#1 John Walker Defender

23 Aussie Just an account to share my love for Marvel and John Walker.

[walkerofshield]

ღ 𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘦 ღ : 𝘕𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 ღ 𝘈𝘨𝘦 ღ : 𝟤𝟥 ღ 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴 ღ : 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺/𝘏𝘦 ღ 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘺 ღ : 𝘈𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢

ღ 𝘍𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 ღ : 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘳 ღ 𝘍𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦 ღ : 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘈𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘜𝘭𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯

ღ 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘍𝘢𝘷𝘴 ღ :

𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺

𝘚𝘢𝘮 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘰𝘯

𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢

𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮

𝘛𝘰𝘯𝘺 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬

𝘠𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘢 𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘢

𝘉𝘰𝘣 𝘙𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴

ღ 𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘊𝘢𝘱 𝘰𝘳 𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘐𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘔𝘢𝘯 ღ : 𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘊𝘢𝘱

✩₊˚.⋆𝘋𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 (𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘻𝘰𝘯𝘦) ⋆⁺₊✧

[sloanegabe]

SHANE & ILYA + parallels

[walkerofshield]

Heated Rivalry is the only thing getting me through the Marvel drought.

[mrsducky]

[avastarrwalker]

most likely to make everyone break during a serious scene?

lew: you weren't intentionally trying to do it, wyatt, but you got me the most. [you're] so dry.

hannah: yeah, wyatt. i'm gonna say you.

wyatt: lot of dry humor that came out for sure.

[quinceyhellebore]

[coyotevalentine]

Just drew some bullshitttt anyone wanna see

[bratty-in-boots]

I’ve got a Dud request! He’s so homeless, I’m so fond of him, and I’d love a fic of him teaching Reader how to swim late in life because she just never got the chance to learn

𑣲 a/n: aw, this is such a rlly cute idea >.< 𑣲 gif creds @bellamysgriffin 𑣲 800 words mwah

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁° ‧ ·｡ ° ❀ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔ * :･

It starts because you hesitate.

You’re both standing at the edge of the indoor pool at a local resort — the only place in town warm enough to swim in December. It smells faintly of chlorine and citrus-scented cleaning spray, big windows fogged from the cold outside. The water glows a soft turquoise under string lights, and the whole place feels private in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

Dud’s in the middle of explaining how a vending machine once “spoke to him spiritually” when he notices you aren’t moving.

His voice cuts off like someone hit pause.

“You okay?” he asks, eyes flicking down to your curled toes gripping the tile.

You swallow. “Yeah, I just… never learned how to swim.”

A beat.

Instead of teasing, he goes soft. Gentle. Warm in a way that makes you self-conscious.

“Alright,” he says with a nod. “Cool. Let’s fix that.”

Just like that — like it’s easy. Like you didn’t spend years avoiding this exact moment.

He drops his enormous jug of whatever drink he's sipping on at the moment, wipes his palms on his swim trunks, and extends a hand.

“Come on,” he says, smiling. “I got you.”

The water is warm, almost too warm, like a giant bath. But your chest still tightens when it hits your waist.

Dud immediately steps in front of you, walking backward, hands hovering near your hips in case you panic. “You’re doing great,” he says. And somehow, you believe him.

When the water reaches your chest, you gasp and lunge forward, arms suddenly wrapped around his neck.

“Whoa— hey! Okay, yeah, I got you!” He steadies you instantly, hands on your back, warm and firm. “Totally normal. No drowning allowed tonight.”

You hide your face against his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” he murmurs. “This is part of the lesson. You cling, I save. Boom. Teamwork.”

You laugh. You don’t let go right away. He clearly doesn’t mind.

He brings you to the shallow end, where the water barely brushes your ribs.

“Alright,” he says, “just lean back. The pool will do the rest. Trust the water. Trust me.”

You shoot him a look. “I’m going to sink.”

“No you’re not,” he says. “Physics says you won’t. And hey, I’m basically the lifeguard of the Lodge — honorary title — so you’re covered.”

His hand cups the center of your back. His fingers intertwine with yours underwater.

You inhale deeply… and let yourself fall backward.

The water lifts you — surprisingly, miraculously. Dud’s laugh is quiet and proud, his hand steady beneath you.

