Kat

Second account | main blog!

[zoooooooook]

Party With The Jocks | 22 Jump Street (2014)

[wordbunch]

every day of the year⋆˚࿔

[john walker x thunderbolt!reader]

a/n: dug this out of my drafts at long last, and yes i will forever be unwell about that blond man. as doomsday approaches i feel i will be getting more and more insufferable about every character ever... hope y'all enjoy and remember: reblogs and comments feed the author 💕

summary: 1.2k short&sweet, established relationship, no [y/n], slightly suggestive (mentions of nudity). After a team dinner spoils John's mood, you cheer him up by flattering him.

DISCLAIMER! never have never will use AI in my writing, this bullshit is from the heart!

"Heard they're making a calendar with your pictures," you raised a playful eyebrow at the shirtless soldier checking himself out in the bathroom mirror with palpable dissatisfaction, "as they should."

Earlier at dinner, Yelena shared a story about an unexpectedly sweet fan encounter, where she was asked to sign something for a teenage girl. Alexei looked so overjoyed for her as he stood up to pat her on the back (causing her to almost choke on her meal and throw him a dirty look), Bob seemed quite impressed too, while Ava and Bucky reacted with quiet smiles of approval, but John wasn't particularly feeling it. Nothing against Yelena (even though he wouldn't have claimed that in the past), but it made his mind wander towards the public perception of him.

Ouch.

One spiraling thought led into another and there he was, judging himself way too harshly yet another time; too scared to count how many positive fan interactions (if he could go that far to call them that) he might have had in comparison to other teammates.

"Where'd you hear that?" John muttered in reply, giving himself another once-over, before bending towards the sink to wash his face with cold water. As if he was going to fool you.

"Y'know I have some friends in the marketing department," you shrugged nonchalantly, slithering between him and the bathroom sink, "I hear all sorts of things from them," you offered with a coy smile.

"As if," he scoffed, rolling his eyes slightly, but you didn't take it to heart – you knew why exactly John was agitated and you really did understand.

"No, I'm serious!" you claimed, positioning yourself so that you could try making eye contact with the tall soldier. He just raised an eyebrow in disbelief, crystal blue eyes still avoiding your keen gaze.

"What would even be in that calendar?" he muttered, head tilting slightly to the side with suspicion. Even though he was pretty certain you were just trying to lift his spirits after he was being a downer in front of everyone – not that it was a new situation – he would at least utilize the opportunity to mess around with you a little bit.

"Obviously, pictures of you being hot," you huffed, eyes widening as if you were pointing out the most obvious fact in the world. For a brief moment, John’s eyes met yours and he had to softly chuckle, at least incredulously, at your statement. “Like, no clothes and covered with only the shield type of hot,” you teased, hands carefully sliding up his torso. He almost shivered at your cautious touch.

John burst into a short spell of laughter before he could even say anything, and you smiled to yourself at the fact that you cheered him up at least a little bit. He looked down at your hands placed securely on his chest and found himself at least semi-satisfied with the view – at least you still didn’t mind touching him, public sympathy and marketing craziness be damned.

“Who the hell would buy that thing, sweetheart?” There was still a rumble of laughter in his chest, but he was starting to feel almost flattered – your heart warmed at the audible mirth in his voice – oh how you loved when he was just simply happy, unburdened, unguarded.

“Many people, trust me," you reassured, voice dropping slightly lower before you finally, fearlessly, met his steely gaze that had already been fixated on you, “I know I certainly would – put it right above my bed and all.”

“You aren’t jealous that random people would have me literally plastered on their bedroom walls, huh?” Now he was the one toying with you, drawing out his words just in the way that made you weaker in the knees; you pressed yourself backwards against the sink, just in case, but his hands quickly found their way to your hips – as if he would risk you slipping away from him so opportunely. 

“Why would I be?” you feigned innocence, making John smirk to himself well-aware of the fact that you looked like you wanted to snap someone in half if they seemed a little too touchy and, God forbid, flirty towards him for any reason. “I got the life-size version, not just for one month at a time, but for every day of the year," you replied, matter-of-factly, before reciprocating for his teasing touch by toying with the waistband of his sweatpants. “However, the life-size version in question is wearing entirely too much clothes right now.” You pouted slightly, although aware you wouldn’t break him so easily just yet.

“The clothes stay on until you admit you’re jealous, baby,” he mused, voice deep but playful.  Instead of continuing to verbally spar with you and allowing you to continue your ministrations, he gently took your hands in his larger ones and placed them so that you latched on to the nape of his neck. You toyed with his hair in defeat. “You'd be soooo jealous,” John continued, leaning his face closer to yours, and he knew what he was doing –  you cracked a bit under his smoldering stare.

“I would not be jealous,” you emphasized yet another time, both of you well aware it was far from the truth, “but I’d just buy all of the copies, then." You spoke quietly, voice somewhere between lighthearted and suggestive; “Just put you up all over the walls.”

“Don’t think the others –” he vaguely gestured with his head in the direction of the shared quarters – “would agree with that.”

“You never know, I think the... Agent Romantic calendar would be a worldwide hit,” you quipped teasingly, so close to his face that you were almost inhaling each other’s air. But John moved away slightly when he laughed with his whole chest – warm, real – at your silly remark.

“You're crazy,” he muttered, pulling himself back into your irresistible orbit to place a loving kiss on your forehead.

“And you are stupidly attractive,” you retorted, answer prepared like a loaded gun. “No way I’d approve of those shoulders hanging over half the beds in New York. Or elsewhere, for that matter.” As if to prove your point, you tenderly dug your fingers into his broad shoulders, instantaneously seeing John’s facial expression shift into something boastful and so, so handsomely tempting.

“They’re all for you, baby,” he answered huskily, at long last pleased with your answer and honest admittance. Don’t blame him for pushing your buttons – or do, he likes to – but what man doesn’t relish being unabashedly yearned for and prolongs it just a little, if he can?

“Does that mean I will get my own private John Walker Romantic Calendar edition?” you blinked at him a couple times, doing your best to make it as charming as possible.

“I mean –” he chuckled, somewhere between bashfulness and disbelief, taken aback only slightly by your persistence, “sure, if y' want that.”

“Only if I get to be the photographer, though,” you raised an eyebrow pointedly, but you didn’t have the chance to continue before there was a firm hand underneath your jaw and a pair of warm, wanting lips on yours.

“Only you.”

[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 💌

[bratty-in-boots]

Vampire!John walker<333

♱ 1.6k words ♱ John’s a vampire who refuses to feed on humans — until he meets you. You remind him of someone he once loved, and he loses control one night, feeding from your throat while whispering apologies and praises.

It happens in a flash.

One moment his hand is braced against the wall behind your head, breath ghosting hot against your pulse. The next, his mouth is on your skin — sharp teeth breaking through flesh with a desperate, guttural sound that doesn’t sound like him. It’s deeper. Hungrier. Centuries of restraint unraveling all at once.

Your gasp turns into a moan when his body cages you in, chest pressed flush to yours. You feel his shudder the second your blood hits his tongue. A rough, strangled sound rips through his throat.

“—fuck— I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He says it between licks, between frantic swallows, as if the apology might make up for the way he’s trembling against you. His voice isn’t steady. It’s reverent. Broken.

“Sweet… so sweet,” he whispers, mouth dragging up to your ear. “Didn’t wanna do this. Didn’t wanna hurt you.”

His hand fists in your shirt, tugging you closer until your head tips back and the world tilts with it. He groans against your throat, the sound vibrating through your bones. Every drag of his tongue is slow and wet, every pull making your knees weaker. His other hand slips down — gripping your thigh, dragging it up to his hip like he needs to feel you everywhere at once.

Your breath stutters when his teeth pull back just enough to let cool air kiss the wound. His lips are wet. Red.

“Still breathing,” he mutters against your pulse, voice rough with hunger and want. “Good girl. That’s it. You’re so fucking warm.”

He presses you harder against the wall, grinding his hips into yours — the sharp, unmistakable shape of his arousal pressing right between your legs. The way he moves isn’t elegant; it’s raw. Like he’s been starving for too long.

Your hands find the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. When he growls low in his chest, it sends a tremor straight through you. He lifts his head just enough for his eyes to lock on yours — blown wide, pupils swallowing the pale blue. There’s blood smeared across his lips, your blood, and he looks devastating like this.

“Say my name,” he breathes.

You do. Quiet. Shaky.

“Again.”

You say it louder this time. He swallows it with a kiss that isn’t gentle — teeth dragging, tongue slick and insistent. His hand slides under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, fingers curling possessively like he wants to mark more than just your throat.

“Gonna make it up to you,” he mutters against your mouth. “Gonna make you feel good. Promise.”

His hand slips lower, into your waistband, fingers finding heat and slick. You arch against him with a soft cry, and the sound tears another groan out of him — sharp, hungry, almost pained.

“Yeah,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and shaky. “Like that. Let me take care of you.”

His thumb circles slow, teasing, while his other hand stays on your thigh — keeping you exactly where he wants you. His hips roll against you in a rhythm that builds heat fast. Every drag of his fingers gets filthier, wetter, until your moans turn into broken little whimpers against his mouth.

“God, you smell—” he groans, voice splintering, “—so fucking good. Taste better.”

Your blood is still on his tongue when he kisses you again. It’s metallic and sweet, and he moans into your mouth like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

His pace gets rougher — fingers working faster, hips rutting into you until it’s almost too much. His fangs scrape your throat again, not deep, just enough to make your pulse jump under his mouth.

“John,” you gasp.

He stills for just a heartbeat — forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

His hand works you right over the edge — your cry lost against his lips as your body clenches around his fingers, shuddering hard. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t stop. He rides it out with you, pressing filthy little praises against your skin.

“So good. So sweet. Mine.”

When it’s over, he leans back just enough to look at you — flushed, shaking, throat marked red. His thumb smears a streak of blood from the corner of your mouth to your chin like he can’t help himself. His smile is small. Dangerous.

And when he whispers your name again, it sounds less like an apology. More like a claim.

His hand trails down from your jaw to your hips, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises, and before you even realize it, he’s guiding you down onto the bed.

The world tilts as your back hits the cool sheets and his weight follows, his mouth dragging down your chest, leaving open-mouthed, hungry kisses against sweat-damp skin. His fangs graze but don’t pierce again — just enough to remind you they’re there. The bite he left on your throat throbs in time with your heartbeat, flooding your veins with a strange, burning euphoria that makes everything brighter. Hotter.

John sits back on his heels, hands gripping your thighs as he tugs your clothes down. There’s nothing polite about the way he stares at you — pupils blown wide, blood still staining the corner of his mouth, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

“You look fuckin perfect like this,” he mutters. His voice is rough, cracked around the edges like he’s holding himself together by a thread. “Gonna let me in?”

You nod, but he makes you say it.

“Yes,” you whisper.

That’s all it takes.

He pulls his pants down just far enough, hard cock flushed and heavy in his hand. He lines himself up and drags the head through your slick, slow enough to make you squirm. The contrast of his cool skin against your heat makes you tremble, the bite on your throat pulsing harder.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmurs, rubbing slow circles against your hip as he pushes inside.

Your breath catches — sharp — when he stretches you open. The bite’s effects make it sharper, sweeter; everything floods in at once. His cock slides in deep, filling you to the hilt, and the feeling hits like lightning up your spine. You moan, head tipping back, fingers clutching the sheets as he groans low against your neck.

“Fuck,” John breathes. “Warm. So warm. Just… fuck.”

He leans back, hands finding your waist, and urges you up. You straddle him, thighs bracketing his hips, and the second you sink back down, the world narrows to the pulse between your legs and the ache blooming through your body.

The bite makes it feel like everything he touches sets you on fire. Every shift of your hips sends sparks through your veins, dragging breathy, broken sounds out of your mouth. John watches you like he’s starved, hands sliding up your thighs to your waist as you find a rhythm — slow at first, then faster, greedier.

“Yeah,” he groans, voice low and raw. “Just like that. Take it. Fuckin take it.”

You ride him like you need it, rolling your hips down until he’s buried deep. The slick sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixed with your gasps and his soft, filthy moans. He keeps his hands on your hips, thumbs digging in as if anchoring himself in place while you move over him, losing yourself more with every thrust.

“Look at you,” he whispers. His thumb drags lazy circles over the bite on your throat, and you shudder violently. “Feelin it, huh? Let it take you.”

You do.

The pleasure builds sharp and fast, riding the edge of something that feels a little too good — like the world is spinning too quickly, like he’s inside your veins, not just your body. Your moans dissolve into shaky breaths as your movements grow frantic. You’re not just riding him anymore; you’re using him, hips slamming down with hungry, messy rhythm.

John’s jaw clenches, a growl rumbling low in his chest as his hips start to meet yours, fucking up into you with deep, brutal thrusts that knock the air out of your lungs.

“Cmon, sweetheart,” he groans, forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t hold back. I wanna feel it. Cum for me.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders for balance, nails biting into his skin as he fucks up into you harder, faster — matching every desperate roll of your hips. The sound of him fills the room: the wet, deep drag of his cock inside you, the ragged growl in his throat, the faint hiss of air through clenched teeth.

The pressure snaps fast and bright. You cry out his name — broken and breathless — as your body locks up, pleasure tearing through you like heat and lightning. Your thighs shake around his hips, nails digging into his shoulders, the world blurring around the edges.

“That’s it,” he growls, hips still thrusting up through your climax. “Fuck— yeah, just like that. Let go.”

He follows seconds later, slamming up deep with a guttural sound against your neck, holding you flush against him as he spills inside. His breath is hot against your skin, every muscle in his body tense and shaking.

You stay there, trembling in his lap, his cock still buried inside you, your pulse still racing against the bite on your throat. His hands slide up your back, slow and possessive, keeping you pressed against his chest like he doesn’t want to let go.

“Sweet girl,” he mutters against your ear, voice softer now, roughened by the edges of spent hunger. “Did so good for me.”

The bite throbs, warm and heady, the afterglow sinking deep. And for a long moment, the world is nothing but the sound of your breathing tangled with his.

🏷️─── ˚ . careful, he bites. 💋🥀 ˚₊‧⁺ @witchygagirl @walkerofshield @yeetaliano @novfr @archangelswing @xojadeelizabethox @bartonsparrow25 @hesaidgirlyoubetterhavefun @lightsabergirl @katieandersstark-blog @theloverofstuff @sh0t-inth3face @inafieldoflilies

[vividxpages]

"verschlimmbessern"

-to make sth worse (by trying to improve it)

pairing: John Walker x fem!reader

words: 1k

summary: still mourning Steve, the loss of her life, she was willing to fill the space he’s left with anyone, even if it’s his cheap double she can’t stand.

warnings: set during & after fatws, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, mourning, hints at depression, rough sex

a/n: some small fractures of this have been rotting away in my drafts for such a long time, but I was feeling angsty tonight so...here we are! it somehow didn't feel right to use 'you' for this one, but it's not an OC either. Just a little concept I played around with!

⍟

She should’ve been over it by now.

No one told her that.

But she could see that they were thinking it, softening eyes full of pity whenever she let someone close enough to see all the shattered pieces.

And with every passing day, it became harder to not squirm away from them, the idea of withdrawing so quietly no one would even remember her an alluring outlook.

The fight was over.

Wars were won.

A good man was buried and the stones were returned.

And Steve, her Steve, never came back home.

While all the people around her finally dared again to speak of a future, hers was lost together with the love of her damn life.

People moved on.

She didn’t.

Didn’t know how.

*

Shaking her head, she remembered how to blink.

A warm arm tightened around her shoulder, signalizing that she was still being listened to.

“In those five years…everything I did was for a future where we’d finally be at peace. Happy. And then he came back with Tony and something had changed.”

In the dark of the night, when the shadows were the cruelest and her mind the loudest, she could see the flicker of guilt passing over Steve’s face back then.

Like there had been a moment where he had forgotten she existed and was now painfully reminded of it.

“There’s a way.” Bucky said softly and before he even spoke his next words, she knew what was coming. “You don’t have to deal with this on your own. You got us. And my therapist has offered an hour just for you, so you can see if this could be something for you. To talk to someone.”

She stared at him. “I’m talking to you right now.”

Bucky shook his head. “A professional.”

There was no answer for him after that.

*

The first time she saw him, he was on top of the world on national television and she was so drunk the ceiling spung around above her head.

Everything was wrong about him.

The southern drawl, clean shaven face, the brightness with which he explained his duties. The audience cheering him on like there was no tomorrow.

She looked at him and saw a ghost.

She saw John Walker and knew whatever thin thread she had been clinging on to was dead. Irreversibly broken.

The glass in her hand hit the screen, shattering into pieces and drowning the room in darkness.

*

Her hands were shaking all the time now.

But she still called Bucky.

Staring at the playbacks of the interview, unblinking.

Clips of him working out, carrying the shield with elite excellence.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

No answer.

She tried Sam.

Then Bucky again.

They’re busy, a small remaining rational part inside of her whispered. Try again later.

But what if they had forgotten her?

After all, she was never good enough for people to stay.

Steve didn’t.

*

When John hit rock bottom, she had been around there for a while.

She was an open wound, raw and dripping, yet longing for someone to put their finger into the mess and twist.

It’d be better than feeling nothing at all.

It’d be…a relief to know she could still feel anything at all.

*

The bar was cheap, the drinks disgusting and she was tired.

Out of all people she could’ve stumbled upon, John Walker had not been on her radar tonight.

He was sitting by the bar like some kind of punished god, head hung low and shoulders tense.

He had the wrong hair color.

Nose crooked, broken before he’d gotten to the serum.

Staring at nothing.

He looked dangerous.

She wasn’t interested in the world anymore, but he had been going through a rough patch, she knew.

Stripped of the glory.

Wife gone.

Home empty.

Like hers.

Losing Steve had made her reckless. Self-destructive.

Sam and Bucky weren’t here right now to stop her from breaking just a bit more.

“Is this seat free?”

Blurry blue eyes met hers.

There was no sparkle in them, no light.

She watched his hand with the wedding band scrub over the stubble on his cheek as he took her in.

“I suppose so.”

And he scooted over.

*

The wall against her back was cold, but his body pressed against hers was hot.

Not soft or comforting, but scalding.

The kiss angry.

Merciless with one another.

His lips tasted like cheap whiskey and it was so fucking blue, she nearly crumbled right there in his arms.

It hurt and she needed it to hurt even more, until they had used each other’s body to drown out the sorrow and feel somewhat close to bliss, just for a while.

John panted against her neck and she hissed as he bit her, hands roaming over his body. With her eyes closed, it might’ve felt like he was someone else.

But he wasn’t.

A broken sob tore from her throat as his hand pushed the dress out of the way and found her wet.

She burned her hands on him and bruised her lips against his as he took her apart with two rough fingers.

Quick.

Efficient.

Somehow knowing exactly how to ruin her.

Scalding whatever had been left of her in a desperate attempt to prove himself he was still there.

It was her who tugged his pants down.

Her giving him the rest of encouragement he needed with a few sharp strokes and a low, whispered fuck me.

He did.

And it was the closest to feeling human ever since Steve had left her behind.

They’re both had been left behind.

Left to themselves like they had any clue what to do, how to live like this.

But who knew.

Maybe two damaged halves made one terrible whole.

⍟

[se7entyrell]

𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

(a jake seresin x reader soulmate au)

COMPLETED.

You're destined to die in Jake Seresin's arms. In every life, in every iteration, it's inescapable. Whether you loathe, or love each other, each ending stays the same. But what if it doesn't have to? (Star crossed lovers, ill-fated soulmates)

warnings: 18+, mdni! this fic will feature smut, violence, and character death

sneak peak!

1276 - Nuremberg, Germany

1692 - Massachusetts, USA

1840 - Texas, USA

1895 - Paris, France

1929 - New York City, USA

1973 - Saigon, Vietnam

2025 - London, UK

moodboards // playlist

[bratty-in-boots]

☍ DAY 7: SENSORY DEPRIVATION | ZOOK HAYTHE (blindfolds & restraints)

⤷ kinktober m.list gif creds @zookhaythex post ‎ᯓword count. 950+

The living room still smelled faintly of sweat and carpet cleaner— your phone timer blinking red on the floor where you’d tossed it after the challenge.

“Minute forty-seven,” you said smugly, stretching your arms overhead. “Guess who just beat your ass, Haythe.”

Zook was still on the ground, shoulders shaking from the plank he’d dropped out of first. His face was red—part strain, part irritation at the grin tugging at your lips. He wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt and scoffed.

“Bullshit. You cheated.”

“Didn’t cheat. You lost.”

He sat back on his knees, scowling, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He knew the deal. He just hated being on the wrong end of it.

Five minutes later, his wrists were cuffed behind a dining chair, blindfold snug over his eyes.

“This is bullshit,” he muttered, testing the restraints with a sharp tug. The cuffs rattled but held. “You know I let you win, right?”

You leaned in, brushing your lips along his jaw. “Mm, sure you did.”

His breath hitched—barely, but you caught it.

“Don’t get too cocky just ‘cause I’m sittin’ pretty here,” he added, his voice lower now, tighter.

You circled him slowly, fingertips trailing across the back of his neck, down his chest. He flexed against the cuffs, muscles straining, a curse slipping under his breath.

“That the best you got?” he taunted. “Gonna make me beg, or just stand there?”

You bent close, mouth to his ear. “You nervous, Haythe?”

He swallowed hard. “Fuck no.”

But when you kissed under his jaw, his head tipped instinctively, baring his throat. He realized it too late, a frustrated growl rumbling in his chest.

“Don’t… don’t get used to this,” he ground out, legs shifting as your hand drifted lower across his stomach.

“Not so tough now, huh?” you whispered, sliding your palm over his lap, finding him already hard beneath his sweats. “My big, bad boy can’t even see what’s coming.”

A shudder ran through him, his bravado slipping with every slow kiss, every teasing touch. He tugged at the cuffs again with impatience, useless, groaning when you squeezed him.

“Youre really dragging this out huh?” he muttered, voice clipped.

You swung a leg over his lap, straddling him. His body went tense under you, a sharp inhale when you settled your weight.

“Dont tell me you’re already restless” you teased, rolling your hips just enough to make him feel it.

“Restless my ass,” he gritted, jaw tight. “I’m just—fuck.” He jerked when you did it again, more deliberate. His hands flexed behind the chair, useless. “Better hope I stay cuffed, sweetheart.”

You stripped down piece by piece until his breathing turned harsh, frustrated. He turned his head, trying to chase the sound.

“You naked now?” His voice was hoarse and edged with irritation. “That’s dirty, makin’ me sit here blind while you—”

You cut him off by tugging his sweatpants and briefs down, freeing him. He hissed when your hand wrapped hot around his cock, stroking once, slow.

“Fuck,” he groaned, louder this time, back arching against the chair.

