#smtu

When you two started dating, boy oh boy did he let the flood gates open. When he realized he could just touch you (with your consent of course) and he felt that first skin to skin, the man was hooked. Holding your hand like you are his lifeline, a hand on your waist as he passes by you in the kitchen, when he's driving, even on a stake out, he has a hand on your thigh. That has been a topic of many mission briefings: Walker’s pda issue with you. Bucky claims it’s ‘distracting’ Walker when the two of you hold hands as you stand side by side in the elevator. 

He’s a touchy guy, he needs that textile feeling of your skin, hair, clothing, even just feeling your soft breaths on his shoulder as you hug, it all grounds him. He needs to know you're there; you're not just another dream that's going to slip away from him.  

When the two of you have sex, especially when he’s in a needy mood, he is the epitome of a devoted worshipper. 

His care-worn palms slowly moving over your arms as he kisses you, nose slotting next to yours, lips moving in tandem against your mouth. Slowly undressing you like a present he’s been dying to unwrap, and dammit if it doesn’t feel like a gift every time you let him see you naked.  

He never knows where to look, he’ll just sit between your legs, back on his haunches, staring down at your body. Of course, his hands are right on your stomach, but he could care less about the pudge there, or the way your breasts sit when they're not in a bra. The man just wants to devote himself to you.  

He takes his time, his lips moving over every inch of you he can get to, not letting a single inch left un-worshipped. His eyes look up into yours as he moves his mouth over your breasts, making sure you see how much he loves every patch of skin he sees on you.  

“Love you so much honey, y’have no idea,” His voice carries that slight southern accent you love so much.  

When you first had sex, you didn't want to look down at him, your eyes on the ceiling as you tried to not seem too insecure, but when his hand came up to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him? Now you couldn't look away.  

John is a caring guy, so of course he’s between your thighs before you can even ask properly, his tongue moving in slow circles. He loves to mumble praise, even when his mouth is busy on you, “So pretty, honey, you’re my pretty girl, so so pretty,” and only after you’ve came on his tongue is he moving back up your frame. He kisses his way back up to your mouth, making sure to press his tongue into your open lips, your release mixing with his spit and your own on your tongue. All of it makes him feel like he’s on top of the world, getting to have you like this, all pretty and pliant.  

And when he gets inside of you? The man has his arms wrapped around you, bear hugging you to his chest, like he can’t even stand the idea of letting you go. His hips move slow and deep, pressing closer to you with every thrust. His cheek presses against yours; the sweat-damp skin of your chest doesn’t bother him in the slightest. If anything, it makes him more aware of how close you are to him.  

His grunts and mumbled praise get louder in your ear and more intelligible as he gets closer, he loves cumming at the same time as you. It adds to the feeling of being close to you. So, he’s constantly checking in as he gets closer to the edge, “Honey, please- fuck- please tell me you're close, fuck- feel so good around me,” When you both cum, he could break you with how tight he holds on to you, breathing heavily in your ear as his entire being tenses. 

You’re both sticky, his and your release sliding down your thighs, ruining his sheets. You hold him close, your legs wrapped around his waist, hand in his hair, running through the sweaty strands. He just breathes into your shoulder, trying to not let his full weight crush you, his hands splaying on your hips.  

“Baby...” you mutter the pet name softly into his ear, nose running along the shell of it.  

He just grunts in response, not taking his head off your shoulder.  

“John, baby, we should shower and change the sheets.” 

It's like you just asked him to throw himself off the balcony of the tower. He almost whines into your shoulder, shaking his head.  

“The sheets are gonna stain baby,” you laugh softly, your lips pressing against his ear. 

You feel him drag himself out of you, but he doesn't get up for a moment. Instead, he wraps his arms back around you, moving so he's on his side, his head pressed in your neck. 

“Just let me hold you, please” 

John Walker doesn't say please, unless it's for you to hold him.