“You’re floating,” he whispers.

You open your eyes to the hazy ceiling lights. The warm glow. The soft echo of water lapping. And Dud — leaning over you with the fondest expression you’ve ever seen on a human being.

“I’m really doing it,” you breathe.

“You are,” he says. “You’re like… the most majestic relaxed plank I’ve ever seen.”

You choke on a laugh. He squeezes your hand.

“Not like a frantic donkey,” he says, guiding your legs with gentle taps. “More like you’re shooing away a weird bug. But with grace.”

“That doesn’t help.”

He shrugs, hair plastered to his forehead. “Okay, then — kick like you’re trying to argue with the water. Politely.”

It still doesn’t help.

But you do it. Awkwardly. Slowly.

He beams like you just achieved enlightenment.

“Look at you! You’re part fish now!”

“I feel like a malfunctioning toy,” you mutter.

“You look amazing,” he says simply, without even realizing how sincere he sounds.

At some point, you tell him: “I can sink if I want to. Watch.”

He snorts. “No way. You float now. It’s who you are.”

You narrow your eyes. Challenge accepted.

You take a breath, fold yourself downward, and push through the water.

It’s harder than you expect — your body fights for buoyancy — but eventually you angle yourself straight down, legs pointed, fingers brushing the pool floor.

And then: Your feet touch tile. You sit. Like a tiny stubborn gremlin.

The world is silent and blue around you.

You crack your eyes open underwater — and Dud is right there.

He dove under after you, eyes open wide despite the chlorine sting. His hair floats around his face like soft brown seaweed. And when he sees you successfully seated on the bottom of the pool…

He smiles.

Not the goofy one he flashes when he’s proud of himself. Not the mischievous one when he’s teasing. This one is warm. Quiet. Almost awestruck.

He lifts both thumbs in an exaggerated you did it! gesture and kicks lightly to keep himself suspended beside you.

Your chest fills with bubbles — laughter trapped inside your breath — and you give him a little wave before pushing up toward the surface.

You both break the water at the same time, gasping.

“I told you I could sink,” you say between breaths.

Dud wipes his eyes, blinking rapidly. “I— yeah. That was awesome. You looked like a little underwater monk or something.”

You shove his shoulder. “You were watching me?”

“Uh, yeah?” His smile softens. “You told me you could. I believed you.”

🏷️ ─── 🪼⋆. dud’s kindness isn’t fake — he’s really just like that ࿔ * : ♡ @witchygagirl @walkerofshield @yeetaliano @novfr @archangelswing @xojadeelizabethox @bartonsparrow25 @hesaidgirlyoubetterhavefun @lightsabergirl @katieandersstark-blog @theloverofstuff @sh0t-inth3face @inafieldoflilies sean dudley taglist 🏷️ @marvels-at-misfits ‧ ₊ ᵎ ᵎ

[stanmarvelous]

Sebastian Stan’s Salt and Pepper

[sugarskies]

Hello me again!!

My beloved favourite writer.

I more send this ask as an opportunity for you to write any kinky, freaky nsfw scenes you've ever wanted to write that no one has asked for yet.

(I love your smutty posts so I desperately want to read more)

hii again thank you that's so sweet 🥹🫶 so this is perhaps not the filthiest thing in the world but i have been thinking about bob having a contradictory free use kink for WEEKS and i took this opportunity to write it i hope somebody else enjoys (and also a little bit of john's prostate milking kink. and premature ejaculation. and multiple orgasms. with messy cum. and cockwarming. idk man this really got away from me)

-

John wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the sight of Bob naked in his bed.

He was wearing only his bathrobe, loose around his sides, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. His knees were pulled up to his chest, a book balanced between them, but his soft cock was still fully on display; his nipples peeking out beside the soft fabric.

Part of him was still hesitant to take advantage of the sight. After Bob had “joked” about it “hypothetically” enough times, John finally got him to crack and explain his fascination with nudism and free use—and, apparently, it was a serious thing for him.

The problem, Bob confessed, was that he had a free use kink and intense sexual trauma, which meant it both turned him on and scared the hell out of him. So, it took time, a lot of negotiation, and a few near panic attacks for Bob to enjoy it the way he wanted to.