You stroked again, your thumb teasing his tip. His hips jerked up like he couldn’t help it.

“Thought you’d be talking more...” you teased, leaning close, breath hot on his ear.

He opened his mouth, ready to snap back, but you sank down onto him in one smooth motion, cutting him off completely.

“FUCK” he barked, raw and loud, the blindfold heightening every nerve. His chest heaved like he couldn’t catch his breath. “Goddamn—”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing kisses into his neck, sucking until his skin darkened under your mouth. He shuddered, tilting his head back, blindfold tight across his eyes as you rode him slow, deliberate.

Taking every inch. Pulling off until only the tip brushed your heat before sliding back down with a roll of your hips.

He moaned, shameless now, each sound spilling free without restraint.

“Ffffuck—stop—stop teasing,” he groaned, hips grinding up like he could control the pace. “Shit, you’re killin me.”

You licked the salt from his throat, teeth catching there. “I thought you liked control.”

He laughed, breathless, broken. “Not like this.”

But his body betrayed him. Every thrust made him louder, twitching helplessly inside you. He fought you with words, but his cock throbbed when you squeezed around him.

And when you pulled almost all the way off, leaving him right at the edge, he cursed rough, like a plea.

“Fuckin hell—don’t you dare stop there.”

You rode him harder, clenching down, dragging him into ruin. He tried to grit his teeth through it, but the blindfold shredded his composure.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re—” His head dropped against the chair, throat bared. His body fought the restraints, bucking up into you reckless, needy.

You squeezed again and his groans turned ragged, shameless.

“Goddamn—” He snarled, face flushed, voice breaking. “When I get outta these cuffs—swear to fuckin God—I’m gonna ruin you for this. You hear me?”

You kissed under his ear, grinding down until your body shuddered. Release tore through you hot and sudden, nails digging into his shoulders.

He groaned deep, guttural, feeling it. “Shit—fuck—baby, I—” His thighs flexed hard, hips jerking helplessly. “I’m gonna—”

The warning ripped out of him like a begrudging cry. “Fuck, I’m—”

And then he spilled, cock pulsing deep, body shuddering against the cuffs. His groans stretched raw, head thrown back, the blindfold making it unbearable, stripping him bare.

You rode him thruogh it, holding tight as his breath came ragged, chest heaving under yours.

Even then, he gritted through his teeth, low and rough: “Don’t think for a second this means you won. Soon as I’m free—I’m takin’ it back.”

But the tremor in his voice betrayed him, and the hot mess between you said otherweise.

kinktober taglist ✎ @walkerofshield

[overwintering-soldier]

fractious

John Walker x fem!thunderbolts reader

summary: your relationship with John had always been complicated, to say the least. but when things finally come to a head, words are said that cannot be taken back, and you both have to face your deepest fear that maybe - just maybe - you want the same thing.

w/c: 10.8k

warnings: 18+ explicit content mdni, nsfw, eventual smut, angst angst angst, hurt/comfort, arguing, john says some really messed up stuff in here, descriptions of feeling numb & despondent (possibly panic attack adjacent), alexei being a lovable goofball to offset some of the angst.

story tropes: slow burn, enemies to lovers, idiots in love, miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut.

a/n: I've been working on and off on this for ages and I'm surprisingly happy with how it turned out! hope you guys like it too :)

read on ao3

You hated these stupid galas.

They were flashy, loud, gaudy, and made you unfathomably uncomfortable.

Not that Val cared - it was "an important part of the job" apparently. Working the press, schmoozing financiers, building a 'brand image'. Complete bollocks in your eyes (and the eyes of most of the team), but still contractually required you guessed.

A newer addition to the Thunderbolts New Avengers, you were still finding your feet in a lot of ways. Not quite an outsider, but not completely in sync with the team's dynamics.

That was mostly down to John Walker.

No matter what you did, how you acted, what you said, he was there - judging. Criticising.

He'd known who you were when you'd joined the group. Not properly, of course, but he'd seen you in passing during the Flagsmashers debacle, heard your name over a debriefing once or twice.

FBI gone rogue. Mercenary. A little reckless but a whole lot more dangerous. Skilled but rudderless, drifting from one mess to the next.

When Val had introduced you, you gave a little wave to the group sat round the meeting table; anxious but excited to start a new chapter in your life - hopefully a more positive one than the last.

Alexei had all but bear-hugged you when you went to your new living quarters. "New blood is good, make team stronger, like shark on steroids!" He announced as Bob lead the tour of the Watchtower.

"Sorry about him, he's a little enthusiastic," he'd whispered loud enough for Alexei to hear.

"That's ok," you'd smiled, "it's nice to be welcomed."

"Speak for yourself." John was leaning against the fridge, beer in hand, scowling in your general direction. "Not all of us signed up to have some blood-thirsty merc running around the building without warning."

"Says you," you'd spat out on instinct. Obviously you knew who he was, his backstory, his history How could you not - it had been front page news for a month straight after the Riga incident.

John squared his shoulders up briefly, standing to his full height. "I'm just saying," he went on with a tone of authority, "Val didn't exactly give us a choice to have you here. The rest of them may not have heard of you, but I have, and I know you should come with a handler."

"What- big, tough, super soldier boy scared of a little girl? Gonna put me on a leash, big man?" You sneered at him.

He'd stepped towards you, peering downwards, chest rising and falling in quick succession.

"This is a pretty important gig for some of us, sweetheart, just try not to fuck it up like you usually do."

With that, he strode out the room leaving you reeling.

"Well that was fun," Yelena commented to no one in particular.

"He's an asshole," Bob said matter-of-factly, placing a hand comfortingly on your back, "you get used to it."

"He's not normally that bad though..." Yelena glanced at Bob, eyebrows pulled together questioningly.

"Do not worry about grumpy soldier, he has lot on plate from divorce and new hat," Alexei announced.

You blinked up at him.

"He has a hat now, not helmet," the giant Russian patted the top of his head lightly, "new style is difficult to manage, da. Makes him question self, maybe miss helmet sometimes."

Yelena groaned, pulling you towards the living room to continue the tour, while Bob looked more puzzled than ever.

You blinked confusedly at Alexei again before letting yourself be dragged along by Yelena. Inside, though, you couldn't forget what John had said.

The gala was in full swing now. You were dolled up as much as you could stomach to be - floor length dress in a silky baby blue, stilettos click-clacking gracefully as you paced nervously near the corner of the bar.

Trying to shrink away from prying eyes and unwanted questions.

Val always invited reporters to these things - everything that woman did was a press event, the whole world was her stage and your team were the reluctant actors playing your parts.

"Why do you hide, little one?" A jovial voice cut through your thoughts as Alexei sidled up next to you. "You are beautiful woman, strong, good hips. You should dance and laugh with others, not hide in shadows."

He was giving you his patented, 'award winning' smile, his eyes mischievous and definitely a little bit on the tipsy side.

"I'm not sure anyone wants to hear from the newbie," you muse. "Besides, I like people watching."

"Nonsense! Everyone want to listen to new pretty girl. How she take down three militia with only pocket knife! Excellent story, I tell many times already."

You rub your hand down your face, chuckling at his antics. Sure, you had done pretty well on your last couple of missions, even with limited supplies and a whole load of bad intel from the top. But it wasn't the sort of thing you wanted to brag about.

At the end of the day, you came back bruised and battered, as did everyone else. It never sat quite right with you to celebrate something that teetered so dangerously between life and death. Between right and wrong.

Alexei gives your arm a reassuring squeeze before stomping off to the bar for the tenth time that night, leaving you alone once again to glance around the vast ballroom.

Yelena catches your eye in the middle of the dance floor, clearly a couple of drinks down and enjoying herself as best she could (you knew she wasn't exactly a fan of public engagements either, but it was nice to see her let loose once in a while).

"I was worried you'd be dancing with my dad in a minute," she jokes as you walk over, slipping yourself between miscellaneous businessmen and party goers alike.

"I've seen Alexei dance before, I think I'll pass on that one," you shudder, remembering his last 'groove session' that resulted in a rack of broken wine bottles, an ambulance, and somehow a live parrot being thrown in the mix.

You were not keen to repeat the experience.

Yelena laughs softly and holds out her hand, dragging you further onto the dance floor.

The music is classical but upbeat, Val having spared no expense (as usual) to hire out half an orchestra for the evening.

As you and Yelena talk and sway gently, chatting about nothing in particular but starting to feel a little more at ease, you can't stop a gnawing feeling at the back of your head.

You are definitely being watched.

Years of training is burned into your core. You know when you are being observed.

Glancing round the room at deliberately casual intervals, you note John leaning against a pillar at the back of the ballroom. He's wearing a dark green suit, perfectly cut to his body, with a crisp white button up underneath. No tie, beard slightly shorter than usual. Clean-cut but effortless.

And blue eyes piercing into the side of your skull.

Bucky is off to his right, talking stiffly to a couple of politicians about a new packet that had been dropped on his desk earlier that day. Something about funding reallocation that he was bored of just thinking about but knew he needed to engage with to keep his backers happy.

John had been there too, trying to network, trying to improve his image and claw back his reputation one shred at a time. But then he'd seen you dancing, seen you looking so carefree and content and gentle and soft and--

It pissed him off.

There he was, doing everything he could to desperately convince the outside world he wasn't a monster, wasn't a failure, the screw-up they'd seen on the news; and you were happy as Larry dancing with Yelena. Head thrown back in a laugh, not a care in the world.

Your past was riddled with bodies, with scars and wounds and blood and god knows what else.

The only difference was, yours wasn't public.

It could have just as easily been you plastered all over the news, day in day out. Think pieces on why your career flopped, why you couldn't hack it in the FBI - their rules and regulations driving you mad, causing you to act out, to disobey at every opportunity.

It could have been you with hour-long video essays cataloguing why your family disavowed you, why you couldn't hold down a relationship, why you slept alone every night instead of wrapped up in the arms of another.

But no, your private life was just that - private.

John didn't have that luxury.

No, every time he flicked on the TV there was another round-table debate on where the government went wrong in assigning him to be Captain America. Every blog had some asinine junk typed out over and over again on why his marriage failed, why he couldn't see his own kid, why his best friend was dead and not him.

It was relentless.

And sure, John put on a brave face. Cutting remarks and snide comments, giving as good as he got. But it wears on a person, that never-ending violence against the soul.

It was wearing on John more than he could ever let you know.

Since that first introduction, your relationship with John had been...fractious.

It's not the constant bickering that annoys you though. The remarks, the insults hurled back and forth, the glaring across the briefing room.

No, you understand that. You understand hatred and contempt.

It's all the pieces in between you can't handle.

It's the way you are drawn to each other like magnets, inexplicably pulling together at all times.

It's the brushes of hands in the hallway, the pot of tea he makes for you every morning without you asking and without him acknowledging, the staying up to watch old westerns on the TV at 3am because neither of you can sleep, sitting comfortably apart on the sofa, neither of you daring to break the silence in case you couldn't put it back together.

It's the way Val only ever pairs you with John on any two-person mission that's sent the teams' way.

You'd questioned her as to why one morning after a late recon mission became an early morning intel meeting in the tower.

"You're the only two who get results together," she'd said causally, passing a stack of folders to Mel to carry. "The numbers don't lie - I pair either one of you up with someone else and mission efficacy decreases by at least 9%. Guess you're both destined to be black-ops BFFs." She flashed you a cold, insincere smile, gloating at your obvious discomfort with the facts.

You hadn't asked again.

No matter what you say to him, how hard you twist the knife out of anger and spite and fear, John will always be the first to get your pizza order in on 'team bonding' night, making sure he keeps a few slices back in the fridge so you can have them cold for breakfast the next day. Just like you like.

He teases you relentlessly for your odd pizza preferences, of course, but the second Alexei is reaching for your plate at the back of the fridge, he's swatting his hand away with a grunt and a glare, looking forward to seeing your eyes light up in the morning round the breakfast bar.

And after one instance where Ava 'accidentally' ate your last leftovers in a midnight kitchen scavenge, John started leaving a note on the plate.

'Sweetheart's.'

No one had nicked your pizza since.

He didn't question why he did it. He just did it. Like all the little things he does for you - it's second nature.

Something in him tells him, urges him, to care for you, no matter how hard he tries to fight it.

No matter what John says to you, lashing out with a sneer and a curse and cruel truths that hit just a little too close to home, you always still send him a cute photo or a funny meme you'd seen that day.

Every day.

And when the rain pours down, battering the windows of the Watchtower late at night, and the lightning streaks through the pitch-black sky and the thunder roars close behind, you send him a voice note.

Just one.

"You're safe, John."

Every time.

The only time you ever call him by his first name.

Because you know he needs it, and you know you need him to be safe.

You learned early on that John would never admit it, but the military had taken more of a toll on him than the others saw, and he would tense his jaw and clench his fist every time a car started too loud or a taxi blared their horn or a passerby hollered.

And John would never admit that on those nights, when the thunder was deafening in his ears and the rain was crashing down and everything was just too much, your voice was the only thing that could soothe him to sleep.

Played on repeat, over and over again, his head resting on his pillow, his phone propped up beside it.

Yeah - your relationship with John was a mess.

A confusing, heartbreaking, hopeful, fearful, mess.

John doesn't realise he's staring until it's too late.

Your eyes catch his across the room and hold them steady, gazing into his cerulean ocean, searching for something buried beneath.

You don't realise you're walking towards him until you're close enough to reach out.

Your fingertips graze his wrist tentatively, pulling him from his thoughts.

"You ok over here?" You tilt your head slightly, trying desperately to figure out what he's thinking.

"Y-yeah, fine." He splutters out lamely. "Jus' thinking."

"That's a new one for you," you quip, noticing the way his mouth twitches into an almost-there smile.

"Shuddup, sweetheart," he retorts.

A tense silence comes over the both of you, the weight of everything left unsaid between you. "Yelena and I were dancing," you offer as a means to break through the quiet.

"I have eyes."

"Right, yeah. I just meant-" you stutter slightly, heart thumping against your chest so loud you wouldn't be surprised if his heightened senses can hear it.

"I meant you could join us...if you want..." you trail off slightly at the end, gazing up at him still, the beating of your heart somehow quickening further still.

John pauses for a moment, sipping his glass of champagne before placing it on a little table next to him and glancing back at you. You notice the way his cheeks redden minutely and his hands tremble for a second before he clears his throat.

"You really want me dancing with Yelena after she threatened to 'gut me like a fish' this morning?" He forces out a terse laugh.

"Well you did eat her last protein bar after she explicitly told you not to."

"Still think it was a bit of an overreaction." His eyes are drawn to Yelena still dancing in the sea of impeccably dressed bodies before they land back on you in front of him.

"Maybe," you chuckle lightly. "Well, the offer's still open if you ever want to stop being a chicken." You bump his arm with your elbow jokingly, heart in your mouth.

'Just dance with me!' You want to scream, but you can't find the courage, the words lost in your throat before you can form them.

"I wouldn't mind not dancing with Yelena," John huffs awkwardly. "You know, what I mean is- if you wouldn't mind not dancing with Yelena too?"

He reprimands himself for stumbling over his words like a teenager, his cheeks burning red with embarrassment, fingers crossed over his heart that you'll understand what he means.

But you don't, because he's not really making any sense at all.

"Walker, you sure you passed English at high school? Because that didn't make a lick of sense," you giggle and brush your fingers against his wrist again.

He's a total goner.

He's about to explain himself - about to say that he doesn't want to dance with Yelena and doesn't want you to dance with Yelena and so maybe you should just dance together instead - he really is about to; but just then, two reporters sidle up from his left and barge their way in between you both.

"Sorry to interrupt," one of them says nonchalantly, "we were just hoping to ask you a couple of questions Mr. Walker."

The other one is scrolling through his phone, pulling up an extensive list of questions judging by his notes app.

You share a perplexed glance with John before lifting your hand up to wave, "I'll see you after?" You try for casual but there's a pleading tone in your voice that you can't seem to shake.

"Yeah, sure thing, sweetheart," he replies, taken aback by the sudden intrusion.

You give John what you hope is a casual 'good luck' look before walking back towards the crowd.

"So, Mr. Walker-"

"Uh, John is fine," he says, slightly stunted.

"Right, John, how do you find your title as 'New Avenger' stacks up against the title of 'Captain America?" The reporter with the notes app asks, while the other flips open a notebook and clicks a pen against the paper.

"What do you mean exactly?" John asks hesitantly.

"Well, you were previously a knockoff Cap and now you're a knockoff Avenger - just wondering which one you prefer, that's all." The reporter shrugs as if it's not big deal while his accomplice smirks into his notepad.

John's jaw clenches, the air immediately tensing around him.

You're not sure why, but you decide not to rejoin the dance floor.

You cant help but keep looking back at John and those reporters, wondering what he was going to say, hoping against all hope that he might have asked you to dance, might have asked you to leave this stupid party and go back to the Watchtower, might have asked you if you wanted to join him in his room, might have asked-

Not now, you try to drag your mind out of the gutter as best you can.

Ducking behind a marble column off to the side of the dance floor, you start to circle back towards to John. You pass by Bucky, now deep into a heated debate with a congressional staffer about motorbikes, and loop back to hover close behind John, but out of eyeline from the reporters.

Hopefully, they'll wrap up quick, then you can grab him and finish your conversation.

That hope dies as quickly as it came as soon as you can hear what those bastards are asking him.

"I take my job very seriously," John is saying, voice tight, teeth gritted, "I did as Captain America and I do on this team too."

"Right right, but Cap made you more money surely?"

"Huh?"

"Well that's why the wife left, right? You're not Cap anymore so the money dries up, the women leave, usual story."

It takes all your resolve not to smash a champagne flute on the nearest table and stab this fucker's throat with the shards, and you imagine it's taking John all his resolve too.

"The hell you say to me?" John almost can't believe what he's hearing, except that he's heard it a hundred times before.

"Sorry, didn't mean to touch a nerve," the prick with the notepad rolls his eyes and gives his buddy a sly glance.

"Exactly, we're just asking what the people want to know," the main twat states.

John wants to leave.

Actually, scratch that, he wants to punch one of them in the jaw so hard it crumbles. while kicking the other in kidney. He wouldn't even break a sweat, even before he had the serum, he'd fought off way worse and held his own.

But he doesn't because he can't. Not here, not in front of the press and the politicians and Val and the team and you. Somewhere in the crowd you were dancing happily with Yelena, he thought, and he would be damned if he was going to spoil that for you.

Besides, he could really do without more bad career press.

So he bites his tongue so hard he tastes that coppery tang lets them goad him more.

And boy do they.

They've run through his family history ("Just how disappointed were the parents when you lost that shield?"), his military career ("When you were stripped of the medals, did you have to pay to ship them back, or was it free postage?"), and are just starting on his parenthood ("How much is child support for an Avenger these days?") before he decides to change tact.

"Listen, I get what you're doing guys, I do. But I've got to get back to the team, so how about you cut the crap and give me a break already."

You can see his defeat even from behind him. His shoulders are slumped, his voice is rough and gravelly, exhaustion seeps out of his every pore.

Your heart is running away even faster than before, but this time you feel like the world is closing in on you, the vast ballroom too small, the noises too loud, everything too much.

You just want to reach out and drag John away, hold him to your body, kiss his stupid handsome face and whisper that 'It's ok, John. I've got you.'

But you don't, because your feet are glue to the floor, your body stuck, unmoving.

You don't, because you know John might never forgive you for it, and that thought is worse than any other.

So you stand there with one hand clenched into a fist by your thigh while the other steadies you on a nearby table as you try not to launch yourself at the two slimeballs still verbally berating John.

Your John.

"Fine man, fine," the asshole with the pen huffs out, upset his fun is ending, "we'll cut you a deal, alright?"

John lifts an eyebrow, desperate to have this ordeal over with.

"What?"

"A deal," the other one says like it's obvious. "We won't put out half that bullshit we asked you, but you gotta answer us the big one."

"The 'big one'?"

"Yeah, the question all our readers want to know about," the first dickhead chimes in.

John is cautious - he knows it's a bad idea, probably going to be something completely out of pocket about his sex life or his finances or his teammates - but he just wants this to be over with already. Just wants a break for once.

"Sure, fine, whatever."

The two assholes smirk at each other before the initial one pipes up.

"How long did it take to wash that dude's blood off the shield after you beheaded him?"

John's blood runs cold. The colour drains from his face, he starts sweating bullets as his hands shake uncontrollably at his sides, clenched into fists so tight he begins to draw blood with his nails tearing into his palms.

A few steps behind him, you're gripping the side of the table so hard you swear it starts to buckle under your fingers.

The two assholes laugh in his face, a vile, screeching noise against his ears, before they turn on their heel and saunter towards the bar, leaving John quivering with rage.

Neither of you move for what feels like an age. You're staring at John's back, tense and shaking, willing your feet to move.

But what would you even say?

'Sorry those guys mocked the worst day of your life. By the way, I was eavesdropping behind you the whole time. Care to dance?'

So you don't move, don't speak. Just watch.

Slowly, John stops trembling. His fists unclench, he rolls his shoulders back, loosening his muscles.

'Leave.' It's the only thought rattling around in his mind.

He wanted to find you, to grab you and hold you and sob into your shoulders and kiss your pretty neck and beg you to love him, to make it better, to make it all stop.

But he can't, because you're not like him. You're not marred by public opinion, not weighed down by judgmental eyes and sharp words laced with poison and disappointment. You're a whole person, not a shell, not a little broken toy soldier.

You're not like him.

So he doesn't seek you out. He shrugs his shoulders, slides the mask back onto his face, tells himself this is what he deserves.

He turns to leave.

He lifts his head.

He sees you staring.

'Deer in headlights' would be an understatement.

You're wide-eyed, panicked, and mortified beyond belief. You shouldn't be there, you shouldn't have heard any of it, but you did, and he now he knows it too.

John just stares at you, an unreadable expression on his face, completely unmoving.

You swallow the lump in your throat - it scratches your insides on the way down, bringing up guilt and bile in its wake.

Taking a step forward on legs shakier than you've ever felt, you know you have to try and fix this. "Walker, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to listen in-" but before you can get any further, you're stopped in your tracks by his eyes, wet and shining and hurt, and then he's turning tail and striding away as quick as possible without attracting attention from the crowd.

And then he's gone, lost somewhere in the sea of revelry, and you're stood with your heart in your mouth and the disappointing realisation the world has not, in fact, opened up and swallowed you whole, despite your silent begging.

You'd never seen John cry before, not even during that mission a couple of months ago when he'd been stabbed just above the hip by some HYDRA reject who'd had a little too much home cooked super soldier serum and not got the memo that his team had crumbled to dust a decade prior.

He'd shouted out in pain and gripped his side for all it was worth, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood, but he hadn't ever shed a single tear (not in the presence of the team at the very least).

You had though.

