he’s all in, watching that tired grin paint on your face before you start moving up and down. Your eyes half-lidded, mouth soft with kisses and dribble, jaw slacked open as you rock yourself, hair in your face, a sheen of sweat glowing in the dim light of the bedside lamp— you look like an angel to him, some kind of greek goddess he gets to personally worship in his own beautiful perverse ways.
The bucks never come as a surprise— John cares, he’d never just jump into something like this, especially with you— as you ease onto his chest, licking at his neck like a kitten, he twitches. Hips bucking ever so slightly irregularly, trying not to make it so obvious he was losing the battle with his own control.
John’s observant with you, more than he’d like you to admit, more than he should be. He knows how to read into you, the little telltale signs if you like what he’s doing, if you need a break just by the way your moans break in your throat, how your hands grip or how your back arches as you move. Your hands move, one gripping the pillow beside you, tight and unyielding, and the other snakes up from his shoulder to his neck, trailing the scruffiness of his beard, letting it tingle on your palm before carding through his hair, all chaotic from fingers and sex. Your thumb wipes over his scalp softly as you nibble into the meat of his shoulder, making him groan into a shudder.
His hands clutching your ass cheeks like a vice, spreading them apart like a stress toy. Your hips move up and down on him, guided by his grip, and meeting you halfway with an unrelenting slosh and slap of skin and fluids. You can feel it all coil tight in your belly, the sensitivity of your clit, sore and neglected, stroking against the hair on his pelvis.
His hips buck just a little harsher, his teeth grinding, jaw clenched, watching your ass bounce, his hands guide, and the damn choked up gasps that fan hot on his neck.
“All good, baby? Hmf- all okay?” Voice a mere whisper, gritty and rough. He keeps the pace up, waiting for you to answer before changing anything.
His hand trails up your back, calloused fingertips grazing your soft skin leaving goosebumps in their wake, before easing into your hair, fingers weaving through your roots and pulling your head up and turning to face you.
The look on your face was enough to finish him there and then. Eyes glossy and half-lidded in ecstasy, pupils too wide, flushed, baby hairs stuck to your temples, and your mouth— jaw unlatched, lips parted, soft from spit, some shone on the corners and down your chin. Soft gasps and breathy moans leaving your mouth in warm air, absolutely finished, absolutely beautiful. You nodded your head erratically, eager to keep this going, let him work you out now. Licking your lips, catching the spit threatening to leave your mouth, you giggled as you move your hips up and down again, a little faster, watching the super soldier’s eyes shut tight, “uh-huh, so good, so so good.”
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