And holy shit did he enjoy it.

Bob didn’t even flinch when John crawled on the bed beside him. He kept his eyes on his book when John slipped a hand between his legs, fingers pressing lightly into his shaft. Bob’s breath hitched as his cock hardened but he didn’t react.

John pressed a kiss to Bob’s shoulder, then made his way down his collarbone and back up his neck. He sucked on the spot between Bob’s neck and his collarbone, kept palming at Bob’s cock until it hardened. After a couple minutes, he squeezed free a slow drop of precum and a quiet, pitchy moan from Bob’s lips.

He pulled back, a bright hickey marking where his lips had been. John tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor, then slid himself on his knees between Bob’s legs. Bob spread them apart, made space for John to access anything he wanted to.

His fingers were drawn instantly to shiny pink heart beneath Bob’s cock, stuffed between his perfect cheeks. John carefully slid the plug out of Bob’s ass and set it aside, then kissed the inside of his right knee. He lifted his right hand to Bob’s mouth and without skipping a beat, Bob drew his fingers inside and slicked them with his spit.

Bob slammed his book shut when John curled his fingers inside his hole, two fingers quickly finding Bob’s prostate. It really was amazing the way Bob helped John discover kinks he never knew he had. It killed him how embarrassed Bob got about his sensitivity when milking his prostate was quite literally one of the hottest things John had ever done.

“You all right, baby?” John asked softly. He brushed the inside of Bob’s left thigh with his free thumb, gaze fixed on the precum spilling over his cock. Bob nodded but the only sound that left him was a low whine when John pressed his fingers down again. “So fucking pretty.”

John leaned forward just far enough to lick the underside of Bob’s shaft when he pressed down again. Bob fully dropped his book on the pillow beside him, hands clutching the sheets as John moved his fingers up and down, drawing a steady flow of precum from his cock. It stuck to his belly, seeping into the lines of his abs.

Bob whined beneath his breath as his cock twitched, sticky drops soaking his tip. John pressed down one last time, held his fingertips against Bob’s prostate until his legs were fully quivering. Then he pulled his fingers out, kissed right in the center of Bob’s balls, and said, “I’m going to fuck you now.”

It was a question in the form of a statement. A place for Bob to tap out if he didn’t want to go any further. But Bob only nodded and handed John the bottle of lube from the bedside table. John rolled his pants off, his thick, hard cock falling free. He slicked himself with the lube, shuffled forward, and tugged Bob’s legs up over his shoulders.

The breath Bob let out when John entered was everything. His eyes flickered as John began to fuck him slow, admiring the way his cock slid in the slick puddle of precum on his stomach. Every little sound that Bob let out spurred him on more, pushed him to move deeper. John moved forward until he couldn’t anymore, his dripping tip kissing Bob’s farthest walls.

“Fuck.”

As soon as John bottomed out, he let out a cry, ripping at the sheets as his back arched. His orgasm was intense, strong ropes of cum spurting out of his cock across his abs and his left side; spilling across the mattress when John readjusted and caused his length to shift. Bob breathed heavily as he pushed John’s wrists back, urging him to pull out.

John did so immediately, his own cock still throbbing as he set Bob’s feet back on the mattress. For just a moment, Bob breathed, quiet apologies spilling out with his exhales. John said nothing, just kept his thumbs tracing gentle circles into Bob’s knees. Then Bob reached his arms out toward John. When John leaned down, Bob wrapped his arms around John’s neck and pulled himself up.

“You good?” John brushed a hair out of Bob’s face before he dropped his hands to Bob’s waist.

Bob nodded and lifted himself into John’s lap. “Mmhm. I can go again.”

He eased himself on John’s cock without pause, fingers clawing at John’s back as he began to ride him. Bob’s tip dragged along John’s stomach as he moved, smearing his stomach with the aftermath of his first release. He breathed heavily against John’s neck, soft moans echoing in his right ear as Bob’s ass bounced against his thighs. John groaned when Bob mouthed at his ear, his nails scratching John’s shoulder blades.