You'd been inconsolable, ripping your jacket off and pressing it against the wound once John was back on the quinjet, whispering under your breath that 'it'll be ok, you'll be ok.' Only loud enough for John's ears.

You'd both known that you were saying it more to yourself than to him, reassuring yourself that he wasn't going to leave you, that he wouldn't abandon you like that - wouldn't make you live without him. Not when you'd both found quiet meaning in the way you hopelessly lived for each other.

John had stroked your hair with his bloodied hand, soothing you as you soothed him. 'I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart.'

The team didn't question it, a gentle understanding stretching between you all. A team of lost souls holding onto one another in your own, broken ways.

You hadn't left John's side in the medbay that night, not until he was discharged.

Neither of you had talked about it since, too afraid of what it meant, too cowardly to speak it into existence.

That's how you and John lived - a constant limbo of longing and fear; scared that the ice might crack beneath your feet if you stepped towards each other.

But now it had. Now the ice had shattered.

And you were plunged into the icy depth below.

And John wasn't there to pull you back out.

Before you could even think about what you were doing, your feet were moving of their own accord, making a beeline for the corner of the ballroom.

Those asshole 'journalists' were huddled in the corner, chatting away like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Like they hadn't just caused your world to fall apart in front of you, sneering while it crashed and burned into dust.

"Hey beautiful, can we help you with something?" One of them leered as you approached, clearly too stupid to sense your mood.

"Actually, I think you both can," you smiled saccharinely, "I was hoping I could be your next interview?"

They turned to each other before shrugging. "Sure thing sugar, 'suppose a few words from the newbie can't hurt our stats."

Your grin was almost inhuman now, spreading far too wide across your face to be comfortable.

You nodded towards a side corridor just behind you, "shall we then? Might be a bit quieter than out here."

"Lead the way," one of them said, before they both unceremoniously barged past you and down the corridor.

You quickly checked behind you before following them through the side door and deeper into the corridor, turning a sharp corner before coming to a stop beside them.

"So, first question then, what's a pretty little thing like you doing on a team-"

The slimeball didn't have time to finish his half-baked insult of a question before your fist connected solidly with the side of his nose.

A disgusting crunch of bone echoed off the marble walls, followed by a scream and the steady drip drip drip of blood onto the opulently tiled floor.

He collapsed in a heap, head buried to his chest, breath sharp and painful, blood oozing from the centre of his face in a steady stream.

"You psycho bitch!" His friend exclaimed as he made a move to dash in the opposite direction.

Reading his movements like a book, your left arm shot out and grabbed his jacket lapel before he could properly take off, the momentum sending him careening towards your front.

You quickly twisted out the way of his oncoming mass before planting a swift kick into his sternum, shoving him back into the wall with immense force.

He crumpled instantly, sliding slowly to the floor alongside his esteemed colleague.

Their gasps and whines of pain were all that could be heard in the empty hallway for a long moment, until, after a beat of blissful silence, you crouched down slowly to be eye-level with their pathetic, bloodied forms.

Voice deadly soft, laced with all the venom you could muster, you finally spoke. "If I catch even a hint that you fucks are so much as thinking about John Walker, even just for a second, I will disembowel you each slowly, methodically, and make each other watch. Do I make myself clear?"

They groaned in unison, eyes unfocused and drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Good, glad we got that cleared up," you smiled poisonously before pushing off the ground to stand again, leisurely waltzing back into the main atrium of the building.

You hoped against all hope that that would be the end of it. That would solve the problem - they wouldn't post about John, he would forget about this whole event, and things would go back to normal...right?

Your smile faltered as you entered the ballroom again.

It would never be the same. Not after tonight.

No matter how many glasses of champagne you tipped back, no matter how many stories your heard Alexei bellow across the room, no matter how much you scrubbed and scrubbed at your bloodied knuckles in the bathroom. You couldn't stop seeing his face.

Eyes cloudy. Wet with unshed tears. Fear and shame and guilt and unimaginable hurt plastered across his visage.

It wasn't fixed. The cold water was still pulling you under, the ice creeping into your bloodstream, seeping into your pores.

You couldn't fix it.

You kept scrubbing until your knuckles were raw, until your mascara ran down your face.

Happy face, happy face, you can fix this. You can fix it.

You couldn't fix it.

You were back in the ballroom, head down, looking anywhere but at people's eyes. 'Just a couple more hours,' you thought, 'a couple more hours and then you're home and dry.'

But life is rarely that simple, especially for your team.

You could sense Val approaching before you saw her, eyes ablaze with sharp anger and a grimace smile plastered on her face for the public to see.

She was flanked predictably by Mel, who looked almost as concerned as you felt, and John-

-no no no nonononononono not John, not now.

Before you could say anything, you were being swept away into a dark corner, bodies huddled and voices hushed but not less pointed.

"Show them the footage, Mel," Val doesn't even bother with pleasantries, too worked up over whatever the emergency of the day is.

Mel fumbles with her tablet for a moment before spinning it round to face you and John who are now stood side by side in the corner of the room, away from prying eyes as much as possible.

She presses play on a security cam feed. There's static for a moment, then a long stretch of nothing.

You feel your blood run cold.

It's the corridor. The corridor where less than twenty minutes ago you all but disfigured two civilians.

Oh god no.

The corridor on the feed is still quiet for a moment before there's movement. Two bloodied men turn the corner, both holding onto each other desperately for support, limping past the camera's view, leaving a damp trail of crimson in their wake.

The video stops.

Val is furious.

"Do either of you idiots have any idea the shitstorm you've caused?"

You and John don't look at each other, both trying as hard as possible to ignore the other's presence.

"This team I've put together," you decide now isn't the best time to start arguing about who created the New Avengers in the first place, "is hanging on by a thread." She accentuates the word, pushing it through gritted teeth, making it stick to your skin. "Now I've got the joy of paying off two wannabe private eyes so they don't hit us with our fiftieth lawsuit of the week."

"That feels like an exaggeration," you mumble under your breath. Val mercifully chooses to ignore it.

"What the hell does this have to do with us?" John asks, brows knitted together tightly, voice terse.

"You two were the last people seen with them," Mel states matter-of-factly. "Doesn't take much to put two and two together."

"I never touched them," John hissed, eyes avoiding yours at all costs.

"I don't care whether you did or not," Val retorts, "bad press is bad press, and either way, it's something your little band of screw ups can't afford, least of all you."

You flinch at her words.

John doesn't.

He absorbs them. Adds them to the collection. Another on a long list of his failings.

He stopped flinching a long time ago.

"I want both of you out of here. Cars are out back. You're both off duty for a week until this mess dies down." She states it with a finality that you know means there's no arguing.

Your body is wound so tight at this point, guilt seeping into your pores, taking shelter in your skin. You should have said something, should have fought for John - he wasn't even there for Christ's sake, he had nothing to do with it.

You finally glance at John as Mel is leading you both out of an emergency exit and ushering you into a black SUV.

His shoulders are hunched, posture deflated. You can practically feel the exhaustion emanating from him. Gone are the quips and jabs you're so used to, the flash of pearly teeth that always comes with a classic John one-liner. The boyish charm you've become more fond of than you'd ever admit.

In the back of the car it's like sitting next to a shadow. He doesn't move, eyes focused painstakingly on the floor as the car rolls along, his breathing quiet and shallow. You're only a seat away from him but you might as well be oceans apart.

Just as the car pulls up to the Watchtower, you think you should say something, anything, to break the tension.

But, when John clambers out of the car ahead of you, you catch the tail end of a noise - not quite a whimper, not quite a sob, but filled with so much pain in that split second you can barely contain your own anguish.

Before you're able to collect your thoughts, John is already long gone, and you're left sat in the back of the car staring at the empty tower as it looms above you.

What have you done?

It takes a total of one hour and twenty-four minutes for John to conclude that staring at the ceiling fan is not, in all likelihood, going to salvage whatever might be left of his relationship with you.

He's showered, changed into his civvies, paced his room, stared in the mirror, paced again, gone to the gym to sit on one of the mats, glared at the weight racks, and finally flopped on his bed to watch the fan go round and round and round and round.

This revelation comes to him when he realises the fan isn't even switched on.

He's not sure what happened tonight - what made him so emotional, what made you lash out at those reporters (because it sure as hell wasn't him), what made him so scared to just fucking talk to you already.

But there was only one thing that was going to fix it. You.

You always knew what to do, always had an explanation, always had a sarcastic comment when he was being too arrogant and a listening ear when he was too frustrated to joke and just needed to vent.

You always had a wide smile and soft hands and a faintly floral scent that made his head spin in the most terrifyingly pleasant way.

If anyone knew what to do to make this tension dissolve, to make this night make any lick of sense, it would be you.

It was always you.

John pushes himself off his bed with a huff before padding down the hall to your door, a route he was all too familiar with at this point.

Inhaling deeply for courage he raises one hand and delivers two firm knocks, his other hand braced on the door frame.

No answer.

He knocks again. "It's me- it's John." Still nothing.

He rolls his eyes and thumps on the door, hard. "Open the door, sweetheart!"

The door swings open, leaving his hand hanging in midair, about to thump again.

"You're paying for repairs if that left a dent," you huff, scanning the door quickly.

You're in your sweats, makeup washed off, hair sticking out every which way from lying in one position for too long. You've got dark circles under your eyes, holding the tiredness of being an Avenger or the tiredness of yearning hopelessly after a man like John Walker, you have no idea which and you don't care to think about it further.

John thinks you've never looked more beautiful.

"Thanks, I guess?" You tilt your head to the side slightly, confusion etched on your features. "I feel like shit if I'm honest though," you sigh quietly.

"I- uh- sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean to-," John's about to come out with what's sure to be an excellent excuse as to why he said the fucking silent part out loud, but he's stopped in his tracks when he sees into your room.

He's been at your door before plenty of times (too many to be a coincidence at this point), but he's never been in not properly, not when he's been paying attention like he is right now.

You step away from your doorframe a few paces to sit on your bed and he can't help but follow you in, eyes scanning the space.

You had barely unpacked.

Four months you'd been on the team and your room was little more than a blank canvas and a pile of half opened boxes.

There were no old movie posters on the wall, no photos in little frames dotted around your dresser, no rugs on the naked carpet beneath his feet.

Just a throw cushion on your desk chair in the corner, a little pot of different coloured pens next to a small, leather notebook on your bedside table, and a soft pink blanket strewn haphazardly over the bed.

Nothing else to say you live there. To say you exist. To say you belong.

His heart shatters quicker than he can pick up the pieces.

"Minimalist huh?" He says, trying to break the tension. You glance up at him from your spot on the bed. "Your room, I mean."

"Oh, yeah...something like that." Your eyes are staring unfocused at the spot on the ground just in front of John's feet. "Didn't really think about it."

"Why not?"

"Huh?"

He shrugs. "Didn't think you were leaving, did you?" John tries for levity but it's not landing, not at all.

"I guess..." you pinch your brows together, starting to lose patience with his line of questioning. Why does this matter now? What is he even here for?

"Didn't take you for the quitting type, sweetheart." He huffs out a laugh you both know it's forced.

"I'm not allowed to quit," you're staring straight at him now, eyes cold, piercing.

Now it's John's turn to be confused. "What do you mean 'not allowed'? Didn't realise you were a prisoner."

"Val has too much dirt on me. She knows it, and she made sure as hell that I know it too."

He's taken aback by your honesty, stepping forward a pace. Then another. "What...what do you mea-"

You're staring at the floor again, guilt and regret and anguish painted across your face, bright and loud. "I step out of line and I'm done. Big announcement, press tour, the whole nine yards." You gesture widely in front of your face, as if displaying a banner in the air. " 'Ex-FBI agent betrays country, goes on violent rampage, sells state secrets, sells out New Avengers, is generally a terrible person.' "

Your hand flops down into your lap, cradling your other hand, wringing your fingers together. "She'll eat me alive and spit my corpse back out to the press."

Your eyes lift to find John standing inches away from where you're sat. "So here I am. Stuck here." You shrug slightly, letting out an exacerbated sigh. "Sorry, but as much as you might wish I could, I can't leave. No matter how hard either of us try."

You can feel your eyes start to fill with tears, desperately blinking them away.

John sits next to you, his thigh a breath away from yours. "Sucks, doesn't it? Thinking everyone'll know your business." His sharp blue eyes find yours in the low light, searching.

He chuckles but there's no warmth to it. "Only everyone already knows my shit. All of it. Every fucking thing I've fucked up," he grips his leg until his knuckles turn white.

He's been trying to keep it together, keep his anger in check, broach the subject of the reporters calmly, but he is John Walker after all. And John Walker can't seem to keep his fucking mouth shut, no matter how much he wants to. "Guess we're even now, huh sweetheart?" He jeers.

You've been stabbed in the field before. Shot. Thrown around, beat up, walking the line between the living and the dead. This feels infinitely worse somehow.

"I don't understand- even how, Walker?"

"Don't fuck with me!" He's standing again, pacing in front of you, knuckles still bone white. "I get enough shit from everyone in here, everyone that's meant to be on my fucking side and we all know I don't need more crap from the press."

He's practically spitting, pointing wildly at you, at the wall, at anything.

You stand slowly, hands in front of your chest, palms facing outwards like you're trying to calm a wild animal.

"Walker, I can tell you're hurt but-"

"You make me sick, you know that?!"

Your hands lower slightly, "I what?"

"Walking in here like you don't got a trail of blood behind you, like you're fucking better than me because you don't got your name plastered on CNN every other week!" His accent is thick, voice rough and fraying at the edges.

"Walker I don't know what you're fucking on about!" You snap, confused and hurt in a way you haven't felt for a long time, and hope you don't feel again for a longer time still.

"Those reporters that you beat the shit out of, princess, because they what- got a lil' bit of dirt on ya? Couldn't handle the heat so you had to lash out like the fucking animal you are?!" He's practically screaming at you now.

"John I-"

"I talked 'em down, they weren't gonna print half the vile shit they wanted to on me, for once in my fucking life! But no, you just had to show off, had to rough 'em up because you couldn't take the heat on you for five fucking seconds!"

You're crying now, sobbing uncontrollably, but John can't stop himself.

"So what, they say they don't like your dress, huh sweetheart? Say they think your hair's looking a lil' messy, messy enough to break their fucking nose? You know what they're gonna say now? About you? About me?!!" He jabs his finger into his chest, eyes full of fury and voice laced with venom.

You're both a mess of tears and spit and snot and you can't tear your eyes away from each other. John's clearly aiming for maximum emotional damage, and it's working like fucking a charm.

"You think you want to leave, sweetheart? You think I want to stand here day after day and take it? HUH?!"

You crumple to floor, head in your hands, shoulders heaving and whole body shaking. You think you might be sick, might hyperventilate, and honestly it all sounds better than hearing John keep ripping you apart.

"I didn't ever want to hurt you, John!" You wail into the floor. "God- fuck- I ne-never--" You can't string a sentence together, can't think, can't breathe.

"Please stop," you whimper. To John. To yourself. To anyone that will listen. "Please."

Hours have passed. Or minutes. Or days. Neither of you can be sure any more.

John is standing over you, chest heaving, breathing harder than any mission he's been on, tears finally starting to subside.

You're still on the floor, hiccuping between laboured breaths and beleaguered sobs.

Finally, finally, you wipe your eyes with your palms, pressing the heels of your hands tight to your face and breathing deep.

The hiccuping slows and the shaking starts to calm.

Wobbling like a fawn standing for the first time, you grab the side of your bed and clutch the blanket tight, pushing yourself onto unsteady legs.

You don't look at John. You can't.

You simply breathe deep once, twice, and turn to your bathroom door at the other end of the room.

John watches, voice raw from screaming, body numb from the same.

He watches you step into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, clicking the lock shut. Hears the shower burst to life.

He wants to walk away - what more is there to do after all? What more can he say?

But he can't bring himself to.

The more he stands there, staring at the bathroom door, the more he takes deep, shaking breaths, the more he can't make himself go.

So he does the only thing he can think to do and perches on the end of your bed. Waiting.

And the longer he waits, the more he realises.

What has he fucking done?

It's not your fault those reporters were scum. Not your fault they were needling him, ridiculing him. Not your fault you snapped. Fuck, he would have snapped too if he wasn't so fucking used to it by now.

If they treated you the way they treated him, no wonder you were pissed.

And the more he thinks that - wondering if they spoke to you the way they spoke to him - the more he wishes he wasn't such a goddamn coward and had knocked their lights out himself.

Wishes he had laid them out in front of you for even daring to speak to you like that.

And then it really hits him. No matter what those assholes might have said to you, he knows he just said much, much worse.

What has he fucking done?

And finally, finally, he realises something that brings him crashing back down from his thoughts and plummeting into the room: you've been in the shower a real long time.

John's at the door in just three strides.

"Sweetheart?" He shakes the door handle rapidly when you don't answer.

"Please sweetheart, open the door for me. Please!" His voices cracks at the end with desperation.

Still no answer.

He slams the handle down and the lock shatters like it was never even there.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" He stops short when he sees you, hunched in the corner of the shower, still in your clothes but soaked through and shaking like a leaf.

"God, sweetheart." He grabs a towel off the back of your door and all but dives into the shower, shutting it off quickly and wrapping you up in the towel's soft warmth in a singular, fluid movement.

"I've got you, shit- I've got you sweetheart." He realises he's crying again but he doesn't have the energy to stop it. He doesn't even care to, not when you're staring despondently at the wall, eyes glassy and breathing shallow.

"I'm going to lift you now, is that ok?" He murmurs softly, pressing you tightly into his body, soaking up some more of the damp between his own clothes and the towel.

You don't answer, still staring at the wall, so John lifts you ever so carefully, bundling you into his arms like you weigh nothing.

He gently lifts one of your arms with his, wrapping it around his neck, then does the same with the other.

"Hold on ok? Please hold on." You hear the whimper in his voice, bringing you back to reality ever so slightly, just enough to grip the back of his neck with your cold fingers.

You hear him sigh in relief at you registering his voice. "There you go, sweetheart. I've got you."

He steps out the shower with you wrapped in his arms and brings you back into the bedroom, placing you carefully on the end of the bed like he's terrified you might shatter into a million pieces if he moves too quickly.

"There you go beautiful, let's get you dried off now." He doesn't even think about what he's saying, just doing what he can to comfort you, to comfort himself.

You're shaking from the cold, but he's still shaking too.

Gently, reverently, he starts to pat you down with the towel, beginning with your damp hair and moving over your body. "We need to get you out of these clothes, sweetheart." He's looking at you like he's pleading. "Can you do that?"

You're still not focusing properly, so he places his fingers on your cheek and guides your face until you're looking right at him.

"Hey sweetheart, I said we need to get you changed, can you manage that for me?"

You stare at him, his eyes so painfully blue and so incredibly sorry. He's so fucking sorry.

You nod slowly, feeling his fingers still tracing the side of your face.

"There's my girl," he whispers, standing to grab you some dry clothes from your dresser.

He hears you shift behind him, peeling off your sodden shirt and shorts, sneezing once from the chill left by the water.

He smiles imperceptibly to himself, a fraction of the tension leaving his body as you start to come back to yourself.

After a beat he asks, "you decent, sweetheart?" You nod slightly, your body still feeling stiff and fuzzy.

John can't see your nodding, but he hears the shuffle behind him as you clamber into bed.

"Let me get that for you." His voice is whisper soft as he pulls back the covers, letting you settle in and get comfortable.

His eyes rake over you, warm yet pained, holding onto everything he wishes he could say if only he weren't so afraid.

You're wrapped in the bed sheets, eyes still hazy and red rimmed from crying, breath shallow but steady, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket.

Your hair is a messy halo above you, splayed out on the pillow. Gently, he leans forward and brushes a strand away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"That better, darlin'?"

Your voice is croaky and shaky, but still unmistakably yours. "Thought I was 'sweetheart'?"

John's lips twitch ever so slightly. "You'll always be my sweetheart, we both know that."

"Do we?" Your eyes are cloudy but your face is an open book, raw still from the events of the night, unable to hide what you've spent so long pushing down. "Doesn't feel like it anymore, Walker."

"Please don't do that." He sounds like he's been punched in the gut, his voice staggering. "Please don't go back."

You knit your brows together in confusion. "Walker, I don't-"

"I know I have no right to ask anything of you, not after what I've done to you tonight," his eyes are scanning your face desperately as if this is the last time he might be this close to you. After what he's said tonight, maybe it will be. The thought is too painful to entertain in the moment, "but please, don't send me back to 'Walker', not after I know what it's like to be 'John.'"

One of his hands is resting on the pillow next to your head, his fingers clenching and unclenching in an attempt to expel the tension his body his holding. An attempt that is currently failing.

His other hand traces patterns on the blanket, fingertips ghosting over yours occasionally, drinking in the slightest touch of you just in case it's his last chance. Just so he remembers how it felt to be so close, even if he never gets to be yours.

"Please, even if-" his voice chokes on a sob that threatens to escape, "-even if you can't be my sweetheart no more, don't make me- don't make me go back to just 'Walker.' He's a fuck up, ya know? He says things he doesn't mean when he's scared and he doesn't say the things he means because he's scared and -"

You cut him off by lifting the edge of the blanket to your left, exposing the bed underneath.

"Just get in, John," you try for indifference but the lilt in your voice betrays your fondness.

God he doesn't deserve that fondness. But Lord knows he's at its mercy.

He slides into the bed next to you, letting you shift so you're rolled onto your side and facing him as he's facing you.

For a while you just quietly exist next to each other. Breathing each other's air, relishing in each other's space. Broken and whole at once.

He tentatively stretches the fingers of left hand, ever-so-subtly brushing your right, drawing an invisible pattern as he braces himself for what he has to do next.

Because, after all these months of running, John knows he finally has to tell the truth.

"Sweetheart, listen-"

"I beat up those reporters."

"That- That doesn't matter now sweetheart, I'm not upset at you, I promise I'm not upset at you, I'm upset at me. I should have never let them speak to you, should have protected you like you deserve, I should have never said-" John's words almost roll into one as his mouth works to catch up with his mind.

You take that moment to link your fingers with his, stopping him in his tracks.

"They never spoke to me, John. I only went after them because of what they said to you."

Oh...

Oh.

"...oh."

You wait for John to process, gently flexing your fingers that are tangled up in his, grounding, reminding him you're still there with him.

When he finally speaks, it's all but a whisper in the dead of night, a soft prayer finally set free.

"I love you, sweetheart. You know that...right?"

Your breath gets stuck in your chest, your fingers stilling.

"I really need you to know that."

You think your heart is about to beat out your chest, and you're sure that he could hear it even without the super soldier senses.

You regard him softly, lovingly.

"Will you stay with me? Just...please don't run, John. My heart can't handle it anymore. Please stay tonight…"

John unlinks your fingers, reaching around the plush curve of your waist to pull you flush to his chest.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs into your hair. "Never leaving you, not ever."

That's how you fall asleep, pressed into the broad chest of a soldier - your super soldier - a pair of broken hearts beating in sync at long last.

The soft morning light filters through your curtains, golden tendrils curling at the edges of your vision. Blinking awake slowly, you shift to find yourself wrapped snug against John's chest, his painfully blue eyes staring at you.

"How- how long have you been watching me?" You manage in your haze of morning fog.

"Mmm, couple minutes," John hums, fingers of his left hand stroking the side of your cheek absentmindedly. "You're pretty when you're sleepy," he muses.

"What about when I'm awake?" You huff.

"Most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He doesn't say it so much as states it. So absolute, so certain, that it makes your chest ache just a little.

"About last night," you begin tentatively, rolling over to face John completely.

"Sweetheart," he starts, propping himself up on one elbow, "I didn't meant to hurt you, I promise I didn't-"

"I love you too, John. So much. Pretty sure it's bad for my health at this point."

He regards you a moment before his lips find yours - soft, caressing passes that say more than any words ever could. His tongue darts out experimentally, licking it's way into your mouth as you groan, your body relaxing under the tenderness of his touch.

"I want to show you," he breathes between kisses, hands stroking up your sides delicately, "show you how much I love you. Want to make sure you know it every day if you'll let me."

One hand massages the back of your head carefully, the pressure of his fingertips in your scalp deliciously persistent. The other rubs circles on the top of your thigh, making sure to go no further without your permission, but offering something more if you want.

And god do you want.

"Show me John, show me how much you love me."

The noise John makes is feral - not so much a grunt as a growl - as he rolls you onto your back and pulls down your shorts and underwear in one fluid movement. You barely have time to think before his lips are back on yours, tasting, teasing, going from your mouth to your jaw to your neck then retracing their path all over again.

His hand is no longer on your thigh but between your legs, middle finger pressing into your pussy as the heel of his hand comes to grind against your clit.

"Fuck John-" you keen, hips bucking up off the mattress at the intensity of every sensation he's making you feel.

"That's it sweetheart, fucking scream for me," he pants into your neck, finger dragging out of your hole before plunging back in, eliciting a squelching noise that you'd find embarrassing on any other occasion, but John groans at the sound instead, causing your face to flush and thighs to tremble.

"So wet for me princess, so ready for me." A second finger joins the first, gently scissoring you open while his knuckles graze that spongy spot in your walls.

"John, I'm gonna- can't last," your fists clench the bedsheets for balance as you teeter on the edge of oblivion. But all too fast, he's pulling out, leaving you empty and pulsing around nothing.

"Sorry sweetheart, I know you're close, but I need you coming on my cock first."

Before you can formulate a response John is pushing the bulbous tip of his cock into your dripping entrance. Breaching you slowly, one hand rests beside your head for leverage while the other feeds inch by glorious inch of him into you.

The burn is immediate - he's so much bigger than anyone you've been with before - but it doesn't take long before the stretch gives way to a blinding pleasure deep in your core.

"Fuck princess, dreamed 'bout this so much." His pace is slow, grinding his hips deep into yours before pulling back and pressing into you again, over and over and over.

Your hands wrap around his back, nails digging into his shoulders, desperate for purchase on his shirt as his hips pick up speed.

"Want you to fall apart on me, ok? Come around my cock, let me feel you break for me." John barely knows what he's saying, the babbling words falling freely from his plush lips as he gasps for breath, trying desperately to keep it together for you.

"John, fuck John, love you, gonna come for you gonna come gonna —" your head falls back as you shatter, pleasure bursting from every corner of your body, hips rolling uncontrollably beneath John as you come harder than you thought was possible.

John works you through it, hips never faltering as your cunt flutters around him, whispering praise into your neck like they're his deepest kept secrets; "There we go sweetheart, just like that, doing so well for me, feel so good coming like that, I've got you."

Eventually, the feeling subsides as you come back to your senses. John's still moving within you, hips fucking into you at a leisurely pace that barely hides how close his restraint is to snapping.

"Shit sweetheart, gotta fill you up, that ok? Can I? Please say I can." His hips pick up speed again, one hand coming to grab your thigh and spread it open for him, letting his thrusts angle deeper inside you.

"Need you John," you murmur into his neckline, licking away droplets of sweat as they run down his chiselled jaw, "need you to come in me, wanna feel it."

Your words decimate any control he had left as he fucks into you in earnest. His thrusts are erratic, quick and sloppy, shunting you up the bed with every punishing snap of his hips. "Thank you, thank you thank you, fuck gonna have you leaking for me, want it dripping, want you to feel me, sweetheart." Warmth floods your walls, painted white from the inside as John pumps himself into you, marking you, taking you completely.

After a moment he pulls out, careful not to jostle you too much, panting into your neck as he tries to regain what little composure he might have had before he fucked you stupid.

"That was- fuck John, that was amazing!" You exclaim with a breathless laugh, fingers tangling into his sweat-soaked hair and pulling his head from the crook of your neck so you can smash your lips to his in a messy display of self indulgence.

The tips of his ears go red, pride blooming in his chest. "You weren't so bad yourself, sweetheart."

You both lie there, breathless and glowing, drinking each other in like this - raw and messy and hopelessly in love.

A buzz from your bedside table snaps you out of your daze, your hand fumbling clumsily for you phone with the weight of a super soldier collapsed on top of you.

"You could help, you know?" You scoff at him.

"Hmm don't think so sweetheart," he chuckles, eyes full of boyish mischief.

You huff as you finally manage to bring your phone to your face, seeing Alexei's name flash on the screen. You flip up to your texts, reading aloud.

"I'm sorry you left party early, little one. I saw Walker leave too - maybe you talk to him? You are both like eddy mane beans in sexually tense pod, you should open pod and see how things go, da?" Your brows furrow, trying to make sense of his words. "Also, I make breakfast. Come to kitchen soon please."

You pop your phone back on the nightstand, confusion pulling at you.

"I think he means edamame…" John offers thoughtfully.

"Ooohhh edamame beans…right…" You pause a moment, metaphorically scratching your head. "Still doesn't make much sense."

John laughs - a bright, full laugh that tugs your heart open and fills it to the brim.

Somewhere down the hall, Alexei smirks to himself while flipping a piece of bacon. He'd save you both a plate for later.

🪻dividers by saradika-graphics <3

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[bckyslover-deactivated20251213]

mmm having john walker thoughts lately and i could imagine you guys in his room, his back against the headboard, you’re straddling his lap as his hands roam your body in a heated out makeup session. his larger hands squeezing your ass cheeks while trailing kisses from your neck leaving markings to your collarbone.

“missed me today didn’t you sweetheart?” his voice was gravely, but so so sexy it made your pussy clench around nothing. you hummed softly, nodding, your hands gripping his shoulders as he slowly pulled your leggings down.

“words babygirl..” his fingers so close…

“mhm.. missed you john, missed you tons..” you whined, your hips rocking on their own. john smirked, slipping two fingers into your soaking pussy making you moan, “missed my girl too..” he mumbled against your skin.

his free hand wrapped around your neck as you started grinding against his hand, his fingers curling inside, “such a needy girl, fucking yourself on my hand.. seems like you don’t need my cock at all.”

“n-no, no!” you pouted, “need your cock, want it so bad baby, please..” you pleaded. john pulled his fingers out and licked them clean, making you whine at the loss of contact.

“gonna give my baby what she wants, yeah?” john said, slipping his sweatpants down to his ankles, gripping your hips as you sunk down on his cock, your eyes rolling as you let out a breathy moan.

“shit baby, so tight.” john groaned, “fuck.. john..” you gasped, rolling your hips. “c’mon sweetheart take what you need, show me how much of a good girl you are…”

it was automatic as you started bouncing, skin slapping—echoing in the room as you rode him, your tits bouncing in his face as he sucked in between both, biting down on your swollen nipple, “so fucking sexy.” he could feel your slick dripping down his cock and onto his thighs.

“c’mon babygirl, cum on my cock, c’mon.” he encouraged as you squeezed him, whimpering, “gonna fill you up till you’re leaking.”

you both came at the same time, moaning as john looked down seeing the thick cream coat his cock, proud of himself and you, “oh baby.. did so good for me..” as he held you in his arms, kissing your shoulder, “you can give me a few more… can’t you?”

anyways…. now i need him.

[selene-muse]

𝐏𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 - 𝐖𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐁𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary: you get the bad news about how the school is down an ice rink and now you have to face the captain of the hockey team to work out scheduling conflicts. easier said than done if he wasn't your ex.

Pairings: hockey player!john walker x figure skater!fem!reader

Warnings: exes-to-lovers- it will take a while to get there, they hate eachother rn, second chance romance, john is kind of an asshole in the first few chapters, john sometimes calls reader by a nickname, mentions of the breakup-it was a messy one, arrogant!john walker, stubborn!reader, slight tension, fluff, language, fem!reader with vague descriptions, little to no use of y/n, and proofreadish.

WC: 3K

Author's Note: kinda a slow start, setting everything up for the rest of the series. if anyone has seen 22 jump street that's how i'm picturing john in this fic as zook haythe.

puck you masterlist

"What do you mean we have to share a rink?!" You screech at Wanda. It's Saturday morning, and this wasn't the news you were looking forward to hearing from your best friend and co-captain.

"Val texted me this morning about the bad news."

You scramble out of bed, trying to find your phone as you mutter, "Why didn't she call me?"

Wanda smirks. "You seriously wanna deal with Val at 8am on a Saturday? She literally was blowing up my phone at 7am this morning. Knowing her, she did try calling you first."

You finally find your phone underneath your bed, and you see that she did call you at 6:30 am, 18 times.

You sigh, sitting back down on your bed. "So what exactly happened?"

Wanda sits next to you. "According to my brother, it got vandalized, graffiti everywhere, even on the ice. The entire place was trashed when security arrived."

"Who would do that?"

"Yelena was saying how she and Ava think it's a fraternity from Banting."

You raise an eyebrow. "You're talking to Yelena? Since when?"

"Okay, I was eavesdropping. I ran into them at the gym today."

"Seriously, do you ever sleep?"

Wanada flips her hair. "Some of us don't need beauty sleep."

"Okay, I still don't get why a fraternity from-oh wait. Oh my god, they think it's Sam Wilson's frat that did this?"

There has always been a long-standing rivalry between the college you're at, Westview, and Banting, specifically within the sports teams. More specifically, between the two hockey teams.

Wanda gives a slight nod.

"Ugh, what did that fucking asshole do to piss off Sam and his team that bad? How do they even know it's them? Wait, isn't that vandalism a crime?"

"They're only assuming since John and Sam have had it out for each other ever since freshman year. You know, building C, half the time the cameras aren't even working. It's an old building."

"Okay, so what does that mean for us?" You ask. You brace yourself for her answer.

"Like I said. We have to share rink time with the hockey team."

"Fine, let's pull up their schedule and then we can-"

"That's the other thing..." Wanda trails off nervously, playing with the ends of her hair.

"Just say it, how much worse can it get?"

"YouhavetotalkwithJohnaboutscheduling," Wanda rushes out.

You give a slight laugh. "I'm sorry? Did I hear you right, talk with that asshole? No, not happening," you reply, getting up from the bed. Wanda watches as you start pacing around the dorm.

You continue, "Why can't we just do it online? Like usual."

"Well, Alexei already has their training schedule booked out several months in advance."

"Ha! That's surprising."

Wanda pulls out her laptop, pulls up their training schedule, and shows it to you. Your eyes widen as you stare at it.

"What the fuck is this? Do they seriously need all those days to train? Practically every day is blocked off for training or some other weird shit they do."

"I mean, they didn't need to worry about sharing a rink until literally today," Wanada explains, stating the obvious.

"Okay, circling back to me talking to John, why?"

"Val tried to talk to Alexei, and he's not budging. He told her to train at the community rink. And then Val, being Val, said some nasty, uncalled-for names and words, and now Alexei has blocked her."

You heavily sigh. "And now she wants us to try to talk with John or the team about possibly rearranging their schedule," you finish

"Yep."

"Well, good luck with that," you say, and start heading to the bathroom.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Me? Last time I checked, we're co-captains, as in this is a joint effort."

"And last time I checked. Your ex isn't the captain of the hockey team," you call over your shoulder as you slam the bathroom door shut.

---

The rest of the weekend, you lock yourself away in the dorm to study, but you know you can't avoid the situation forever.

The skating club needs to train just as much as the hockey team.

Which is why you try to convince Mel to go with Wanda to speak with the rest of the hockey team.

Mel can see through your feeble attempts at avoiding talking to your ex.

She gives you a slight pitying look as she says your name. "I mean, I would, but no offense, John is kinda intimidating and straight up arrogant. I can't believe you guys dated for so-"

"Yeah, I can't believe it either."

The breakup was messy, and the worst part is it's still fresh. John is known for holding grudges for an extremely long time. Sam Wilson is a perfect prime example. Their rivalry began in middle school, and now they're seniors in college. So that says it all.

"Never mind. It's fine. I'll figure something else out."

Your last and final resort is your other best friend, Johnny.

He's trying not to laugh as you explain the situation to him, and he's not doing a very good job of it.

"Johnny, please. This is serious."

He continues to laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm just picturing you marching over to the sports center and yelling at Walker."

You give him an unamused look. "You're saying I'm not intimidating?"

"Not at all, babe. I'm just saying you and he have a messy past."

"Don't remind me. Mel already did that this morning."

Johnny scoots closer to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

"He's a dick, and he shouldn't have said what he said. Okay, be honest with me, was it an actual breakup or was it a we're taking a break kind of situation?"

"Definitely a breakup. We're done, over. Besides, I hear he's already moved on. He's dating some girl named Olivia?"

Johnny frowns. "Who?"

"I dunno. Miguel knows her from his pre-med classes. He told me he saw them last weekend at the bar Pietro works at."

Johnny pulls you in for a side hug. "I'm sorry."

You rest your head against his shoulder. "Don't be. I'm over it."

Johnny doesn't say it, but he knows you're lying. You and John dated for 4 years.

"I'll go with Wanada if you skate pairs with me this year," Johnny says.

"Not happening. You know it's been too long since I've done that."

"C'mon. Why not? Besides, I don't think Gwen is coming back."

"I prefer skating solo," you firmly state.

Johnny sighs, "Yeah, among other things."

You elbow him for making that comment. Wanda has been hounding you all day about how the two of you should just get it over with, and she's right.

---

It's October, and you don't know why Alexei has the hockey team running laps on the track field, but that's where you find the team. Even from the other side of the track, you can make out John's tall figure.

You and Wanda don't see Alexei, but you do see Bucky, Yelena, and Ava standing by a water cooler.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Wanda fixing her hair. "Hey," she calls out, and the three turn around.

"Oh, hey!" Yelena replies first, waving at you and Wanda before jogging over to the two of you. Out of the whole team, Yelena, Bob, and, surprisingly, John's childhood best friend, Lemar, are the friendliest.

You're still surprised that Lemar is still friendly with you after the breakup. More like you're amazed John isn't bothered by it.

You glance over Yelena's shoulder and see Ava and Bucky whispering to each other as they shoot glances at you and Wanda.

"What's up?" Yelena asks, but she's looking at Wanda, and you try not to smile.

"We need to talk to you about your training schedule," you say, and her eyes slide over to you.

She bites her lip. "Um, you should be asking Walker or Alexei about that."

"See, I told you," Wanda mutters, elbowing your arm.

"Fine, where's Alexei?"

"He's out of town right now. Family emergency, and our assistant coach Carol isn't here right now."

"Okay, we'll just talk with her when she gets back," you reply, giving, and try to walk off, but Wanda stops you.

"What the hell? We need training time. Pietro and I need that training time," she hisses in your ear. The look she gives you is a silent reminder that she and Pietro are here on scholarship.

Just past Wanda's shoulder, you can see John, Lemar, and Bob finishing a lap.

Your heart feels heavy as it thuds erratically in your chest as John gets closer. He and Lemar race each other the last few meters, and they whiz past you and Wanda.

Bob slows, gives a wave, and follows after the other two.

"C'mon. I'm right here," Wanda reassures you quietly, and links her arm with yours. You free arm grabs her forearm tightly, but Wanda doesn't say anything, just shoots an encouraging look.

You and John haven't spoken since the breakup. Most couples don't. The relationship ended in a yelling match, feelings were hurt, trust was destroyed, and promises were broken.

The breakup was almost 2 months ago, but it feels like just yesterday that you and John were screaming at each other.

Lemar is the first to greet you and Wanda.

"Hey, long time no see," he jokes as he walks closer.

John acts like you two aren't there, hanging back with Ava and Bucky; it looks like they're in a deep discussion about something.

"They're here about our training schedule," Yelena fills him and Bob in. Bob and Lemar both look apologetic.

"Yeah, we heard about that. Sorry, it happened to your rink," Bob says, and you give a small smile in thanks.

"What do you need from us?" Lemar asks, glancing back and forth between you and Wanda.

"Val said that Alexei has the rink pretty booked out for the next couple of months," Wanda starts, glancing at you before continuing. "And we're hoping you're able to reschedule or move some of those days for our team?"

"I mean, if it were up to me, hell yeah, no problem. But sadly, I'm not the captain," Lemar replies.

"Too bad," you say, and John chooses that moment to acknowledge that you and Wanda are here.

He stalks over with a guarded expression. Your eyes briefly meet before he looks away, focusing his gaze on something over your head.

"This is a closed practice," he drawls.

You resist the urge to say something sarcastic back. You feel Wanada squeezing your arm, reminding you to keep calm.

"I need to talk to you," you say, staring at John.

"Didn't you hear what I just said?"

That familiar arrogant tone of his is starting to piss you off already.

"Closed practice for what? Running in circles?"

"It's called conditioning, something you're not familiar with, he replies, finally looking at you, and you wanna smack that stupid smirk off his face.

You don't even realize you're moving forward until Wanda is pulling at your arm.

"John, please, we need rink time-"

John cuts Wanda off. "Sorry, but no," he firmly says and starts walking away from you two.

You break away from Wanda's grasp and stomp after him. He's crouched down, getting something from his gym bag, and you stand behind him, arms crossed.

"Hey. We need that training time."

"You really don't listen, do you? Glad to see that trait hasn't changed."

You glance at the sky, giving a silent prayer to the universe to give you patience and strength when it comes to dealing with him.

"John, please, we really need the rink time," you try to say in the most polite tone you can muster.

He stands, turning to face you with that same smirk on your face.

"Are you actually begging me?"

You scoff. "No, trying to reason with you in a mature, adult way."

"What a shame," he flippantly replies and starts texting, completely ignoring you.

"John."

Silence.

"You're seriously going to ignore me? Real mature."

"I have nothing else to say, Ice Princess."

You tense when you hear that old nickname. The one he gave you when you first started dating. Back then, it sounded sweet and endearing; it would always make you melt, giving in to anything he wanted.

But now it's like a slap in the face. It sounds condescending, filled with resentment.

"Fine. Hate me for all I care, but can you at least think of my team? Wanda, Pietro, Mel, Miles, and Joh-"

"Okay, okay, you don't need to do a damn roll call. I know who's in your skating club," John grumbles, as he shoots you an annoyed look. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened to your rink, okay? But my answer is still no."

"We have nowhere else to go."

"Isn't there the community center?"

"That's on the other side of town!"

John shrugs again. "Not my problem."

You step closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Actually, it is. If I find out it was Sam's fraternity that fucked up our rink, you're dead."

He tries not to laugh, and he shoves your hand away. "Me?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," you snap.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

"Don't be such an asshole."

"I thought you liked that quality about me," he replies.

You give him one last withering look before walking away.

"Well, that went well," Wanada says as you two leave the track.

---

Later that night, Lemar texts you saying he'll try talking to John for you.

"Okay, and if Lemar can't get him to change his mind. What then?" Wanda asks. She sounds stressed, and you're trying to remain calm for her and the rest of the team.

"I reached out to their assistant coach, but she hasn't replied. And who knows when Alexei will be back. Worst-case scenario, we use the community rink until we can get a hold of Alexei or Carol."

"Or by some miracle, John says yes," Wanda adds.

"It's gonna be some goddamn miracle."

The miracle happens two days later when you're studying in the library with Johnny.

"Please, don't make us go to the community rink," Johnny begs you. He's sprawled across the table, and he's been whining all morning about how the community rink smells funny.

"Johnny, like I said before, it might be our only option."

"No," Johnny whines out, sliding back into his chair.

"Have you found a partner yet for your pairs?" You ask, hoping to distract him from the scheduling mess.

"Ugh, she's some junior."

"That's not bad?"

"She's very eager to train with me."

"Oh, poor you," you tease.

Your phone vibrates, and you see that you have a text.

Lemar: Meet me at the rink in 20.

You quickly start packing up your things as Johnny gives you a bewildered look.

"Where's the fire?"

"Lemar just texted, and it sounds like promising news," you excitedly say.

"Want me to go with?"

"Nah, it's fine, it's Lemar. We're cool."

Before you rush off, you tell Johnny you'll see him and the rest of the team for dinner. Hopefully with good news."

You're literally running across campus to get to the athletic center and barely make it in time. The ice rink is in the lower level, so you're taking the stairs two at a time and almost stumble through the doors.

It's semi-dark and eerily quiet. You see a figure skating around the rink, picking up practice cones. Your heart drops when you see the number 10 and the last name WALKER on the back of the jersey.

The door slams shut behind you, making him turn his head in your direction.

"Great," you mutter, walking over to the side of the rink. John leisurely skates over to you, taking off his helmet. His overgrown, shaggy blonde hair falls to the top of his shoulders.

He's looming over you once he's in front of you. The skates adding to his already tall height.

"Is Lemar in the locker room?" You ask.

"No, he left already."

You glance at your phone to double-check the time. You're right on time.

"What the hell?" You mumble, and you're about to text him, but John stops you.

"I asked him to send that text."

"Why?"

"Even if you didn't block me, I know you wouldn't have shown up if I texted you."

What John doesn't know is that you didn't block his number.

"What do you want? To gloat some more?"

John leans against the side of the rink, staring you down.

"No. I'm here to say, okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, to the rink time you so desperately want," he smugly replies and gives you an expectant look. As if you're going to start jumping up and down for joy. Or showering him in thanks.

Instead of feeling relieved or excited, you're suspicious. You know there's a catch. It's John. He's only saying yes if it benefits him in some way.

"What do you want?"

A slow grin spread across his face. "Still the same old Ice Princess, huh?"

"Cut the shit and just tell me what you want."

"You."

You balk at him. "Very funny. Seriously, what do you want?"

"You," he repeats. "For my kinesiology semester project."

You stare at him as if he's lost his mind.

"No," you immediately say.