The cum on Bob’s stomach stuck to John’s skin, Bob’s cock still leaking and adding to the mess between them. John wasn’t bothered in the least. He buried his hands in Bob’s hair, gently pulled his head back to kiss him deeply. He caught Bob’s tongue between his lips, made him chuckle before he moved to kiss across his jaw and his cheeks.

“Gonna come in you, baby,” John whispered beside Bob’s ear. Bob barely nodded as he continued to ride, stealing more small kisses between breaths.

Within a few seconds, John reached his breaking point. He yanked on Bob’s hair as he came, waves of cum flowing out of his cock like a fountain. It spilled down his shaft, dripping out of Bob’s hole and on to John’s thighs. Bob kept moving, working John for everything he could before his fingers suddenly jabbed into John’s skin.

It was impressive, really, that Bob was able to come again, and that he was able to release as much semen as he did. Bob panted as his cock twitched against John’s stomach, cum smearing everywhere his softening cock touched.

John expected Bob to stand up or at least lie back but instead, he settled himself down. He sat fully on John’s as he wrapped his arms around John’s stomach, his legs stretching and curling around John’s back. His heels pressed against John’s ass, his forehead coming to rest against John’s shoulder as his messy chest heaved.

“You decide when I move,” Bob mumbled. “I’ll keep you warm until you want to move.”

The smile that climbed up John’s face was unstoppable. He kissed Bob’s forehead, his temple, the edge of his hair. John didn’t know how the hell he’d gotten so lucky to be able to hold Bob like that, but he sure as hell wouldn’t take it for granted that he could.

[walkerofshield]

AH I LOVE THIS. Thank you for using my ask to write this masterpiece.

[bratty-in-boots]

★ 彡┊ classified: ★— john walker

✶ ──꒰full masterlist꒱ ❞

𝝑୧ - fluff | 𖣠 - smut | ‎𐚱 - hurt/angst | ⚠︎ - hard cw | 𖨆 - suggestive

leverage (long fic!!) enemies to lovers, slowburn 𐚱 𖣠 ⚠︎

fluff hcs 𝝑୧ domestic hcs 𝝑୧ sugar daddy hcs 𝝑୧ kind of cute fluff short 𝝑୧ reader is insecure 𝝑୧ just tell me 𝝑୧ x hippie!reader 𐚱𝝑୧ gentle make-up sex 𝝑୧ 𖣠 message from john 𝝑୧ <- part 2 𖣠 somethin's burnin' 𖣠 stress relief request fill 𖣠 begging 𖣠 overstimulation 𖣠 edging 𖣠 vampire!john 𖣠 soft weight 𖣠 aftercare req. fill 𝝑୧⚠︎(safeword usage) just a costume 𖨆 yelena discovers secret dating sfw mouthfull for my friend's birthday: part 1 𝝑୧ & part 2 (slight 𐚱) 𖣠

✁---- more coming soon . 📽.ᐟ ˚ ⋆

✮⋆˙ kinktober 2025

day 4 - voyeurism day 12 - spanking day 15 - orgasm denial (reader giving) / personal fav 🪡 day 22 - choking/breath play day 25 - breeding

ㅤㅤ ۪ ꒰ all masterlists ꒱ ۪ ݁ ⟢﹒🐰 ݁ ۪ ୧ ♡﹒🐇・﹒kinktober m.list﹒✦ ᯓᡣ𐭩 send to my inbox 💌

[walkerofshield]

If y'all want to read some fantastic writing, this is the masterlist for it.

[bratty-in-boots]

𓏲ּ𝄢 can you feel john's love?

Ი𐑼 part 4/4; dedicated to @witchygagirl .ᐟ.ᐟ happy birthday xoxo 1.5k words mwah

The house is too quiet when he comes home. Boots off, jacket hung, keys in the bowl — but no “hey, baby” from the kitchen. No humming from the living room. Just the low hum of the fridge and the weight of something unspoken.

You’re curled up on the couch, half-watching a movie, half-pretending you don’t notice him standing there. He picks up on it immediately — the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you don’t turn your head when he walks in.

“Hey,” he says softly, that half-smile already forming. “You okay?”