"Then no rink time," he shoots back.

"You have a whole hockey team and all your stupid fraternity minions. Use them."

John shakes his head. "The team is all seniors, with their own projects or essays to worry about. I would ask Lemar, but he's not going to take it seriously. Frat bros are a no-go."

You're still giving up. "What about your girlfriend? She can't help you. I hear she's pre-med, wouldn't she be perfect for your project?"

John smirks. "You keeping tabs on me, princess?"

"Ew, no. Miguel knows her."

"Miguel O'Hara? How do you know him?"

You ignore his question. "So, why can't Olivia help you out? Aw, did she dump you already?" You taunt.

"Liv and I are going strong," John replies. "And sadly, I need an athlete for my project."

It's like a silent standoff. And you know you're going to lose.

"What do I need to do?"

John smirks as he starts skating backwards. "You'll find out soon enough. See you around, Ice Princess."

You're already regretting saying yes, but this is your only option.

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[iwritefanfictionsnottragedies]

You Really Do Frustrate Me - John Walker x Reader

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary: You're friends. Good friends. Friends who cross the line sometimes, who get tangled in sheets and pretend it doesn’t mean anything. But when John Walker lets his guard down for a moment, it feels a little too intimate to mean nothing.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, friends with benefits, smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), white man with a guitar (definitely needs a warning)

Word Count: 3.4K

The thing about John Walker was that he meant what he said. That was the frustrating part.

He had this way of being direct without being cruel. A little rough around the edges, sure, but honest.

So he made sure to draw the line right away.

“Look, you’re my friend,” he said after the first time you wound up in his bed, pulling on his shirt like it wasn’t a big deal. “That’s what this is. Just friends. That alright?”

It hadn’t stung the way you thought it would. Maybe because he hadn’t said it like an insult. There was no harsh rejection, no coldness in his voice, just the truth. He never gave it much more thought after that, either. That was just the arrangement from that moment on.

But his actions never quite lined up with his words.

He was your friend.

Except when his hand slid low on your back in the kitchen, his palm grazing over the dip of your spine like the touch was accidental, even though it never felt like an accident. 

Except when he leaned close during late night movies, his mouth warm at your ear, whispering suggestive “jokes” that weren’t really jokes at all. 

Except when your phone lit up at one a.m. with his name and two words: come here.

Friends didn’t do that. Friends didn’t pull you into their room with something desperate burning in their eyes, didn’t crush you against the door before you even made it to the bed. Friends didn’t kiss your neck until you couldn’t think, and friends certainly didn’t fuck you like the world might split apart if he didn’t.

But that was John, wasn’t it? Contradictory, difficult to read, and perhaps a little bit selfish.

You were friends. Good friends. Friends who fooled around when the lights were off. Friends who got tangled in sheets and forgot all about the lines that friends don’t cross.

And tonight, it was no different.

You didn’t usually linger in John’s room after.

It’s not like he let you. That was one of the earliest unspoken rules: if you got lazy and drifted off, if your eyes fluttered closed against his pillow for just a little too long, he’d nudge your shoulder, or tug the sheet off your bare body and grunt, “Hey, time to call it a night”. He always said it casually, like he wasn’t shoving you out of the warmest place you’d ever been. Like it didn’t gut you a little more each time.

But tonight, you weren’t tired. You weren’t drifting. And he wasn’t pushing you out yet.

His room was dim and quiet, warm lamplight pooling across the floor. You were sprawled on his bed, propped on one elbow, lazily watching him move around his room. The silence between you was comfortable. Dangerous, but comfortable.

John didn’t notice you watching at first. Until he did.

“You just gonna lay there?” John asked without looking at you, his voice that familiar mix of dry and amused. 

“Yeah,” you said, shameless.

He huffed under his breath. But he didn’t tell you to move.

He was folding laundry with deliberate precision, tucking the edges of his undershirts and rolling them tight into compact little bundles; the army never really leaves you, and neither does the ranger roll.

You let out a quiet laugh when he held up one tan shirt so worn the lamplight bled straight through the fabric. You made a mental note to suggest a trip to the Army Surplus store for replacements, though you were sure he’d wave it off. Men like him rarely let go of old gear; ask a veteran, most of them will swear the holes and thin fabric make it more comfortable.

In the absence of any protest from John, you stayed. 

You watched. 

You let yourself indulge in the quiet, in this small pocket of peace where he wasn’t U.S. Agent, neither a public figure or a highly efficient soldier. He was just… John. 

He moved around the room like you’d simply become a part of his surroundings, noticeably present, but not demanding attention. His rhythm was unhurried, almost domestic. When he finished putting away his laundry, he crossed the room to his desk and opened his laptop.

The glow from the screen lit the hard lines of his face, his expression tightening as he scanned whatever it was that needed his attention. For a few minutes, the only sound was the steady clicking of keys, the occasional shift of his chair. You found yourself watching the set of his shoulders, the way his focus seemed absolute. It was the kind of stillness that made you aware of every small detail, the hum of the lamp, your own breathing, the faint creak of the floor when he leaned back.

After a while, he shut the laptop, the movement breaking the stillness of the moment before the quiet returned. He leaned back in the chair, arms resting lazily on the armrests. A little restless, he scanned his room for something to do.

His eyes flicked toward the corner, where the acoustic guitar leaned against the wall. He walked across the room and picked it up.

You froze.

You’d seen it before, of course. But you’d never seen him pick it up. You’d teased him about it once, asked if he even knew how to play or if the thing was just just for decoration. He’d only given you that crooked half-smile, a small shake of his head, as though you’d pried into something unreasonably private and he was suddenly bashful.

Now, though, he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed with the guitar, sitting close enough that his back leaned against your legs.

You didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.

You didn’t dare to.

Because if he remembered that you were watching him, if he thought he looked stupid, or vulnerable, or anything at all, he’d stop. You knew he would. The man hated nothing more than to be perceived.

So you lay perfectly still, resting your cheek against your hand. 

And you listened.

He strummed a few open strings, twisting the tuning pegs with careful precision, checking, adjusting, humming something under his breath you weren’t meant to catch. Then his hands– God, his hands –settled into a pattern. He began to play.

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It wasn't a song you recognized, and you contemplated whether maybe it was something that he’d written. Something he knew. Something he felt. Or maybe you just didn't know the song.

The melody was unpolished, raw, but beautiful. The kind of melody that said more than words ever could. The kind of sound that lived in his hands and spilled out because it had nowhere else to go. Gentle in a way John never let himself be when he was aware and guarded. 

The sound filled the room, warm and low, each note soaking into your skin. You didn’t dare break the spell by speaking, even though you wanted to. You wanted to ask how long he’s played, who taught him, why he kept it hidden like some kind of secret. Instead, you just… watched.

You followed every motion: the curl of his fingers pressing down the strings, the slow flex of muscle in his forearm as he plucked and strummed, the way his face changed when he was somewhere far away inside the music. 

His face was washed in warm lamplight, and you couldn’t look away. The way his bearded jaw was set, not in tension, but in concentration. The way his shoulders eased with every note, like the music was coaxing him into laying down a piece of his armor.

In this moment, John looked vulnerable. Like this was the part of him he didn’t know how to share.

And your stupid, aching, traitorous heart felt like it was about to cave in on itself under the weight of this intimacy.

This was the kind of unguarded John you craved more than his rough hands on your hips or his mouth on your throat. This was him.

And you were so fucking in love with him that it hurt.

You lost track of time.

It could’ve been minutes or hours, and you would’ve stayed there forever, wrapped in the sound, in the secret, in him.

All you knew was that by the time he played his last note, you were drowning in it; the yearning, the certainty, the hopelessness.

John exhaled and set the guitar aside with careful hands. He didn’t look at you right away, just rubbed the back of his neck like maybe he was embarrassed he’d even let it happen.

When he turned his head, and caught you staring, he just… looked at you.

His expression shifted. Maybe frustration, maybe resignation, something unreadable. Then it was gone, and a faint smirk tugged at his mouth.

Just like that, he was John again. The version of him you were allowed to have.

He climbed back onto the bed, hovering over you. His hand immediately found your bare thigh, fingers squeezing, roaming higher with that same shamelessness that always unraveled you.

“Y’know,” he drawled, mouth brushing your jaw, “I just remembered… I’ve got much more entertaining things to do with my hands right now.”

And just like that, you were back where you always were; pinned beneath the weight of his body, gasping into his mouth, hands clutching at his shirt.

It was abrupt, familiar, the way he crushed his mouth against yours. Desperation threaded through the kiss, the same hunger that always seemed to coil in him when he touched you. Like he couldn’t help it, like he didn’t know how to stop.

You’d never be his. Not in the way you wanted. But the moment he touched you, you forgot about that. Because his lips were on yours, his body pressed against you, and it didn’t matter what you were or weren’t. You wanted him. Even if it was only for now.

John kissed like he fought, unyielding and consuming, dragging you under until you forgot what it felt like to breathe without him. His mouth pressed hot down your throat, tongue dragging across your pulse as you arched into him.

“John–” your voice broke halfway through his name, his hand slipping under your shirt like he owned you. His palm was warm, rough, sliding over your ribs, your stomach, your chest. He groaned against your skin like he’d been starving for it.

“C’mere,” he muttered, hauling you into his lap like you weighed nothing. His hands gripped your thighs, urging you to straddle him. The shift pressed you flush against the hard line of his cock beneath the fabric of his sweats, and you bit down on your lip, trying not to whimper.

His mouth was back on yours, hot, urgent, and desperate. His tongue slipped between your lips, claiming you, and his hands roamed greedily, cupping your ass, sliding up your spine, fisting in your hair.

You kissed him back like you always did, hungry, needy, and willing to give him everything. But somewhere beneath the haze, you noticed the way his hands trembled just slightly when they skimmed your sides. You noticed the way he exhaled hard through his nose like he was holding something back.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. You couldn’t let yourself read into it. You shouldn’t feed the delusion.

So you kept going.

Your shirt hit the floor. His hands slid over your bare skin like a man starved, fingers brushing the underside of your breasts before his mouth followed, kissing and sucking until your head fell back.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered into your skin, almost too low for you to hear. “Jesus Christ.” He stared up at your bare chest with an expression that almost bordered on reverent. 

Your breath caught. You wanted to stop him, ask him what the hell he meant by that. But then his lips wrapped around one nipple, tongue flicking, sucking hard. His other hand kneaded your other breast, rough and needy, like he couldn’t get enough.

When he finally pushed you off of his lap and down onto the bed again, he hovered over you, eyes raking shamelessly over your body. His chest rose and fell fast, his pupils blown wide, his lips slick and pink from kissing you.

And then he smiled; crooked, dangerous, devastating.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his thumb brushing your cheek almost tenderly, before his smile twisted back into a hungry smirk. “Much more entertaining than the guitar, if you ask me.”

He took his shirt off and tossed it across the room. And god, he was beautiful like this. The hard planes of his chest, the strong line of his shoulders. You dragged your hands down him, nails raking lightly, and he shuddered. 

His hand slid down your side, hooking into the waistband of your shorts and panties, tugging them off and sending them in the direction of the rest of the clothes.

He sat back on his heels for a second, eyes dragging over every inch of you. You should’ve felt exposed, but the way he looked at you, like he was starving, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you, made your chest ache instead.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured before leaning down and kissing your stomach, lower and lower until his broad shoulders pressed your thighs apart.

“John–” you gasped when his mouth met you, hot tongue sliding between your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth with a groan that vibrated against you.

Your hand flew to hold onto his blond hair, gripping tight as your hips jerked against his face. He held you down with one arm hooked around your thigh, his other hand sliding two thick fingers into your slick heat. The stretch burned in the best way, his fingers curling just right as his tongue worked you over.

It was usually quick between you two. Desperate. But tonight, he lingered. He savored. Every flick of his tongue, every curl of his fingers was deliberate, coaxing you higher, unraveling you slowly like he wanted to memorize the sound of your moans.

“God, John, fuck! I’m gonna–”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coaxed, voice low and rough, like he couldn’t help but be gentle even when the words burned. “Come for me.”

He continued, never letting his pace falter, and you broke. The orgasm tore through you, your thighs clamping around his head as you cried out his name. He groaned against you, lapping up everything you gave him until you collapsed back against the sheets, trembling.

Before you could catch your breath, he was crawling back up your body, kissing you hard. You tasted yourself on his lips, his tongue, and it made you whimper into his mouth.

“Need to be inside you,” he muttered, yanking his sweats down just enough to free his cock. He was already leaking, flushed, thick and heavy in his hand as he stroked himself once before lining up against your slick entrance.

“John, please,” you whispered, shameless in your desperation.

His eyes darkened, jaw tight. He pushed in slow, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, both of you gasping at the stretch, the fullness.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours. “Always so tight around me.”

He started to move, slow, grinding his hips deep like he wanted to feel every second of it. His hands roamed your body, your thighs, your waist, your breasts, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you.

This wasn’t the usual frantic, hard fucking you’d experienced with John so many times before. This was different. His thrusts were deep, steady, his kisses lingering instead of rushed. His hand slipped under your neck, cradling your head as he kissed you slow, swallowing your moans.

It was too much. Too tender. Too intimate. You wanted to ignore it, but your heart ached with every brush of his lips, every stroke of his cock hitting the spot that made you see stars.

“John–” you whimpered, clawing at his shoulders, dragging him impossibly closer.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I got you,” he panted, hips snapping harder now, driving into you until your nails dug into his back. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

You came again, clenching around him so hard he cursed, his thrusts faltering. He buried himself deep, groaning your name as he spilled inside you, holding you tight as if letting go would be impossible.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breaths, your heart hammering against his chest where he pressed you into the mattress.

John stayed pressed against you for a while, chest heaving, his weight pinning you down in the best way. Normally, he’d roll off quick, make some half joking comment that put the whole thing back into “casual” territory. But tonight, he lingered. His nose brushed your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

You almost let yourself believe that this was the beginning of a shift in the dynamic between you. Almost.

Then he pulled out with a hiss, rolling onto his back and dragging a hand down his face. 

You stared at the ceiling, trying to will your pulse back down, trying to steady the ache in your chest. It shouldn’t have felt like that. None of it. He shouldn’t have called you perfect or beautiful. Not after hearing him play that god damned guitar, and not when he touched you like he was memorizing you.

You took the moment to collect yourself, sitting up slowly, reaching for your clothes at the foot of the bed. The air felt cooler without him pressed against you, goosebumps rising along your skin as you tugged your shirt back on.

When you glanced at him, he was already watching you, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting against his stomach. His eyes lingered for a beat too long before he smirked like he’d been caught.

“You’re staring,” you muttered, pulling your shorts back on.

“You like it, loser,” he shot back, voice rough with exhaustion but smug all the same.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. This was safer territory, teasing and name-calling was firmly within the lines of your “friendship.”

Before you slipped toward the door, you paused, leaning against the frame. “Don’t forget to look over the recon information for next week’s mission.”

He groaned dramatically, tossing an arm over his eyes. “Already did that.”

You tilted your head, unconvinced.

He peeked at you from under his arm, his brows furrowed in that same unreadable way he’d looked at you earlier, before everything got heated again. Something flickered in his expression, frustration maybe? Resignation? But then he shook his head and grabbed his laptop like the moment had never happened.

“…I’m choosing to review the recon, which I totally already read,” he added quickly.

You smirked, victorious. “Dumbass.”

He didn’t look up, but his mouth curved. “Smartass.”

With that, you left, the door clicking softly shut behind you. The hallway felt colder than his room, lonelier for certain. 

You slipped back into your own bed, but sleep was slow to come. Your mind kept circling back to the song he’d played, and how the sex felt far more intimate than it ever had before, and the words that spilled out of his mouth in the moment.

But your mind was particularly vexed by the way that he looked at you after you told him to look at the recon reports. Like he was faced with an incredibly inconvenient thought. Then, as quickly as the look appeared, he shook it off and it was gone.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

John: you know you really do frustrate me

Your stomach flipped.

You: why’s that?

The typing bubble appeared. Paused. Appeared again.

John: idk

You stared at the screen for a long moment, your heart hammering in your chest. You could push. You could ask. You could make him say it.

But you didn’t.

You: im sorry

A moment passed.

John: I know

You had your answer, then. You stared at the words until your vision blurred. 

You didn’t need him to explain, you already understood. 

He felt something. Something he didn’t want to feel.

You set the phone face down, curling under your blanket with a hollow ache in your chest. He didn’t belong to you. Not really. But he wanted you enough to let himself slip up.

And for tonight, and maybe forever, you’d sit with that knowledge. Quiet, devastating, and enough to keep you awake long after the tower went still.

End.

A/N: What if I were to tell you that this fic was based off of a real experience of mine from a very long time ago??

I recorded the audio clip during the actual moment that inspired the story.

That guy is long gone now (thankfully), but GOD what a moment.

[bratty-in-boots]

ʚ♡︎ɞ DAY 2: PRAISE | ZOOK HAYTHE

⤷ kinktober m.list gif creds @zoooooooook ‎ᯓword count. 950+

The city buzzes outside the hotel windows, neon lights flashing against the glass. You’re still warm from dinner—cheeks pink from wine and laughter—when your husband takes your hand, his thumb tracing circles like he can’t let go. The elevator ride is quiet but full of tension, and by the time the key card unlocks the door, your chest is tight with anticipation.

You don’t even make it inside before Zook has you against the door, tall body pressing you flush to the polished wood. His mouth covers yours in a kiss that tastes of red wine and restraint finally snapped. The slam of the door echoes through the suite, but neither of you care.

“God,” he mutters against your lips, voice rough, “look at you. Prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

The word makes your stomach flip, heat pooling low as you clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer. He feels it instantly—Zook always does. His lips travel down the line of your jaw, slow and reverent, until his breath skims your throat.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly. “You nervous, baby? Or just that desperate for me?”

“Both,” you whisper, and the honesty cracks something open in him.

His laugh rumbles low, satisfied. “That’s my girl.”

His palms grip your hips hard, dragging you tighter against him until you can feel the thick press of his arousal through his slacks. He doesn’t stop talking, doesn’t stop feeding you words that make you weak. “You looked perfect tonight. Everyone at that restaurant staring, and all you saw was me. Could’ve exploded with pride, baby. Do you even know what you do to me?”

The praise makes your breath hitch, head falling back against the door. He notices and grins, fingers catching your jaw and tipping your face up so your eyes meet his. “You like when I talk about you like that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Zook,” you murmur.

“Good girl,” he praises, and your body jolts with want.

He shoves your dress higher, fabric sliding up your thighs until the hotel’s cool air kisses your skin. “So sensitive,” he whispers, knuckles brushing your hip. “All this for me? You’re a dream.”

Your nails trace his jaw, your own words spilling out before you can stop them. “You looked so good tonight. That suit—you have no idea how hard it was to sit across from you. You’re so handsome, Zook. You take care of me, you lead… you’re everything.”

His breath stutters, his forehead dropping to yours. “Say it again.”

“You’re everything.”

The growl that leaves him shakes you both. His mouth crashes into yours, hungrier now, hips rutting against you with a roughness that makes your knees buckle. He holds you up, muttering, “Only you talk to me like that. Only you.”

He shifts you, bracing your back square to the door, lifting your leg to hook around his hip. The angle has you gasping, skirt bunched high, his hand locked tight on your thigh. The hard line of him grinds against your soaked panties, and the hotel’s silence feels charged, every moan too loud, every breath ricocheting through the suite.

“Up against this door,” he growls, kissing you until your lips are swollen, “so everyone in the hallway could know how perfect you sound for me. They won’t, though. That’s mine. All mine.”

Your moan proves him right, and he groans back, fumbling with his belt with one hand while holding you steady with the other. When he frees himself, thick and hot against your thigh, you can’t help whispering frantic praise.

“You’re so strong, so good to me, I love the way you touch me—”

“Stop,” he hisses, grinding against your heat. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

“Good,” you gasp. “I want you to.”

His control snaps. He drags your panties aside and thrusts into you in one smooth, unrelenting stroke. The world tilts. Your back hits the door with a thud, your cry muffled against his shoulder as he curses raggedly.

“Christ, baby. You take me so well. Always so tight for me—fuck—you’re perfect. You’re mine.”

Every thrust is deep, deliberate, punctuated by his voice, low and rough in your ear. “So beautiful. So sweet. Never letting you go.”

You cling to him, babbling your own praise between gasps. “You feel so good, Zook. You’re perfect, you’re everything—”

“Say it again,” he demands, hips slamming harder.

“You’re everything!”

He groans, thrusting faster, the door rattling behind you. Sweat slicks both your bodies, his grip bruising on your thigh, his mouth catching yours between curses and murmured worship.

The pleasure builds sharp and unbearable, winding tight until you’re spilling words without thought. “You’re so good to me—you’re the best—I love you, I love you—”

His voice tears out of him, raw. “Cum for me, baby. Right here. Let me feel it.”

The command wrecks you. You cry out, body clenching hard around him as your orgasm rips through you. He holds you tight, muttering, “That’s it, good girl, that’s my girl, so proud of you,” until you can’t tell if you’re trembling from pleasure or from his words alone.

He drives through your release, chasing his own until his thrusts grow sloppy. With a guttural moan he buries himself deep, spilling into you, teeth scraping your shoulder as he shudders. His body trembles, voice breaking as he whispers, “Mine, mine, mine.”

Silence follows, broken only by your shared breathing. Zook presses soft kisses to your damp skin, his forehead resting against yours. His hand strokes your cheek with the same reverence he showed at dinner, grounding you back from the edge.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” he whispers, voice hoarse but tender. “You’re everything I’ll ever need.”

Your lips curve into a tired, blissed smile as you brush his cheek. “Happy anniversary, Zook. You’re everything too.”

kinktober taglist ✎ @walkerofshield

[blank-potato]

My World Revolves Around Me

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

You even remembered the way he’d once lifted you clean off the ground by the front of your shirt, when you swooped in on his save and sidetracked the whole mission.  “What’s the problem, Johnny?” you poked, despite the fact that your feet were dangling in the air.  “Do that again, I swear…” he seethed, his eyes practically burning a hole in yours.  His fingers had curled just beneath your collarbone, firmly and for days after, you’d find yourself clutching your own shirt, remembering his grip on you.  Wondering, traitorously, how it would feel if he ever used them to spank you and or choke you.  Or You're America's sweetheart and think the world revolves around you. So when you try to assert your dominance with John, he makes sure you know who's really in charge.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, dacryphilia, consensual filming of sex, teasing, bondage, narcissist!reader, degradation, voyeurism, reader and John both being assholes, power play, spanking (very little), choking kink, hand kink (a little)

WC: 3.3k

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts since like May and I finally finished it. Might finish the version that has sub!John later if I have the time. Happy kinktober :)

***

John hated you with a passion.

“This is a mission, not a photo op,” John says as you take the time to pose for the cameras, looking extra heroic. 

“I can multitask,” you reply with a wink. You were always doing things like this, and it got on John's nerves like nothing else. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an interview to give.”

You were always saying stuff like this, not just to get on his nerves, which was an added bonus, but because you actually believed it. 

You might be a bit of a narcissist. You were number one; your world revolved around you. 

The attention and love that came with being a hero, you loved to bask in it, and it annoyed John that no one could see through it. 

You were shameless. 

And you wanted everyone to love you, including John, who seemed to think you were public enemy number one. 

Not that you blame him, you'd tease him relentlessly, push and push until he’d eventually snap at you. Whether it was during training, when you’d be too focused on how you looked in the mirror instead of actually following instructions, or when you were supposed to be working together on a mission plan, only to challenge every single one of his decisions just to see that vein in his temple twitch.

“Poor little John Walker, throwing a fit when he doesn’t get his way,” you’d tease with a mocking pout.

“You and I both know it’s not that. It’s the fact that you’re an uncompromising—” he’d start, voice tight with frustration.

“I won’t compromise,” you’d cut in smoothly, poking at his chest with each and every word. “Because I’m right and you’re wrong. Like always."

He hated being poked. Which was exactly why you did it.

And then there were the times you'd interrupt his interviews, all fake politeness and feigned innocence, swooping in with a mic of your own just as he was about to make a point.

“Oh, I had no idea you were live,” you’d say sweetly. “You don’t mind if I add something, right?”

Before he could answer, you’d already be nudging him aside, all smiles for the camera while he glared murder behind you.

Oh, how you loved to see him so angry at you. But what you wanted more was for him to love you just as much as you loved yourself.

For him to finally give in and see you the way the rest of the world sees you, like their saving grace.

***

One night, when the rest of the team is getting ready for a night out, just dinner and drinks, but you’re not going with them. You have something a little more nefarious planned. 

“Sure, we can’t convince you to come with us?” Bob asks, his voice warm and hopeful. He lingers near the door, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on you.

You smile, just the slightest curve of your lips, something playful glinting in your eyes. “I have other plans, but thanks.”

John looks like he wants to ask what those plans are, but the elevator dings and someone calls his name. He gives you one last look, one you pretend not to notice, before he follows the others out.

It’s thirty minutes into dinner when John’s phone buzzes on the table.

– Can you come back to the Tower? I need help with something.

He sighs at the message. Why did you choose him of all people? But the inherent goodness in him made him stand up from the table.

“Going so soon?” Alexei groans dramatically, slumping in his chair. “We haven’t even gotten to karaoke yet. I was going to sing Bohemian Rhapsody.”

John rolls his eyes, already pulling his jacket on. “The princess needs help. I’ll be back soon, try not to butcher Freddie Mercury while I’m gone.”

A chorus of mocking boos and laughter follows him out the restaurant door.

He makes it back to the Tower in under ten minutes, the city lights still dancing on the windshield as he pulls up. Inside, it’s quiet. Too quiet. The whole place is dark, save for the soft glow down the hallway leading to the bedrooms, a single light, like a trail of breadcrumbs.

John walks slowly, boots soft against the polished floor. His brow furrows as he reaches your door. He pauses, running a hand through his hair, and lets out a breath that’s half-sigh, half-steeling himself.

Then, he pushes the door open.

And there you are.

Riding some guy. You were unbelievable.

“I’m so lucky to be with you,” The guy pants out from beneath you.

“Yeah, you are.” 

He's blindfolded and tied down to your bed with your scarves as makeshift restraints.

You look over at John, your eyes hooded as you rock your hips on the stranger, who now that he thought about it looked kind of like him. 

Your intentions are made clear as day when you gasp out, “John.”

John, still standing in your doorframe, is not even sure how to process what he’s seeing. You had really called him all the way back here for this, and had the audacity to call out his name; he was almost impressed at how shameless you were. His jaw clenches as he watches you; hair a mess, completely naked as you ride him with reckless abandon. 

The tension hangs thick in the air, electric and impossible to ignore. The man’s charming smile, faltering just slightly, starts to correct you, “But my name is—”

“Your name is whatever I tell you it is.”

Your voice cuts through the space like a blade. Firm, commanding. There’s no room for correction, no space for protest. The way you say it, it’s not a suggestion. It’s a demand.

“C'mon, tell me how much you love me, John.”

John bites the inside of his cheek, watching as you hold all his attention, grabbing the man below you by the face. All John wanted was to put you in your place. 

“L-love you so much,” the other man replies desperately, his voice raw, breath catching in his throat. His hands flex helplessly at his sides like he’s not sure where to put them, like he needs to hold onto anything to keep himself steady.

You lean in just a little, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Say it again.”

He shudders. “I love you,” he says, firmer this time, like the words are burning their way out of his chest. “I love you so damn much.”

With each roll of your hips, you keep your eyes trained on John, as John’s lookalike gasps out pathetic words of admiration and love. 

John moved away from the door; he had seen enough. But the game that both of you were playing was far from over.

The next morning, you’re being chewed out by Mel, who is clearly too tired for your shit.

Valentina had been juggling three different crises before noon. Two supply chain issues and a PR disaster pending, so imagine her joy when she caught a glimpse of you on the security cams, ushering a shirtless man out of the tower at sunrise.

“I don’t even have time to process what the hell you were thinking,” Mel snaps, tossing a tablet onto the counter so hard it skids. “Do you have a death wish? Do you want to kill me? Because this,” she gestures to the security footage, “will kill me!”

You shrug, half apologetic, half not.

“It was early. No one saw,” You whine, rolling an apple in your hands. The man from last night was a means to an end. You’d do anything to get John right where you wanted him, even risk a little scandal. 

“The cameras saw! I saw! Valentina saw!”

“It was necessary.”

“How so?” She says, tapping her foot frustratedly. 

“Power play.”

Mel exhales hard through her nose and rubs at her temple like she’s trying to massage the stupidity out of her skull.

“Well, I don’t care. No sex with fans in the tower. You could cause a scandal. What if someone blabbed to the press? Or, God forbid, got a video of you?”

“I’m super careful,” you reply, biting into your apple with an audible crunch. She looks exasperated, the kind of weary stress that only comes from having to deal with you in this particular mood.

“Relax. I’m still the golden girl.”

You boop her nose playfully, unbothered. As you retreat to your room, you pass John in the hallway, flashing him a million-dollar smile. 

***

As expected, later that night, John comes to your room.

“What brings you to my room, Walker?”

“What do you think?” he says, his voice low, tense. He doesn’t move from the doorway, arms crossed like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will.

Admittedly, last night had rattled him more than he wanted to admit. Seeing you with someone else, watching you pretend it was him, it shouldn’t have gotten to him, but it did. It lit a fire in his chest that he hadn’t been prepared for.

“Like my show?” you ask, a slow, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you lean back on your bed in just a tank top and shorts that leave little to the imagination. 

He steps into the room, finally, shutting the door behind him with a click. “So what was the point of all that? Just to mess with me?”

“Maybe,” you say sweetly. “Maybe I wanted to show you what you’re missing out on.”

Making your way to him like a wildcat approaches its prey, calculated and with smooth control. 

John cannot deny that you look tempting. Too tempting. Like he was being taunted by every inch of your defiance. Your bratty attitude, your wicked little smirk, the gleam in your eye that said you knew exactly what you were doing.

“That could be you, you know. If you just gave in,” you murmur, now standing directly in front of him, chest brushing his. The air between you is electric.

From this close, you can see the strain in his jaw, the flicker of restraint in his eyes. All that resistance. You wanted to tug at it, pull at it, until he unravelled under your fingers, until he stopped pretending he didn’t want you just as much.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks, “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“So play it with me.”

You toy with his shirt, fingers brushing along the hem, slipping just beneath the fabric to tease the skin underneath. He stops your hand before it can go too far.

“Let me take care of you, John,” you whisper, eyes locked on his with a mix of challenge and something deeper.

“You really think I need to be taken care of?”

“I know you do,” you say simply, dragging your fingertips up his chest. “You carry too much. Always trying to be in control, always holding the line. Plus, I’m sure I could show you a thing or two. You and your ex were high school sweethearts, right?”

“Don’t—”

You knew his failed marriage was a sore subject, and you loved to piss him off. There was nothing like seeing John Walker all riled up, warning you to stop before you pushed too far. 

“I’m just saying…,” you say, wiggling your hand out of his grip to continue your journey up his body, “A lot of missed experiences.”

Instead of the usual annoyed and angry expression you had become so used to, he just smiles at you like he has the leg up already. 

“What is it?” you question, for the first time sounding a little unsure. 

Without warning, his hand furls into your hair, and he pulls you into a kiss that leaves no room for doubt. It isn’t rough, but it’s passionate. The kind of kiss that speaks of things unspoken, of tension stretched too thin for too long. The slow press of his lips, the way his tongue delves into your mouth, makes your knees weaken.

You feel yourself start to lose control, the kind you always prided yourself on, and you pull back.

Not too far, just enough.

You smirk, your breath mingling with his. “Not bad,” you say, deliberately teasing, lips tingling and heart pounding.

John raises an eyebrow, a crooked grin starting to form. “Not bad?” he repeats. “You sure about that? You seem a little wobbly.”

You meet his gaze, cool and steady. “Guess you’ll just have to try again.”

He kisses you again, hoisting you up so you have to wrap your legs around his waist. Before you know it, the shorts you had on were decimated. He ripped it clean off and tossed it away like it was nothing.

“You gonna reimburse me for that?” you tease.

“Oh, shut up,” he says as he tosses you onto the bed.

You lean up on your elbows, legs spread and ready for him, but he hesitates.

“Can we try something?” he asks.

“Ooh, does Boy Scout have a kink he wants to explore? Lay it on me.”

He gets out his phone, and your eyes widen in excitement. This was the last thing you were expecting, but you were down. 

“You want to film me?”

“You love the cameras, don't you? What's one more?”

The idea of seeing you take John apart and put him back together as your little toy was too appealing.

“Alright,” You agree. You'd be lying if the thought of watching it back didn't turn you on. It's a little bit of the narcissist in you.

He takes out his phone, positioning it and starts going to town on you.

His body is on top of yours as he kisses along your collarbone.

You had him right where you wanted him.

***

He had you right where he wanted you.

You had severely underestimated him. Never in a million years did you think it would go this way. You were confident that one little push and he’d be under you, begging for you.

Maybe you did need to put your ego in check. 

It had been at least an hour, and he’s made you cum and fall apart too many times for your sex-addled mind to count. 

“Please,” you whimper into the mattress your face is crushed against. 

He pulls your head back, so you’re facing the camera again as he rails you into the bed so good you start crying. 

“John, fuck, I—” you let out between moans. 

“Crying for me?”

He sounds so smug about it. It’s fucking awful. 

You huff and try to hide your face in the pillow, but he won’t let you. 

“No, no, no. You look so pretty when you cry. The camera needs to see it too.”

You blink through your tears to look at the camera. It’s still recording, a silent witness to everything. You probably look an absolute mess: face wet with tears, lips swollen from his kisses, pupils blown wide with need.

You can’t help the thought, “I bet I look fucking fantastic.”

Again, the thought of watching this back hits you like a ton of bricks. Being able to replay him slamming his cock into you over and over again, fucking you so good that you can barely think. Kinda makes it all worth it. 

Even though you know he’ll lord this over you until the day you die. But when the dick’s this good, sacrifices must be made. 

To your displeasure, you feel him pull out of you, and you crane your neck back to glare at him as best as you can manage. 

“Wait, wait, I was so close,” you complain, all sorts of frustrated as your fingers curl around his wrist to pull him back.

“Who knew you could be so fucking whiny?” John chuckles, making his point with a sharp slap to your ass.

The moan you let out is nothing short of sinful. This was the time you had to admit you’ve always had a thing for his hands. Strong, big hands that could break you if he wanted to. From the way he handled his guns, like an extension of his body, to how those same hands wrapped around dumbbells at the gym. 

You even remembered the way he’d once lifted you clean off the ground by the front of your shirt, when you swooped in on his save and sidetracked the whole mission. 

“What’s the problem, Johnny?” you poked, despite the fact that your feet were dangling in the air. 

“Do that again, I swear…” he seethed, his eyes practically burning a hole in yours. 

His fingers had curled just beneath your collarbone, firmly and for days after, you’d find yourself clutching your own shirt, remembering his grip on you. 

Wondering, traitorously, how it would feel if he ever used them to spank you and or choke you. 

They were perfect for it.

You wait for him to poke and prod at you because of the pathetic sound you made, but the way he playfully massages out the sting says it all. 

He was toying with you, just like he had been for the past hour. 

Then he leans over you, grabs his phone from the edge of the bed, and lifts it, camera pointed squarely down at you. You roll onto your back, giving him full view of your whole body. 

“Smile for the camera,” he says, voice practically purring.

You’re more than a little embarrassed, but you lift your eyes anyway, sultry and dangerous. The camera loves you after all, who are you to deny it of your beauty?

“This good for you, John?” you tease, drawing out of his name, as your fingers roam down your body. 

You watch as he bites his lip, jerking himself off to the sight of you. From the way his abs are twitching, you know he’s close. And the selfish bastard wouldn’t let you come with him. 

You’re about to rise from the bed to help him finish like the little saint you are, when he follows you down instead. His hand on your neck, pressing back down against your plush sheets.

“John…” you gasp, your arousal at its peak. If he didn’t get back inside of you, you swear you’d lose it.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

He squeezes a little harder, hard enough to make you choke a little. Your eyes flutter shut as little mewls leave your lips. 

This was definitely worth all the trouble.

“Open your eyes,” he demands, his voice quite soft despite all of this. 

You open your eyes to see him nearing his orgasm, and you have to admit he looks good. Your eyes explore the treat you had above you, starting with his hair,  now messy, tousled in a way that made him look too good for your own sanity. 

Then lower, to the faint freckles scattered across his chest, all over his perfect muscles. 

Your gaze lingers. His happy trail catches your attention next, a darker gold than the blonde on his head, leading down to where he’s fisting his slick cock.

“So close,” he moans, looking right at you with half-lidded eyes. 

He’s tossed the camera aside to the wayside by this point. Both of his hands are occupied until the hand around your throat releases. And of course, the moment you feel air filling your lungs, you’re met with his cum splattering all over your face. 

He picks his phone back up and zooms in on you, and it’s a shameful sight. Lucky for you, you’re quite shameless. 

“Anything else you wanna say?” he teases.

You open your mouth to answer, but words fail as he starts rubbing on your sensitive clit with his thumb, pushing you just a little further, leaving you breathless, trembling, undone.

“Bastard,” you manage finally, voice hoarse.

He just grins. “Look at that, America’s sweetheart has such a way with words.”

“Shut up,” you growl, chest rising and falling. “And get back here before I lose it.”

You knew the super soldier serum would have him up and running in no time; in fact, you think you see his cock getting hard already. 

“Careful what you ask for.”

Main Masterlist || Marvel Masterlist

[superweinersoldier]

Rage Bait

Pairing: John Walker x F!Reader 

Description: Irritating John until he has his way with you.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), smut, softish(?) rage bait, inappropriate use of gym equipment, semi-public sex, handjob (male receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, fluff

Author’s note: I saw post talking about irritating a man until he fucks you. I thought who better to rage bait than John Walker? (If you see any mistakes, no you didn’t)

——————————————————————————

In the time you had known John, you knew how easy it was to rile him up. Now that the two of you were dating, pushing his buttons became a game to you. It was all in good fun and never that serious, usually it resulted in him having his way with you. He knew what your motive was and secretly loved the way you’d try to annoy him. He liked you mouthy. 

To put it simply, you were bored. You decide John hasn’t paid nearly enough attention to you today and set out to search for him. You find John in the gym alone. Perfect.

“Hey, John,” you greet him cheerfully knowing full well you were about to ruin his workout. John turns to you as he finishes putting the plates on the barbell, prepping for his workout. “Hey baby,” he smiles at you and kisses you softly. God he looks good in his workout clothes you find yourself admiring him. He’s wearing a t-shirt tight enough to show off his muscular build and gray sweatpants that leave little to the imagination. What a slut.

“Can I ask you something?” You inquire. He looks at you seriously, “Yeah, anything. What is it?” He sits on the bench press concerned. He reaches his hands out to you, silently asking you to come closer. You follow his lead, standing in front him. 

With all the seriousness you could muster, you start, “I was wondering, if you were athletic, what sport would you play?” He looks at you in confusion, “What?”

“If you were athletic, what sport would you play?” You repeat the question. 

“What do you mean if i was athletic?” You can hear and see the slight irritation settling in. You try your best not to laugh at the absurdity of the question. You know full well he’s athletic and fit.

“I mean, if you were athletic what sport would you play?” You ask again with a little more conviction. 

He lets go of you hands shaking his head like he can’t believe what you’re saying. He instead places his hands on you hips pulling you even closer. With you now standing between his legs, you put your hands on his shoulders. He looks up at you, “Sweetheart, I played football in high school and I’m a super soldier. What do you mean ‘if I was athletic’? I am. Just look at the weight on the barbell.” He gestures to it with agitation. 

Quickly glancing at the weight on the barbell then back at him with a shrug you say, “Okay, but that was high school and I’m pretty sure Yelena can lift that too, big deal.”

John looks at you like you’ve lost your mind, “No she ca- You know what?” He shakes his head at you again, pulling you to straddle his lap. “I’ll show you athletic,” he grumbles in your ear almost as if it were a threat. A shiver passes through you. He roughly kisses you like he has something to prove.

With you settled on his lap and his large hands gripping your ass, he pushes you to grind against his growing cock. A small moan escapes your lips relishing in the way he was manhandling you, making you wet.

He pulls back from the kiss to smirk at you before diving back in to kiss down your neck. You keep the momentum of rubbing against him going as he softly bites your collar bone. John gives you a quick look and pulls your shirt off over your head. You gasp at the feeling of him kissing and sucking each of your breasts. His beard lightly scratching at your skin.

When he’s had his fill, he pulls off his own shirt, tossing it to the side. You grab at the waistband of his sweatpants desperate to feel more of him. He lifts his hips allowing you to pull them down just enough to free his already hard cock. You take him in your hand giving him a few strokes. He moans and you kiss him.

“Stand up,” he demands breaking the kiss, pushing you up off of him. Once your standing again, he pulls your shorts and underwear off your body, leaving you fully naked in the middle of the gym where anyone could walk in and see you. The thought makes you hotter. He notices and pulls you back on his lap, guiding the tip of his cock through your wet folds. He slowly pushing you down on his dick. You gasp as you feel him entering your wet cunt. Smacking your ass, he cockily mutters, “Baby, you want to see athletic? Just watch this.” You furrow your brows. 

The top half of his body moves to duck under the barbell, laying to down into position for a workout. In confusion, you ask him what he’s doing. “I’m showing you just how strong I can be,” he replies as he grabs the barbell pushing it up off the rack. He then proceeds to pull it down towards his chest, beginning his workout reps.

He pauses noticing the lack of movement in your hips, “Move, baby. C’mon ride my dick.”

Breaking through your shock, his words have you moving your hips in slow circles before picking up the pace. Without even thinking, your hands find purchase on his perfectly sculpted abs. He groans and huffs loudly. You’re not sure if it was from your movements or his work out, maybe it was both. If it had been anyone else, this would have been a turn off, but with John, it was hot. It honestly impresses you that he can do both at once, but you won’t give him the satisfaction in telling him that. 

Feeling your pussy clench around him, he knows you’re getting closer to your climax. He puts the barbell back on the rack. “You close baby?” He moves back under the bar, sitting up with you again. Nodding at him, John takes the moment to wrap an arm around you quickly flipping your position. You find yourself laying on the bench, finger nails digging into his shoulders, surely leaving their mark on his skin.

Pushing your sweat-slicked hair out of you face, John kisses you roughly, his thrusts growing harder and faster, “You feel so good.” It’s not long until you both moan reaching your peaks at the same time. You feel his cock twitching as he cums inside you. Mission accomplished. 

Wrapped in each others arms, on the bench press, you both try to catch your breaths. He peppers soft kisses all over your face. You smile at him, kissing him slowly and passionately. 

You feel him pull away, his cock slipping out of you. You get up off the bench to pick up your clothes as he pulls his sweatpants back up. Pulling your clothes back on, you can’t help yourself. You have to do it, even knowing it’ll start something. You smirk at him, “By the way, who do you think would win in a fight: you or Bucky? Because I think he’d kick your ass.”

“You little shit!” he exclaims chuckling and jumping up to chase you around the gym. You shriek in glee as you try to run away from him. “You’re so lucky I love you,” he says as he wraps his arms around you having caught you. Turning in his embrace to face him, you reach up to tenderly grab his face with both hands fingers rubbing against his beard, “I love you too.”

Bonus: A few days later, in your shared bedroom, he kisses you, pulling at your clothes ready for them to be off your body. Once he’s finished, he starts taking off his clothes. When he strips to his underwear, you compliment the way he looks in his panties. “In my pan-,” he looks at you incredulously. He can’t believe you keep catching him off guard with your absurd comments and questions, only this time he laughed, no irritation in sight. He softly jumps tackling you, causing you to land on the bed. On top of you, he places kisses all over your face, “You’re ridiculous.” A laugh bursts out of you as he playfully bites your neck.

[vividxpages]

"not without you"

pairing: John Walker x fem!reader

words: 8.7k

summary: after a dangerous mission that threatened John’s life and ends with both of you in the hospital, your boyfriend and you have to learn how to heal together.

warnings: age gap (John is in his late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), established relationship, domestic fluff, fights, gun shot wounds (John’s shoulder can’t catch a break), angst, near death experience (drowning), hospitalization, recovery process, hurt/comfort, PTSD, nightmares, soft sex

a/n: thank you to everyone who has read this little series so far <3 as always, please let me know your thoughts and opinions! they're the best motivation for me to keep going as a writer on here.

ao3 version / series masterlist

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John’s room smelled like cinnamon, vanilla and peace.

There were a lot of things you loved about it since moving over to it a few months ago.

You liked how John effortlessly had made space for you, how you wordlessly decided which side of the bed belonged to you. (John slept on the one closer to the door, of course.) You liked your contrasting aesthetics mixing perfectly, a lace bra of yours casually hanging over the chair by the closet while his neat combat boots stood beside it, yours so much smaller than his tucked away behind the walk-in closet doors.

You liked how the four walls sometimes felt like a home, easy to pretend to play house in. It was a dangerous affair, fantasizing about these kinds of things when your life was on the line during missions, but those thoughts could be your own for now. Your little secret of a shared future together outside of the Watchtower.

As you freed your hair from the soft cotton towel and looked into the mirror, you wondered if John thought about it too, sometimes.