You shrug. “Fine.”

He tilts his head, hands in his pockets. “That didn’t sound fine.”

You still don’t look at him, just mutter, “Doesn’t matter.”

John crosses the room slowly, the floor creaking under his weight. “Cmon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, crouching in front of you. “Talk to me.”

Your jaw clenches. “Who was she?”

He blinks, confused. “Who—”

“The woman from the gym this morning,” you say, a little sharper. “The one who thought it was funny to touch your arm while she was laughing.”

It comes out before you can stop it — small, stupid but real. His brows lift, then soften. “Oh. That’s what this is about.”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t have to sound so relieved.”

“I’m not,” he says gently, resting a hand on your knee. “I just didn’t realize it bugged you that much.”

“She was flirting with you, John.”

He exhales, quiet, rubbing his thumb along the seam of your jeans. “You’re right. She was. And I should’ve shut it down sooner.”

You finally glance at him — and the look in his eyes takes the fight out of you. Guilt and softness, the kind that only shows when he knows he’s hurt you without meaning to.

“I didn’t do anything,” he continues, voice low. “But I also didn’t do enough to make you feel safe. That’s on me.”

Your throat tightens. “I know it’s stupid, I just—”

“Hey.” He leans in, catching your gaze. “It’s not stupid. You love me. You see someone else get close and your brain starts telling stories. I get it.”

He moves closer, kneeling between your knees now. His hand slides up to your jaw, rough palm warm against your skin. “You could’ve told me instead of stewing.”

“I didn’t want to sound jealous.”

“You sound human,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your chin. “And I like it when you care.”

You huff, eyes dropping to his mouth before darting away. “You’re annoying.”

He grins, leaning forward until your foreheads touch. “Maybe. But I’m yours.”

You swallow. “Promise?”

“Every damn part of me,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Even the ones that don’t deserve you.”

Your breath catches when his thumb traces your bottom lip — not a kiss yet, just a quiet apology that says everything his words can’t. He presses closer, forehead still against yours, and you feel his breath when he murmurs, “Lemme show you, yeah?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and soft and full of promise. You nod — small, wordless — and he exhales like that’s all he needed.

He doesn’t rush the kiss. He just leans in, slow and steady, until his lips brush yours like a vow.

° ˖ ➴ ──────── ⋆ . ˚

John’s got you folded under him like he’s trying to keep every inch of you where he can feel it. His arms are braced beneath your thighs, your legs hanging high over the solid muscle of his biceps, and his big hands are clamped around your jaw — thumbs digging in just enough to make sure you can’t look anywhere but at him.

Your breath catches every time he rolls his hips down into you. He doesn’t fuck mindlessly; he drives himself into you — a slow, hard drag that punches right into your softest spot and pulls a cry out of your chest. Your nails drag down the ridges of his forearms, leaving angry red trails that make him groan low and deep in his throat.

“Look at me,” he pants, the words wet against your mouth. “Right here, sweetheart. Don’t fuckin look away.”

Your lashes flutter but you keep your eyes on him — because he wants it. Because it’s him.

He crushes his mouth against yours in a wet, hungry kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that steals the air from your lungs, that leaves his taste smeared across your tongue. He swallows the soft whimpers you let out when he angles his hips just a little deeper, his cock sliding against every slick inch of you.

And then he breathes it — like a secret and a threat all at once.

“I love you,” he growls against your lips. “I love you so fuckin much it makes me crazy.”

Your heart lurches at the sound of it. You already know. You always know. But when he says it like this — breathless, rough, in the middle of him breaking you apart — it hits somewhere deeper than anything else ever could.

His grip tightens around your jaw until it’s hard to breathe, but you don’t want to breathe without him anyway. He looks down at you like he’s memorizing you, like if he blinks too long, he’ll lose the picture.

“I need you to know,” he rasps, hips slamming forward, making your body jolt against the mattress. “You’re it for me. Nobody else. Never fuckin been anyone else. Not like this.”

He kisses you again — open-mouthed, messy, possessive. His tongue drags against yours like he’s trying to own the sound of your moans, trying to brand himself into you.

“Every time I touch you,” he whispers against your lips, “I swear to God, it’s like my body remembers who it belongs to. You're the love of my life.”

Your toes curl when he rocks into you again, slow and deep, hitting that perfect place inside you over and over until you can barely breathe. Your hands clutch at his arms like you’re trying to anchor yourself to something solid.

“John—” you gasp, your voice breaking when his thrusts get harder.

His eyes lock onto yours, dark and burning. “Say it.”

“I'm the love of your life,” you choke out in a broken sob, breathless, raw.

He lets out a strangled sound, half-groan, half-plea. “Yeah. That’s it. Damn right you are.”

Your body arches when he fucks into you like that — like he’s trying to ruin you for everything and everyone else. The words come out on a sob. “You’re the love of my life.”

His jaw clenches. “Goddamn right I am.”

You feel it before it hits — the pleasure crawling up your spine, gathering tight and desperate low in your stomach. John watches every flicker across your face like it’s his favorite thing in the world. He leans in, mouth dragging down your cheek, kissing the salt of your tears.

“I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you smile,” he confesses, his thrusts slowing just enough to make you shiver. “Didn’t even fuckin stand a chance. Not one.”

Your chest shakes with a sob. His words are soft but his body is anything but — every thrust still heavy, sharp, brutal. You can’t tell if the burn in your chest is from the way he fucks you or from the way he loves you.

“John— I’m—” you gasp.

“I know, baby,” he growls against your mouth. “Cum for me. Let me feel it.”

And when it hits, it hits hard — a white-hot flood that makes your back arch off the bed, your legs shaking where they rest against his arms. Your vision goes blurry and all you can hear is the sound of your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

But he doesn’t stop.

He holds your jaw tighter, makes you look at him while he keeps pounding into you, chasing his own release with a kind of desperation that makes your heart stutter. He kisses you through it, breath hot, words spilling out between every thrust.

“I love you,” he pants. “I love you so much, it fuckin hurts.”

Another thrust.

“I’d burn the whole goddamn world down for you.”

Another.

“You’re mine.”

His hips snap harder, your cunt fluttering around him from the overstimulation. Your thighs tremble, tears streaking down your temples.

“Not done with you,” he groans, low and rough. “Not even close. You’re not walkin tomorrow, sweetheart. I’m gonna keep you right here — stuffed full of me. Gonna make sure you remember who fuckin loves you like this.”

Your fingers twist into his arms, nails biting into his skin as he drags another broken moan out of you. He kisses you one last time — deep, wet, desperate — before whispering against your mouth:

“Forever. You hear me? You’re mine forever.”

And you believe him. With his hands around your jaw, his body inside you, his love spilling out like something too big to hold — you believe every word.

🏷️ ─── . º • * ☆ 🧺 he’s not perfect, but damn, he’s trying. @witchygagirl @walkerofshield @yeetaliano @novfr @archangelswing @xojadeelizabethox @bartonsparrow25 @hesaidgirlyoubetterhavefun @lightsabergirl @katieandersstark-blog @theloverofstuff @sh0t-inth3face @inafieldoflilies

[sugarskies]

HELLO ME AGAIN.

I read the anon ask you got about Bob having awful muscle tension and now all I can think about is John laying him on a bed and talking to him while he massages his muscles, desperate to help him relax even if its just for a moment.

Thank you ask always for your writing 💕

[ask in question] HI AGAIN YESSSS i love this thank YOU for the ask 💖 i can't tell if i wrote this pre-relationship or established relationship but here's some fluff for you :)

-

Bob had been curled up in his chair for hours.

His shoulders were folded inward, arms wrapped tight around his stomach. Frizzy hair curled around his tired eyes. John’s gaze kept flickering to him as the meeting dragged on, more concerned with Bob’s stiff movements and pained expression to care about the mission.

When everyone else left, he stayed behind, watching. Bob sat that way a lot. His body tied itself into knots, knees pressed almost to his chest as he crushed himself in the chair. John hesitated before he spoke, unsure if his observation would be welcomed.

“You look stiff,” said John, tone flatter than he intended. “You hurt?”

Bob shrugged against the arm of the chair. “Just sore.”