Earlier, you had lit some scented candles after dinner before slipping into the hot bathtub to wind down a little from today’s training. John still had other tasks to do around the building and after a while, you had drifted off, surrounded by the lavender scented air and lulled warmth of the suite bathroom.

When John had softly woken you about an hour later, a gentle hand against your cheek as he crouched down in front of the bathtub, you were ready to faceplant right into the soft bed you shared with him. He left you to finish your little evening routine, but you felt his presence even through the door.

Always there.

Never not making your heart skip a beat.

You slipped out of the bathroom, dressed in a fluffy short bathrobe, your pjs hidden underneath. You hummed along to the soft music coming from the record player, placed with care right next to the wooden box where John kept some cigars for a rare occasion.

Last weekend, Bucky and you had wandered over a flea market after one of your cinema trips and an old but polished record player had caught your eye, making you think of John who liked to sing along to the radio when he thought no one was listening. Who grew up with oldies on the station and the men in his family showing him real music.

You had not even hesitated to pay up.

The rest of the time had been spent picking out various vinyls from the different booths while Bucky had stood beside you and judged, forcing you to take at least one vinyl of golden twenties classics with you. On the way back home, you smiled the entire time.

And you were smiling now.

John sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed in an old grey shirt and plaid boxers. With his tongue between his teeth, he just finished wrapping his wrist and knuckles with a special band aid. You recognized the color from your own visits to the med bay, a compressing band that meant to sooth sore muscles. It didn’t mean it concerned you less though.

You stepped closer, smoothly sliding behind him so you could rest your chin on his shoulder and your hands on his stomach. “What happened?”

John inhaled, likely smelling your sweet vanilla body wash and lotion as he dropped the band aid and put your arms tighter around him. “Alexei doesn’t know his own strength.”

You winced, your thumb briefly stroking his jaw before you dropped a kiss on it and sat back on your haunches.

John waved it off, storing it away with his other few stolen supplies from the med bay, hidden in the nightstand next to his side of the bed. “Tomorrow it’ll be gone. But better safe than sorry.”

You hummed in agreement, a little yawn slipping past your lips as you shuffled back against the pillows, reaching for the jar you liked to keep on there. You dropped it in your lap, one shoulder of your robe slipping free just as you moved to open it.

“Let me do that for you.” John interrupted you gently.

For some reason, you felt yourself blush. “It’s just hand lotion.”

“Please?”

You blinked at him, surprised. It was such a mundane task, just a tiny piece in your nightly routine that made you feel better about yourself, yet John wanted to assist you with it simply because he cared. It touched you more than any flashy grant gift ever could.

John took the jar from you and shuffled behind you on the bed, your body instantly relaxing back against his chest as you sat between his meaty thighs. His arms came to rest around you, fingertips dipping into the delicious smelling lotion before he gently started to massage it into your hands.

Your mouth opened and your head dropped back against his shoulder, a deep sense of tranquility spreading through your mind and body. Why the hell did everything he did to you feel so damn good?

John nuzzled his cheek against your temple, taking his time as he felt your body melt against him like puddy. Soon, you were boneless and not sure you ever wanted to get up again.

“You’re good at this…” You mumbled sleepily, a dreamy haze setting itself over you like a warm blanket.

“Feel good?” His deep voice rumbled through you, lulling you further into a sleep-like state where you felt safest.

“Mhm…”

“I’m glad.” With a final kiss to the back of your head, John put the cream away and slid down on the bed, effortlessly handling your much smaller body until you were laying on top of him, chest against chest.

John laced his hands together behind the small of your back, a shiver tingling down his spine as you sighed happily, face smushed against his chest, one of your naked legs hooked over his hip for comfort. It was like you were his own little safety blanket, weighing him down in the best way, grounding him more than any successful mission ever could.

You were his peace.

His happy end.

It was like his entire heaven and earth was slowly falling asleep on his chest, fuzzy socks with bunnies on them brushing unknowingly against his calves.

“You sleepy, honey?”

You nodded sheepishly, peeking up at him through your lashes, unwilling to move a single muscle for the rest of the night. A besotted smile painted your boyfriend’s face as he watched you, his hand soothingly combing through your hair while your own played with the soft happy trail on his belly.

“I’m going to let you sleep soon, don’t worry…” John nearly melted at the small sound you made at that promise, but there was something else he needed to say, something he thought you deserved so much. “I thought about maybe you and I taking a break soon.”

“A break?” You mumbled, listening to his steady heartbeats like it was your own personal lullaby.

“Yeah, maybe a little vacation.” John mumbled back into your hairline. “Just you and me somewhere quiet. You choose where we’ll go…and I’m going to make love to you every single morning…and watch you read one of your romance books by the fire…cook for you and make sure you’re happy and rested…”

Butterflies spread their wings inside of you, your fuzzy brain too tired to come up with anything else than sleepy enthusiasm.

“I’d love that, John…” You kissed over his heart, finding the perfect spot on him to rest your head.

John smiled to himself as he watched you drift off into a peaceful sleep, the needle of his new record player eventually reaching the end of the vinyl and filling the bedroom with silence.

The next morning, you felt refreshed and ready for whatever the day might bring.

And it didn’t take long until Valentina summoned the team right down into the watchtower’s lobby, skipping right past the council room as the jeeps were already outside waiting and getting started. A terror organization had entrenched themselves far down into the tunnel system of the city’s canalization. It would only be a matter of time until their actions would lead to chaos.

It was like you blinked and in the next moment, you were getting prepared to descend down into one of the main tunnels underneath the city, watching with a weak smile as Alexei discussed with the officials why he wasn’t allowed to join.

John adjusted his grip of the shield, coming to stand beside you as a quiet presence. In your ear over the comms, Bucky and Yelena were talking over split-offs once you were down there. You already knew with whom you were going to stick.

“I don’t get it.” John shook his head over Alexei. “There’s going to be narrow tunnels. Doesn’t he see that he’s basically a grizzly?”

You chuckled, but it was tense. You were already getting in that headspace only a mission could provide, your focus shifting under the ground beneath you, checking your wrist again to see the digital maps of the system blinking back at you over a screen. “Don’t be mean. He just wants to help.”

“We all do.” John simply said, resting his gloved hand on your lower back. At the feeling of his thumb rubbing over your uniform, something inside of you relaxed. “Hey. We got this. We’ll stick together and be out as soon as possible. It’s only twenty guys with no real plan of what they’re doing. No hostages. We’ve dealt with worse.”

It was true.

It didn’t make it less important though.

You nodded, taking a look at Yelena and Bucky who were ready as well.

One more quick talk with the authorities of the city and then you were let down into the darkness. A thin stripe of light from above illuminated your group as you orientated yourself. Just as a little rubble from the ceilings trickled down, John lifted the shield over your head as you checked the map.

“Alright. There’s two groups on each side.” You nodded in both directions of the tunnel. “We’ll meet here again, I want frequent check-ins from both of you, okay?”

Bucky and Yelena nodded, both decorated with multiple guns and knives. Somewhere in the dark, there were quick footsteps and all of you reached for your weapons of choice, John sliding in front of you as well with his shield.

You swallowed thickly. “Alright. Good luck.”

Turning your back on your friends, John and you slipped into the darkness, inching forward until you reached the first ladder descending further down.

Down there, the rats were already waiting for you.

John had been right.

They didn’t really seem to have a plan except for blocking some control rooms so they could infect the city with whatnot. To you, it seemed more like some bored second-hand criminals had wanted to make it an exciting Thursday. But they had guns which made them just as dangerous as any other enemy you had fought.

The fight was almost laughably short.

Most of them didn’t even stand a chance against John and you, your combined strength sending them to the ground in less than three minutes. You stood back to back, knocking them out one by one until there was only silence.

But out of the corner of your eyes, there was movement and you spun around to see the last one of them slipping out of the room.

John and you ran after him, the map on your wrist telling you he was leading you further down and away from the main corridors.

“Our man is heading towards the canalization.” John informed the others over the comms. “Everyone up there, eyes on the exits.”

Only your combined breath and steps echoed through the metallic silence of the tunnel system, ending in a narrow staircase. John looked at you with a question in his eyes and you bit your lip, nodding.

It was only one last guy, alone.

You were going in, together.

The stairs ended in some sort of surveillance room, a few old pipes attached to the wall ahead of you, gauges and monitors hidden behind glass. You peeked around over John’s shoulder when the attacker came out of nowhere, ramming John in the side who immediately spun and held him off.

The two of you worked in tandem, a well-rehearsed team, but fuck was the other guy strong.

You felt the air whoosh out of your lungs as he got your weaker side and threw you to the ground. In just a split second, John meant to rush to you, but it was enough for the guy to react. Before either of you knew what the fuck just happened, John was pushed against one of the free-standing pipes, the guy grunting as he bent a metal rod around John’s chest.

Your eyes met as you got up, John’s anger flaring up in them like a wildfire as you took a deep breath and steadied yourself. With a scream, the man pounced on you.

Behind you, John was just about to free himself from the makeshift restraint and grab his shield when the attacker hurled around and aimed for his shoulder. You gasped, instantly kicking his feet away to get him to the ground, but the guy had a pretty good aim.

John growled darkly as the bullet hit his shoulder, embedding itself in the thick muscles. A tiny red flower bloomed on his uniform where he had been shot and you felt something feral in you stretching its limbs, a red-hot fury taking over inside of you at the sight of him hurt.

“Oh.” You said, fixing the man with a devious glare. “You shouldn’t have done that to my boyfriend.”

You unleashed yourself on him like a menace.

A goddess of war, wrathful and meaning to destroy.

There was no kindness or patience in you left, not when the one you loved the most just got hurt.

You were good like this, but so was the other guy. Meeting him move for move, you held your ground as you tried to calculate the right moment to grab your gun. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw John struggle, unable to tear his eyes away from you as he was forced to watch you fight without his support.

You cried out as a foot kicked your wrist, your gun flying out of your hands and sliding over the floor. You whipped your head back, blocking off another kick that clearly aimed for your head this time, dancing just out of reach and buying yourself precious space for a moment.

“Watch out!” John roared and you reacted on pure instinct.

In a split second, you had grabbed John’s discarded shield from the ground, ducking behind it and deflecting the bullet that had been meant for your heart. You only heard the tiny ping sound it made as it catapulted past you.

You glared at the attacker with pure hatred, noting with a satisfied smile that his magazine was empty as he struggled to grab the holster on his belt. John had trained you for moments like this, introduced you to the shield’s abilities like they were yours and so, with a growl on your lips, you threw it like a frisbee, not as strong or accurate as John could, but it found its mark nevertheless.

The force of your throw knocked the guy right off his feet, his head hitting the wall as he went down unconscious. For a moment, you just stood there, empty hands flexing around nothing as you took a deep breath. You just did that.

“Damn…that was pretty hot, babe.” John smirked at you, his own blood staining his teeth as you instantly softened. You walked over, taking a deep breath and ready to get him the hell out of this metal when you heard it.

Water.

A steady lapping.

And suddenly, wetness at your feet.

John and you looked behind you and everything in you went dangerously cold at the disastrous sight that presented it to yourself. While you had dodged the bullet, it had hit one of the pipes in the room and created a leak. A steady, pretty big leak that was slowly covering the floor of the room with water.

“No, no, no.” You breathed, watching helplessly as it streamed out of the pipe, an unstoppable force that promised the room was going to be completely overrun in just a few minutes if it continued like this.

You scanned the staircase from which you had come, looked at the floor for any sight of a trap door that led down into the canalization. Nothing.

Shooting forward, your hands slid over the metal bent around John, trying to pry the rod wrapped around him apart with gritted teeth. You felt John push back on the other side, his arms shaking with the force to free himself, but the material didn’t give in.

The two of you locked eyes when you realized what this meant.

What it could mean.

Your hands were shaking as you reached up to touch your earbud. “Bucky. Yelena. We’re down in one of the surveillance rooms. There’s a leak. It’s- fuck, the water is rising and John can’t move. We need Bucky, there’s- remember in the desert when Bucky tied us? We need his metal arm again, now.”

“What?” In the background of wherever Bucky and Yelena were, you heard gunshots and a scream. Yelena’s thick accent in your ear as you frantically looked around the room for some kind of tool. “Okay, keep calm. We’ll get you. We have your location, just- hold on a little longer.”

“Okay.” You gasped, trying to keep the panic welling up in your chest down.

You waded through the quickly rising water as John grunted in his attempts to break the rod apart with his arms from the inside, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain in his shoulder. Your hands felt for your gun on the ground, a victorious shout going through you when you found it.

You aimed it right at the restraints.

“I need you to hold still, baby okay?” You hated how your voice was wavering, but your hands were sure.

John nodded once and kept looking at you as you held your breath and fired.

One, two, three-

The bullets plopped into the water. The rod held.

“Fuck!” You cursed loudly and that was when it set in, the raw fear of survival, brain kicking into overdrive as you rushed past him as fast as the knee-high water would allow you. You groaned as you lifted John’s shield from the ground, heavier than usual due the water level.

Adjusting the leather straps around your arm, you tried to find some inner center you had lost right away when the pipe had busted.

“You got this.” John’s voice was quiet over the splashing of the water under which his thighs had now disappeared. Soon, the rods would be underwater completely and there was no way anymore you could crash it with something. Better make this quick.

With all your might, you rammed the shield against the restraints, the force punching the air from John’s lungs for a moment as he held against the crash. You shook your head, caught in a nightmare-like state as you carelessly dropped the shield and tried with your hands next.

You groaned as you used all your strength, the blood from John’s shoulder dripping down on your hands as you tried to pry the metal apart. Someone like Bucky would’ve made it in seconds. But you couldn’t.

“Baby, it’s not working. You need to leave. Now.” John urged, his eyes pleading with you as you uselessly tried to destroy the restraints. The water was splashing around his stomach, rising steadily.

When your hands slipped on the metallic rope once again, a sob ripped free from your throat. “No! Not without you.”

“Sweetheart…” The finality in John’s voice was devastating. “I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You frantically shook your head, looking around the room for something else you could use to free him. “You heard what Yelena said, they’ll be here soon and Bucky will help- shit, I’m wasting time!”

You lunged for another rod and stuck it in the thin gap where the rod around John’s arm and chest overlapped. The water licked at your chest as your arms shook, another push of adrenaline making you stronger, but to no use.

A sob got stuck in your throat as the rod slipped away into the water, useless.

“Honey, look at me.” John’s voice was calm and collected as if he was not about to drown. As if you were not able to save him. Everything inside of you was shaking, but when you looked into his blue eyes, everything stood still for a moment.

“You’ll have to go and live your life, baby.” John told you and you pressed your lips together, violently shaking your head as you tried with all your might to bend the metal apart again with your arms. “Yours has only just begun, you need to go and live it. Be happy. It’s okay. But you’ll have to leave me behind now.”

The water was now sloshing against his shoulders, the blood coming from the gun shot wound in his shoulder turning pale and mixing with the water. You couldn’t even think about it. “I’m not leaving you behind. You’re- I’m getting you out of here and it’s going to be alright, okay? Don’t you dare give up right now.”

This could not be the end.

Not like this, in the dark and without fresh air to breathe.

What happened to your plans from yesterday? About wanting to get away and enjoy some alone time together? It all seemed so far away – how the hell had this happened all so fast?

“I love you.” John gasped, straining his neck so he’d be up over the water just a moment longer. “I love you so much. I have no regrets except that I didn’t have more time with you.”

You were crying openly now, resting your forehead against his as the sobs wrecked through your body. “I love you, John. But this isn’t goodbye yet.”

“Can you tell my son I love him? That I wish I would’ve been better-” He asked and it was guttural, the pain slicing through you like a knife.

“Tell him yourself.” You gave back, cupping his face fiercely so he’d look only at you when you said it: “Listen. You need to take one deep breath for me, alright? I-I’ll be right back and you hold on for me, okay? Bucky’s almost here.”

You didn’t know that, but you had to believe it.

He nodded and that’s when you saw it shine through for the first time.

John was terrified about what was to come. So many medals and awards buried far away in a closet, so many times he had looked death right in the eyes and this was how it was supposed to end? Deep under the city in some hole where people would have to risk his life to recover his body?

John almost wanted to laugh.

He would’ve if he didn’t feel like crying so much.

“I love you.” You whispered. “Breathe.”

You watched John inhale deeply and then he was gone, the top of his head swallowed by the water as you felt it lift you with it, your feet no longer touching the ground. Suddenly, there was an eerie silence in the room, the leak in the pipe swallowed as well.

You felt like you were the only one in the world.

You touched your comm shakingly. “Yelena? Bucky?”

“We’re here, doll. On our way down now. Give us a couple more minutes.”

“We don’t have a couple more minutes!” You shrieked, making out John’s silhouette beneath you. He was ex-military and had a super soldier serum running through his veins. Yet, he wasn’t immortal – the lack of oxygen would kill him quick. Not to speak of you who didn’t have any of that background.

You inhaled deeply and used the leverage of the ceiling to push you under, swimming down to where John had his eyes closed, seemingly having retreated into himself to stay calm, counting precious seconds.

You touched his chest and his eyes opened. You communicated silently with each other, him giving you a nod as if to say I’m okay, but you knew it wasn’t true. You pushed yourself off the ground again, horrified to come up for air and see that there was only a tiny space left between the water surface and the concrete above you.

You let out a desperate scream into the thin space between the water surface and the ceiling, feeling how the strength in your body slowly lessened as you dove under one more time. Planting your feet against the ground, you gripped John’s jaw and pressed your lips on his.

Feeling him wanting to resist, you only held on tighter as your hair fanned out around you, breathing your own air into his mouth to keep him alive just a little longer. 

This was not how you had imagined your last kiss to be.

You had not thought it would all end so soon, not even a full year in.

There was so much more you wanted to say, so many things you had wanted to experience with him… God, John’s son- Your running tears mixed with the water as you felt John’s chest inflate with your air. You knew if you tried to come up for it again, you’d reach the ceiling.

There was no air anymore, only the one left in your lungs.

John’s eyes still pleaded with you, his head desperately nodding into the direction of the staircase, needing to know you were going to be safe even if he wasn’t there anymore to see it.

But you shook your head, trying to keep the sob that would likely end your short life at bay. You always felt it creeping up on you, your head swimming dangerously with the lack of oxygen, black creeping in on the edges of your vision.

You touched John’s chest, centering yourself through his slowing heartbeat. Your other hand laced your fingers together as you rested your head on his shoulder. You blinked lazily, not aware of how much John was struggling to free himself now.

You were so tired.

So, so tired…

The last thing you saw before your body shut down was John screaming your name in terror, bubbles coming out of his mouth as your hand slipped out of his and you slipped away into the darkness…

And for a while.

There was.

Just.

Nothing.

The first thing you became aware of again was a warm hand over yours.

Your body came back to itself slowly and you felt yourself growing restless, wanting to fight against the darkness around you but not being able to. Everything around you was sluggish and unreal and your surroundings revealed itself only slowly to your sharp senses.

The smell of cleanness and something sterile.

Old air.

Raspy sheets against your skin.

The sounds of some kind of monitor, steady. Growing stronger by the minute.

You wanted to open your eyes, but your body did not obey you yet.

“John?” Your voice was small, nothing more than a meek croak. Your eyes squeezed together at the sharp sting in your throat. It felt like you had screamed from it for hours…

“No doll, it’s Bucky.” A familiar quiet voice of a friend came from next to you. “Easy, easy…take your time.”

After a while, it got easier to exist.

The dull darkness was slowly lifted away until a small groan left your lips at the stretch of your legs and finally, you could open your eyes. The hospital room was flooded with gentle morning light, void of anything besides the man sitting in a chair beside your bed.

Bucky looked tired, but smiled at you nevertheless as you shifted and tried to make sense of what was going on. You winced as you saw the infusion needle attached to your wrist and looked away, towards the computer that mirrored your body’s signs of being alive.

And right there, sleeping with his head resting on the mattress near your thigh, was John. Alive and breathing and very much slumped forward in the most uncomfortable position in a chair. He was dressed in similar hospital clothes as you were, his face hidden by his messy hair and his uninjured arm he had used as a pillow.

The other, the bad one that once had been broken and sliced by the knife in the void, was bandaged and tucked against his chest. And he was holding your hand against his heart, the steady beat in his chest enough to bring tears to your eyes.

The last time you had been conscious, you were sure you were never going to have this again.

You let out an unsteady breath and Bucky sat up straight, alarmed. “Hey, he’s okay. He’s recovering, just like you. The two of you had quite some water in your lungs when we got to you. But of course that didn’t keep him from seeing you for long.”

“What happened?” You mumbled, rubbing your temple and trying to shake the medicine-induced haze off your mind. “I mean, I know what happened, but…how are we still alive?”

“Well, when I reached you both, I wasn’t so sure for a moment.” Bucky said darkly and your heart dropped as he scooted closer on his chair and sighed. “You were floating and passed out and John was about to. I guess we found out how long a super soldier can stay underwater yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah…he and you slept for a long time in here.” Bucky tried a small smile, but you could see the exhaustion all over him. As much as you were teammates, him and you had become friends too over the last months. He cared about you and you had probably worried him and all of them to death. “Yelena and I swam to you and…I never saw a look like that on John’s face. So frightened. When I got to work on the rod around his chest, he mouthed two more words to us before he passed out as well. Save her.”

Sudden tears brimmed in the corners of your eyes as you looked down on the love of your damn life sleeping by your bed. You knew John had to be really exhausted if he hadn’t woken up by now, his chest rising slowly as you took in the dark circles under his eyes. Your hand itched to touch his hair, but you resisted, knowing he needed the rest just as much as you had.

“And you did.” You told Bucky quietly. “You saved us both. And I will forever be grateful for it.”

Bucky waved it off. “Can’t lose our best girl like this, huh?”

Your heart warmed at his words, a tight knot building in your throat that you tried to swallow down. You got so close to dying, to die with John, it almost seemed too easy that you just got to be here again, without any big consequences.

“I bet he didn’t like waking up in a hospital, huh?” You said, your thumb feather lightly brushing over John’s knuckles.

Bucky huffed. “No. He threw a real tantrum when he woke up and you weren’t there. I thought he was about to rip out his IV and break in the wall between your rooms to get to you. The nurses wanted him to rest more, but he…kindly reminded them of the serum in his veins…He can be pretty stupid sometimes, right? But he loves you. So that makes up for that…” For a moment, something you couldn’t grasp was flickering over Bucky’s face, but it was gone so quickly, you wondered if it was ever even there.

“I’ll give you two a moment.” Bucky stood and stretched his arms out, giving you a secretive wink as he walked towards the door. “I’ll keep the nurses from fussing over you a little longer, but in ten minutes, I want you to get looked over by them too, okay?”

You nodded shyly, watching him leave until the door was shut softly and John and you were alone.