“Yeah.” John crossed the short distance to crouch in front of Bob. His eyes traced the tension in Bob’s jaw, the rigidness of his hunched spine. “You’re not just sore, your muscles are all locked up.”

“They’re always locked up.”

John nodded. He’d noticed that as far back as the day they met. His gaze lingered on Bob as he rose. He extended his right hand to Bob as he told him, “Come on.”

Bob blinked at his hand. “Come where?”

“My room. I want to try and help you.”

There was a long pause before Bob nodded. He slid his hand into John’s and winced as John pulled him out of his chair. His movements were stiff and jagged, feet seemingly half asleep from the position he’d been curled up in.

When they got to John’s room a few minutes later, John gestured to his impeccably made bed. “Lie back.”

“Why?” asked Bob skeptically.

“Just trust me for a minute.”

Bob made a face but sat down on the mattress. He laid back until his head hit the pillows, neck slightly propped up. His arms laid still at his sides, almost trembling from how tight his muscles were despite there being no danger.

“Take a deep breath.” John sat down on the bed beside Bob and placed his right palm on his chest. “Inhale and exhale slowly a few times.” Bob’s first attempt was not successful. His breath was shaky, his inhale much longer than the exhale. “Try again. Inhale. One… two… three… Exhale. One… two… three…”

John continued to count until Bob’s shoulders softened against the mattress, until his fists steadily unclenched at his sides. “Good,” he mumbled. “Now take your shirt off and roll over.”

An amused look crossed Bob’s eyes before he obeyed. He took off his shirt tantalizingly slowly, giving John’s eyes time to stare at his abs, chest, and biceps before he tossed the fabric on the floor and flopped on his stomach with a quiet “ow.”

That was why he needed it. John grabbed a bottle of eucalyptus lotion from his bedside table, poured a small amount on his hands and rubbed them together. He gently pressed his palms on Bob’s back, held him steady when he flinched.

“Keep breathing,” said John, voice low and reassuring. “I know what I’m doing.”

Maybe he wasn’t a masseur, but he knew about the human body, about tension, about where Bob’s pain was stored and where it stemmed from. He hoped that for once, he could put his degree to good use and help Bob relax, if only for moment.

John’s hands slid in slow circles along the tight muscles of Bob’s shoulders, pressing hard enough to loosen the knots without hurting him. He let the air stay still for a minute before he spoke again, voice casual and calm like he wasn’t straddling shirtless Bob on his bed.

“You ever try anything like this before?” he asked, fingers working down Bob’s sides. “Breathing techniques, stretching, meditation, anything like that?”

“No.” Bob’s hair covered most of his eyes but the small frown on his face gave his expression away. “Never noticed it before. I don’t know if Sentry made it worse or… probably the drugs were keeping me loose.”

He said the words with shame, like he was embarrassed to admit to it. John didn’t skip a beat. “Makes sense. That’s probably part of why it’s so bad. Your body’s carrying thirty years of pent-up tension now.”

John pressed his thumbs deeper into the knots along Bob’s spine, waited for Bob to show a sign of relaxation before he eased the pressure. Bob let out a low groan before he grumbled, “Are you trying to hurt me?”

“Hurt you?” John scoffed but lightened his touch just in case Bob was serious. “Do you know how much people pay for a massage like this? Bedside service, stress relief lotion, personal attention…”

“You sure it’s not just an excuse to touch my muscles?”

The comment was so unexpected that John actually froze as he snorted. “I swear I’m just helping. But I’m not complaining about the view, either.”

Bob turned his face into the pillow, but his deep smile lines gave him away. John kept his hands moving in a gentle rhythm, moving from Bob’s shoulders down to his hips. The tension in his muscles was intense, but it released beneath his hands, slowly uncoiling and allowing Bob to breathe easier.

“You feel any better?” Rather than speak, Bob just nodded into the pillow. “Thought so. Feels like I’m getting the worst of the knots out. You should sleep easier tonight.”

“Mmhm.” Bob turned just enough to free his nose to breathe, his hair still falling over his eyes as his chest rose and fell slowly against the mattress.

“We can keep at this if you want. Massages, breathing, stretches. Doesn’t have to be anything hard or time-consuming. Just a few minutes a day.” John focused his thumb into a particularly stubborn knot, softly easing it out. “We can teach your body to let go without the drugs.”

Bob let out a faint sound, something between a sigh and a whine, but it was more relaxed than resistant. His arms loosened at his sides, his shoulders dropping as John moved back up toward them.

“There you go,” John mumbled. He smoothed his palms over Bob’s soft skin instead of pushing down, just feeling him, supporting him. “Just keep breathing. The less you think, the better.”

A gentle quiet fell over them. Bob’s breathing had fully evened out, his body calm against the mattress. He closed his eyes as John continued to work through his muscles, brushing away the tension and replacing it with relief.

[wickanderhalovar]

John Walker + helmet

[bratty-in-boots]

hello it's me the ghost who haunts your inbox and comments.

Your aftercare fic was so amazing so I had a request.

Thoughts on a short fic where the reader calls their safe word mid scene (nothing john did, just getting overwhelmed and bad memories) and John takes care of them?

i love this request, thank youuuu 𖹭 .ᐟ word count 450+

━━━━ ⋆ ⁺ ₊ ⋆ ᯓ ★ ˎˊ˗ The world slows down the moment you say it. Your voice isn’t loud — not panicked, not sharp — just small. Almost fragile.

“Red.”

John freezes. Not a muscle moves after that word leaves your mouth. He’s still inside you, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to yours. His hands, which had been pinning your wrists above your head, immediately release. His tone changes before his expression does — soft, alert.

“Hey. Okay, okay. We’re done.”

He sits back, hands hovering in the air like he’s afraid to touch you wrong. “Look at me, sweetheart. You with me?”

You nod — but it’s too quick, too instinctive. He sees it. The old soldier in him, trained to read the smallest flinch. His hands lower slowly to your sides, never trapping, just resting there.

“Can I touch you?”

You whisper a yes.

He pulls you up and into his lap, covering both of you with the blanket from the foot of the bed. The room feels too quiet now — the kind of quiet that hums in your ears. You realize your breathing’s still shallow, your chest tight.

John keeps one hand at the back of your head, thumb rubbing slow circles over your scalp, the other tracing lazy patterns down your spine. He doesn’t fill the silence right away. He knows better. He waits for you to breathe again.

When your fingers finally clutch his shirt, he whispers, “You did perfect, you know that? You said the word. That’s what it’s there for.”

You make a small sound, almost embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t you, I just—”

He stops you with a gentle shake of his head. “Don’t apologize. Not for takin care of yourself. That’s what I need from you. Always.”

Your throat tightens. He’s watching you so tenderly it almost hurts. You manage a quiet, “Just got stuck…in my head. The wrong memory.”

He nods once. “Yeah. That happens. You’re safe now, though. Look around. Tell me what’s here.”

You sniffle, glance around the dim bedroom. “Your shirt on the chair. The lamp. Us.”

He smiles softly. “Good. Us. Always.”

Minutes pass like that — his steady breathing against your temple, the blanket pulled up, his chest warm under your cheek. Eventually he tilts your chin up with one finger.

“You want water, baby? Or just stay right here for a bit?”

“Here.”

“‘Here’ it is.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then another to the corner of your mouth. His voice is barely a breath now. “You did everythin right. I’m proud of you.”

You curl closer, the sound of his heartbeat replacin the rush in your ears.

And for the first time in what feels like hours, your body finally believes what he’s been whispering since you said the word—

That you’re safe.

🏷️ ─── ‧ ˚ ꒰💌꒱ john is so proud of you.. ₊ ˚ ⋆ 🎀 ༘ ⋆ @witchygagirl @walkerofshield @yeetaliano @novfr @archangelswing @xojadeelizabethox @bartonsparrow25 @hesaidgirlyoubetterhavefun @lightsabergirl @katieandersstark-blog @theloverofstuff @sh0t-inth3face @inafieldoflilies

[bucky-barnez]

01X05 | the falcon and the winter soldier

bucky barnes ↝ sebastian stan

[walkeryouignorantslut]

[aolihui]