You allowed yourself a moment more of silence, content to just watch his chest rise and fall again and again. You had come so close to lose him…

Taking a deep breath, you reached out and gently brushed your fingers through his hair. The reaction was instant, a stir went through John’s body and you felt him exhale deeply and it somehow was the most beautiful thing you had heard in a while.

Your bottom lip wobbled dangerously as John sat up and your eyes rushed to take him in fully, the bandage around his shoulder where the bullet had hit him looking like it could need a change soon. But then John whispered your name and you didn’t know why, but the sound of your letters rolling off his tongue broke you apart – or fixed you together again.

“Hi…” Your voice broke and you sniffled, reaching up to cover your face with your hands but he was there in an instant, gently holding your wrists and moving them away.

Alive.

“You’re okay, hey baby, look at me.” John spoke to you, allowing his voice just the right portion of dominance that made your eyes lock onto his. He cupped your face with his free hand, thumb brushing your hot tears away as you gasped for air. “You’re okay, we’re both okay. I’m here now, okay baby? ‘m not going anywhere.”

You shuddered, crushing him in a tight hug as you unraveled right on the spot. Ugly sobs, full of anxiety and relief, wrecked through your weak body and John held you through it, pressing his lips against your forehead and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

You clung to him with all your might, crying yourself out from the shock and if you would’ve looked upwards, you’d seen John wipe a few tears of his own away. His heart twisted at every little sob wrecking through you, the stress from earlier crashing together over you like a wave.

“I’m so sorry this happened.” You sniffled.

“No, don’t be sorry, honey.” John soothed you, his hand rubbing steady circles on your back. “You did your best, you did everything you could and saved me with that least bit of air just as much as Bucky with his arm. You were so brave down there. If anyone should be sorry about this, it’s me.”

“It’s not your fault.” You shook your head and caressed his face, his warm eyes brimming with so much love and devotion it nearly made you cry more.

“And it’s not yours either.” John gave you a half-smile, hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. “You saved my life, although I just wanted you to save your own. When you gave me your air and passed out…I have never been so scared in my life.”

“Me too…” You sighed in exhaustion, resting your head against his chest and breathing him in. “I’d do it again, although you don’t like to hear it. It’s not even an option for me to give up on you.”

John sighed, holding you even closer. “I know…and I’m so damn grateful I get to be here again with you.”

You squeezed him back weakly, resting your chin on his chest and looking up. “We can’t ever scare each other like this again, okay?”

And there it was, that crooked little smirk you loved so much. “Deal.”

“Bucky said you fought with the nurses to visit me.” Despite your reddened face and tear-thick voice, you felt yourself smile as John sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, leaning into your touch on his cheek nevertheless.

“I did. Just needed to get to you, see you were okay.” John said quietly. “When I woke up and you weren’t there-…I thought of the worst.”

You opened your mouth to say something just as the door opened and ten minutes were over.

“Well hon, you got yourself quite a protective guy here.” One of the older nurses told you as she side-eyed John who didn’t look apologetic in the slightest. You felt yourself blushing, leaning back against the pillow behind your back.

And when the nurses checked you over, John stayed by your side the entire time.

Your hand in his, the way it should be.

Coming home after being released from the hospital shortly after, felt unreal.

On the way back to the Watchtower, the car Valentina had ordered for John and you drove past the street where you had climbed down into the darkness of the canalization and there had been an unexpected tightness in your chest until the street passed by and you slowly felt like you could breathe again.

And although the drive was mostly silent, you felt as if John was experiencing something similar. He had not let go of your hand ever since signing his release papers.

When the doors of the elevator opened up to that big lounge space of the tower, the first one to hug you was Yelena, a sincere and warm embrace that made you realize how worried they all had been while Alexei and Bob were talking to John beside you.

“Don’t ever scare us like this again, okay?” Yelena mumbled in your ear with her thick accent and you nodded silently, not trusting your voice as you looked up and saw Ava standing behind her with a rare relieved smile on her face. Soon, Alexei and Bob were hugging you as well, John growling a warning careful! when Alexei wanted to lift you off your feet.

In the next few days, everything felt oddly…unsteady.

It wasn’t like the team was making it weird that two of their members had come close to death, it was all as normal as life with a group of jumbled up tragic figures with an even more tragic past could be. There was still team dinner and a movie afterwards, Yelena and Ava joking at John’s expenses, Bob’s calming presence when you were reading.

But something had changed.

The time in the water had changed you.

Although you had been granted a few days without new missions – since you were entirely average human unlike John, and John didn’t go anywhere without you – you felt on edge.

The pain in your throat lessened more and more, yet flashes of what happened in that room appeared in front of your eyes when you least expected them. The sickening shade of the water surrounding you. The thin space between you and the ceiling. John’s cool lips on yours.

He and you were inseparable, like an invisible rope was binding you to each other as you quietly followed the other everywhere. Since John tried to make up for his absence during missions with cooking for the whole team, he liked to keep you close and if that only meant for you to sit on the counter and get fed some samples in between.

No matter what, the two of you always touched.

A hand on your hip when he brushed by.

Your legs resting in his lap.

Small fingers playing with his large ones.

His hand massaging the tension in your shoulders away.

And you were talking.

Talking all the time about what happened and how it made you feel, the honesty of those conversations becoming easier and easier over time, especially since John had to still learn to process his own emotions so openly. And afterwards, you always felt better and lighter. Safe.

It came to an end one evening when you wanted to take a bath, but couldn’t bring yourself to get into the tub. After a while, John found you perched on the edge, chin resting on your knees as you watched the water go down the drain, angry with yourself over the waste, your stupidity to believe you were able to take it.

He had laced your fingers together and led you away from the tub, mumbling how it was okay.

That night, sleep came easily for you in each other’s arms, but so did the nightmare.

It was about two in the morning when your life-sized pillow – which just happened to be John’s uninjured side – was moving. At first, you commented on the change with a small groan, trying to find the warm spot you had rested your head on again, but then his hand resting around your shoulders and on your back, twitched. A tortured sound leaving his lips.

You furrowed your brows, trying to shake off the haziness clinging to your half-asleep mind. Blinking against the darkness of your shared bedroom, you saw sweat beads glinting at his temple, his throat nervously bobbing as John was panting in his sleep.

“No…” He mumbled, throwing his head to the side and the pain in his voice snapped you into action.

Carefully, you rested a hand on his good shoulder and gently shook it, swallowing against the knot in your throat as you whispered: “John, it’s me. Wake up, you’re having a bad dream.”

The twitching intensified and you made a decision, unable to keep watching. Quickly, you swung a leg over his lap and seated yourself on his thighs, knowing from the past that John needed contact when he tended to spiral. You pressed your hand over his heart, leaning over him as your hair brushed against his collar.

John surged awake. Nearly headbutting you, he sat up and you followed, giving him space as his eyes blinked in confusion, getting used to the lack of light around him.

“Hey, hey, John, it’s me.” You ran your hands over his shoulder as he frantically looked around the room, chest heaving in order to get enough air in again. Cold sweat greeted you when your hand touched his nape, a haunted look on his face as he woke up more and more.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” You repeated the same words he had said to you in the hospital back to him, your thumbs brushing over his stubbled cheekbones.

John’s hands found your waist, tugging you closer until he could only feel the warmth of your body and not the cold of the water he had almost lost you in.

“Bad dream.” He gasped out, head dropping forward to rest on your chest.

You hummed and gave him time to center himself, willing your chest to breathe easy with him. “It’s over now. I’m safe. You have me.”

It was like you were suddenly breathing as one.

Something in the thick air between you shifted, weighing down until it was hard to breathe for an entirely different reason. John’s eyes glinted darkly and a shiver crept up your spine at the sheer hunger lingering in them. The strap of your sleep shirt had fallen off your shoulder, your pajama shorts exposing your soft thighs on either side of his hips.

Your eyes flickered down to his alluring mouth, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

John chased the small touch and breathed a soft kiss to the pad of it.

In the end, you didn’t know who surged forward first.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered but his lips on yours, kissing you like he needed air and you were the only source on earth. You whimpered, meeting the kiss with the same passion that ran through him and pressing your barely clothed chest against his.

His hands were everywhere at once, wandering over you, making sure you were okay as he traced down your spine, cupped your bum and massaged your thighs. You ground down on him, breaking the kiss to gasp as you felt him hard and wanting underneath you.

It was like the two of you were crazed, in desperate need to shake off what happened and move on.

His tongue licked fire into you and you were just as eager to mark him, kissing down his jaw and neck as you kept rolling your core against the bulge in his boxers. Even though you had talked so much in the past few days, no words were needed now, your bodies knowing exactly what the other needed and what to do.

It was raw and a little uncoordinated and exactly what you craved.

You threw his shirt on the floor next to the bed, pressing yourself flat against his chest.

But just as John reached down to touch the hem of your sleep shirt, he winced and you froze.

You both were breathing heavily, lips wet and bruised from each other’s kisses. “Shoulder?” You breathed against his mouth and he nodded impatiently, but you were having none of it.

With firm determination, you took both his wrist and placed them on your hips. You nudged your nose against his crooked one, his blue orbs landing on you. “Yeah…”

“Want to talk about the nightmare?”

John shook his head, but he was not shutting you out. “Tomorrow, I will, promise. But not now. I just…I need to feel you.” To underline his point, his hips bucked up into yours and you shivered again, your own need to feel him inside of you tingling under your skin like fire.

“Okay.” You kissed his cheek, willing yourself to slow down for now. Your panties were achingly wet and you were still trying to catch your breath from making out with him. “Let me do the work then, okay? I don’t want you to hurt yourself more. Let me do it…”

If it was even possible, John looked even more turned on and you shifted closer in his lap, licking your lips as you decided on what you wanted to do.

“Fuck.” John hissed at the ceiling as you nestled with the band of his boxers and took out his throbbing cock. He was heavy in your hand, ready and you used the little precum on his tip to ease the way, beginning to slowly stroke him.

John closed his eyes, tilting his head back as you jerked him off and rubbed yourself against his thigh, building a gentle rhythm as your lips ghosted over the side of his neck. “Don’t move…let me do this for you, John.”

And he did, breathing turning ragged as your soft hand touched his cock just right. Afraid to look down, see your much smaller hand around him and instantly blow, he settled on your face instead, watching you as if you were the eight-world wonder. Or eternal peace of mind.

His head was all over as he took you in, but he failed to recount the nightmare and knew you had been successful.

“Feel good?” You breathed and he groaned as you twisted your wrist, bouncing his leg for you to give you a little more friction as he guided your hips against him.

“Fuck yes… I need to be inside of you, baby. Now.”

You nodded, at a loss for words from the need to be connected to him and you lifted yourself off with his help, briefly letting go of his cock to tug your ruined panties to the side. Kissing him again with a quiet sigh, you rubbed his sensitive head over your neglected clit and made him growl with want.

You smiled against his lips.

Oh so slowly, you sank down on him, welcoming every hard inch of him inside of you. 

Your forehead rested against his as you gave yourself a moment to adjust, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. The seam of your underwear rubbed against the side his cock as you gave an experimental swirl of your hips.

 God, the look on his face.

“Slow…” You reminded him breathily and he swallowed thickly with a nod, afraid he was not even going to last a minute with how much he had needed you.

You rode him sweet and slow, peppering kisses across his chest and jaw, always careful of his recovering shoulder. The dark around you had heightened all your senses and you drank each other in, the quiet slap of John’s balls against your ass and your combined moans filling the room.

“You feel amazing.” John mumbled, mouth agape as he watched you, helping you move but keeping his promise to let you do what he wanted. His calloused hand caressed your breasts, worshipping every soft inch of you. And Jesus, it felt good.

“So do you.” You whispered back in agreement, slowly fucking yourself on him and keeping the sensual, slow place that somehow intensified the pleasure of it all. As much as you loved the side of John that manhandled you and could fuck you for hours, you cherished this side of him all the same.

You loved the hazy fog in his eyes, mouth open and watching your every movement. How he gave up control because he knew he was in your good hands. And you needed this just as much as him.

Neither of you were going to last, but this wasn’t what this was about.

This was loving.

This was healing together.

“I love you so much.” You whispered, steadying yourself with one hand on his shoulder while the other sneaked down and touched your clit, followed by an approving hungry growl from John.

“I love you. I thought I lost you-“ He gasped against your neck, his mouth desperately latching on to your pulse point like he needed to feel the soft thrum of it to know you were alive and well.

You moaned, shaking your head as you grabbed his chin and kissed him with all you had. “You’re never going to lose me. I’m right here- fuck, I’m so close…”

John’s fingers joined yours on your clit while your tongues danced, his hips rolling up in sync as yours went down. A sob caught in your throat at the thought that you had almost lost this, but John was there to swallow it, the tightly coiled feeling inside of you climbing higher…

Until it snapped.

You moaned brokenly, slumping forward against his chest as your orgasm shook through you. John came inside of you in a hot rush, shouting his pleasure up to the ceiling as his cock twitched inside of you, his own as sharp and all-consuming as the nightmare had been.

Little aftershocks danced through you as you felt his come warm your insides and you sighed peacefully, not wanting to move a single muscle as John held you with one arm to his best abilities. And John seemed content to do the same, hands drifting over you as the high subsided and only peaceful silence surrounded you.

“Thank you, honey.” He rumbled and exhaled deeply after kissing the top of your head. “I needed this…needed you.”

You smiled at him, kissing over his collarbone and helping him lay back down into a good position, the two of you still joined. “Always. We are okay, we made it. Only good dreams now, okay?”

“Only you.” John replied quietly and with a giggle from you, the two of you linked pinkies to swear on it as you got comfortable beside him, his softened length slipping out of you and making him groan under his breath.

Tomorrow, he’d tell you about the dream, of losing you and being helpless to watch, but tonight there was only this.

Only love and sticking together through thick and thin.

────୨ৎ────

[zoooooooook]

I love it

[wordbunch]

bless the broken road

(that led me straight to you) [John Walker x Reader]

summary: established relationship, the team being silly, slow dancing, very mildly suggestive dialogue, romanceee! he's a tease and a menace and i need him so bad

a/n: was listening to some music and just hallucinated this whole fic... oops! i just know john knows how to slow dance, so i had to put him in a Situation. enjoy! p.s. reblogs and comments feed the author 😉💞

"What is this, Dancing with the stars?" Yelena raised an eyebrow, looking at you, then Bob, then Ava, and back to you with a mix of disbelief and laughter.

"I'm not dancing with Walker," Ava butted in immediately, raising both hands as if in defense. Bob was holding back a chuckle as he made short eye contact with you.

So far he was the only one who'd known about your relationship, since you became fast friends, and he was really giving his all not to accidentally reveal your whereabouts with a certain blond teammate.

"Who's dancin' with me?" John's voice rang out from somewhere beyond the common space, making all of you hold back a laugh simultaneously. You watched as he walked in and joined the group, looking very suspicious, but softening only slightly as he caught sight of your smiling face. You looked surprisingly vibrant for someone who just got orders from above in the middle of a work week.

"We have a little... assignment," you replied, trying not to giggle as you met his blue eyes which were looking at you with just a bit of amusement, but a whole lot of confusion. "There's a gala we should attend next weekend, at least a few of us, to show up in public a bit. And the instructions say that someone must be slow-dancing here and there, throughout the evening. At least a few songs. Good reputation, or whatever." You shrugged. John almost groaned in frustration, and in the corner of your eye you caught Yelena and Ava nudging each other mischievously.

"Y'serious?" John inquired, leaning closer to you to take a peek at your phone. "Shit."

"Why are you so upset?" Yelena piped up. "Thought maybe you of all people would know how to dance at an event, like, from military balls and stuff? Is that not a thing?"

"Just because I know how to do a waltz without falling over someone doesn't mean I like to do it. In a very public setting, no less." Nervously and briefly, his eyes met yours once more as you tried offering him a bit of a smile. His voice was subtly agitated.

"But you can teach us a bit, yeah?" Bob got involved as well, and Ava's eyes widened so suddenly you thought they might burst. She immediately shook her head 'no' vigorously, and stepped back behind Yelena and Bob.

"Yeah, I'd love to see how Agent Suave does that," Ava mused. "But I'm definitely staying out of this one. Have fun though!"

Yelena and Bob looked at each other with mild discomfort, but at least weren't as appalled as Ava had just been before she left the room.

You thought she would've preferred to stay and watch the four of you attempt something akin to slow dancing, and use it as blackmail material for the rest of time, but she was so grossed out by the idea of one of you pushing her to eventually do it, that she just decided it wasn't worth the risk.

Shuffling closer to John, you placed a hand on his shoulder, claiming him as your designated dance partner for the improvised "class" - and he wouldn't have had it any other way, of course.

"Hey, what if I wanted to dance with Walker?" Yelena teased, noticing how your eyes flashed to her as soon as she did.

"Don't care," John muttered, making her let out a dry chuckle.

Both Yelena and Bob could vanish into thin air for all he cared, as long as he got to hold you close and feel your hand in his, glittering eyes looking up at him like he was the only man in the world.

"Actually I think, uh, Bucky just c-called me for... something," Bob scrambled awkwardly, looking between you and Yelena. Bless his heart. Yelena pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes, and quietly said mhm in a very suspicious tone.

"I didn't hear anything, Bob," she answered pointedly, eyeing him up and down. But of course, she was smart, and immediately took the bait. "Oh wait, that did sound like Bucky." She looked into the direction of imaginary noise and weakly yelled back "We're coming!" It wasn't particularly convincing, not that you were opposed to being left alone with your boyfriend.

"What happened to 'pleeeeease, John, can you teach us how to dance'?" He inquired with a raised eyebrow and a pointed look in the direction of your friends.

"Nobody said that," Yelena answered with mild disdain, "also I don't believe that you can pull it off. Thankfully, that's not my problem right now." She concluded her remarks with a cute grin, aimed mostly towards you.

"They said someone has to dance at this event, we just voted you two!" Bob followed Yelena out of the living room with a little shrug of his shoulders, nonchalant but sweet, as he tried not to look too giddy.

So there you were, with a pair of blue eyes boring into your soul, blissfully alone, with an unexpected challenge before you - learning how to dance. Luckily for you, John was wonderfully good at leading, his grip on you lovingly firm, and his cues easy to read, paired with occasional precise verbal instructions.

Within just a couple of classic romantic songs you kind of had a grasp of how to not trip over him, and you started truly enjoying the experience, heart soaring beneath your clothes.

While John was trying to stay focused and be a good partner who won't step on you and crush your toes, you were basically beaming up at him, enthralled by the moment, engulfed by his scent, secure in his strong arms.

He was trying to not completely lose himself in the way you were observing him, but he noticed you were starting to feel more confident in your movements. Therefore, it was time to start making some braver moves on the pretend dancefloor.

John dipped you so low that you almost lost your balance, partially from shock and partially from the heat of the moment; you frantically searched for his broad shoulders to pull yourself up, but he safely brought you back to him, as a slightly nervous laughter escaped from your lips.

"See, when i do that you should try to anchor yourself-" he tried to give you a tip, but you were absolutely lovestruck as you got closer to his frame.

"Shut your mouth and kiss me," you spoke lowly, looking up at him with wide pupils. God, you loved it when he was quietly in charge, confident, solid. And you had been waiting for your friends to leave the room, only you weren't expecting to basically start swooning during your little dance school.

"Oh, now you got a problem with my mouth? Where was that attitude last night?" He teased, gently bringing up one hand to touch your cheek, ending up with his thumb over your bottom lip. His voice was a low murmur near your ear, giving you instant goosebumps.

"A problem and a blessing," you playfully rolled your eyes at the tall man, trying to conceal the fact that he was on the verge of melting you into a puddle by the way he held you and spoke to you. But he could sense it, and he knew the eyeroll was anything but genuine.

"You got blessed indeed, baby," he gave you a light chuckle, finding immense enjoyment in the way you subconsciously squeezed his hand to stop yourself from gasping.

"Maybe you need to blabber less and focus on leading more," you quipped, finding your footing once again. "I don't feel like I'm learning much about dancing right now."

You barely even finished the sentence (which was an absolute blatant lie) when you were pulled tightly into his broad chest, almost knocking your forehead against his chin. There was a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

He gently pushed you away by the arms again, only to release one of your hands and lead you into an elegant wide spin, magnetically wrapping you back in his arms seconds later. You beamed up at him, freeing your hands to cradle his face.

"What?" John muttered through a barely concealed smile. Moments like those were something he hadn't even dared to dream about, something he didn't think he would ever get to experience and feel with someone new.

But there you were, smack dab in the middle of the living room in the middle of the evening in the middle of a random week - and he was internally rejoicing over every single path he'd had to traverse to end up right there with you. Or at least, over most of them. Either way, he was holding you, heart swelling, and that was the only thing that mattered in the end.

"You fit so perfectly with me," you mused, gentle, enamored with the feeling of being wrapped in those strong arms, "like you were made just so that I could hold you like this." You brought his face just a bit closer to yours, lips almost touching but not quite. A few strands of blond hair dropped over his forehead, distracting you just enough not to immediately notice the blush spreading over his face. John thought his heart was about to burst; he'd never heard such a statement directed towards him and he wasn't sure whether his hearing wasn't playing tricks on him.

God, he wanted to say something beautiful and true in return, face burning, but he wasn't exactly known for skilled romantic monologues. Instead, he tilted his face into your hand, concealing the blushed cheek only slightly, and pressed a fervent kiss to the palm of your hand, inhaling deeply as if you were the very essence of life - to him, you just might have been - and he knew you'd know what it conveys.

"What happened to quietly dancin', sweetheart?" He teased, as if he himself wasn't on the precipice of melting into a puddle right there in your loving arms, lips still pressed into your palm, beard scratching against your soft skin.

"Y'know you can shut me up in a variety of ways, Captain Loverboy," you purred into his ear, "or whatever it was that Ava called you earlier."

The best sound in the world filled your ears, drowning out whichever cheesy song was bleeding through the speaker - John laughed, unguarded, genuine, relaxed. "I think it was Agent... something?"

"Agent Suave," you recalled, the corners of your eyes wrinkled with a smile.

"That one," he answered through more laughter.

In all honesty, he wasn't even sure why he was laughing again. At himself, at you, at Ava, at how Bob and Yelena scrambled out of the room, at the fact that the most beautiful person in the world was swaying in his embrace dressed in loungewear, at the fact that life had mysteriously magical ways of taking him somewhere unexpected and taking his breath away.

Either way, John Walker was laughing, and then you joined him, and then he prayed to whatever was out there that moments like those would never stopped occurring between the two of you, that he gets to be worthy of loving you for as long as you'd have him.

tryna remember who asked to be tagged uhhhh @sotwk @chloeclu @emmathefanficgal ? perhaps? love ya!

hope this was something! <3

[zookhaythex]

love his little confused face🧸