#walker x reader

John Walker loves to fuck up into you when you’re on top.

He cant help it. Most of the time its involuntary, just something his body automatically does— shifting himself downwards to get a better angle, hands splayed on your ass moving you up and down to gain momentum.

It’s like his body has to try and chase up inside you, gain some power he let you take away from him for a blissful few moments.

He tries so hard to suppress the need to take control, but it’s what he always does. It’s practically engraved into his being. But having you over him, hands splayed on his chest or clutching his shoulders, knees bracketing his thighs, pumping yourself up and down his length at a perfect steady and consistent pace, up and down. Often burying himself to the hilt inside you, letting yourself rest as you roll your hips back and forth, the coarse dirty blond, auburn hair littering over his pelvis, leading to a trail up his abdomen to his bellybutton, tickling over your clit, sending glittering pleasure around your thighs and spine.

And John, poor John tries so hard to keep himself situated. Lie back and let you work yourself on him, let you lead for once. But his hands always find a way to you.

Kneading into the soft skin of your breasts, thumb skimming over your nipples softly, teasingly, letting you know he’s getting restless and flustered by your movements, hoping the desperate attempt at getting your attention would ease you down and let him take you. They skim to your waist, his head falling back into the pillow, now gravitating to your hips, touching the skin, hovering over, fighting the need to take over.

But you lean forward. Chest to chest. Hips still moving up and down, back arching over him in waves as you take him in an achingly slow motion. Your head finds its way to the curve where his neck meets his shoulders, resting your cheek, letting yourself lick the soft sheen of sweat on his skin as his hands snake themselves down to your ass.

The heels of his hands kneading into the fat like a baker kneading dough, slow and teasing— only for himself— until his hands finally find their righteous place, spread out on both cheeks, pulling them apart, molding his hands into the skin in massages, pinching, grabbing. Desperation and worship all in one.

And, fuck, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love you on top of him. John always tells you he prefers it when you’re under him, all twitchy, lips parted in soft sighs— but when you’re over him, he’s unlike himself. A softer version, looking up at you with his blue eyes, half-lidded and blissed out of his mind. Watching you take care of him, bare-belly like a dog, trusting him. He watches your face contort to his size, ease yourself down him until he’s all in, watching that tired grin paint on your face before you start moving up and down. Your eyes half-lidded, mouth soft with kisses and dribble, jaw slacked open as you rock yourself, hair in your face, a sheen of sweat glowing in the dim light of the bedside lamp— you look like an angel to him, some kind of greek goddess he gets to personally worship in his own beautiful perverse ways.

The bucks never come as a surprise— John cares, he’d never just jump into something like this, especially with you— as you ease onto his chest, licking at his neck like a kitten, he twitches. Hips bucking ever so slightly irregularly, trying not to make it so obvious he was losing the battle with his own control.

John’s observant with you, more than he’d like you to admit, more than he should be. He knows how to read into you, the little telltale signs if you like what he’s doing, if you need a break just by the way your moans break in your throat, how your hands grip or how your back arches as you move. Your hands move, one gripping the pillow beside you, tight and unyielding, and the other snakes up from his shoulder to his neck, trailing the scruffiness of his beard, letting it tingle on your palm before carding through his hair, all chaotic from fingers and sex. Your thumb wipes over his scalp softly as you nibble into the meat of his shoulder, making him groan into a shudder.

His hands clutching your ass cheeks like a vice, spreading them apart like a stress toy. Your hips move up and down on him, guided by his grip, and meeting you halfway with an unrelenting slosh and slap of skin and fluids. You can feel it all coil tight in your belly, the sensitivity of your clit, sore and neglected, stroking against the hair on his pelvis.

His hips buck just a little harsher, his teeth grinding, jaw clenched, watching your ass bounce, his hands guide, and the damn choked up gasps that fan hot on his neck.

“All good, baby? Hmf- all okay?” Voice a mere whisper, gritty and rough. He keeps the pace up, waiting for you to answer before changing anything.

His hand trails up your back, calloused fingertips grazing your soft skin leaving goosebumps in their wake, before easing into your hair, fingers weaving through your roots and pulling your head up and turning to face you.

The look on your face was enough to finish him there and then. Eyes glossy and half-lidded in ecstasy, pupils too wide, flushed, baby hairs stuck to your temples, and your mouth— jaw unlatched, lips parted, soft from spit, some shone on the corners and down your chin. Soft gasps and breathy moans leaving your mouth in warm air, absolutely finished, absolutely beautiful. You nodded your head erratically, eager to keep this going, let him work you out now. Licking your lips, catching the spit threatening to leave your mouth, you giggled as you move your hips up and down again, a little faster, watching the super soldier’s eyes shut tight, “uh-huh, so good, so so good.”

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He watched you silently for a few minutes, basking in the sound of your heavy breathing, and observing how your closed eyes shifted in response to your dreams. The warm tingle of sleep still clung to his bare skin which was hidden under your soft sheets. He ran hot when he slept, preferring the comfort of loose boxers to any real pyjamas. Walker’s body responded with a clumsy sluggishness as he rolled himself onto his side. He needed to be closer to you. The gentle scent of your soap wafted in the air, intoxicatingly sweet and intensely familiar. It simultaneously set every nerve in his body on fire and yet completely relaxed him. His hand moved on its own accord, up towards your hair so that he could comb his fingers through it. You sighed in your sleep and snuggled towards him, your body automatically leaning into his warmth. Contentment washed over him like a soothing bath, a rare treat in the marathon of his life. He was used to constant stress, and the lack of time to think about anything other than the now. But in moments like these, there was a sense of calm, a chance for new thoughts to creep in, bringing with them a sense of ‘what-if’. And those thoughts only worsened when you opened your eyes, as you turned to him and that big, sleepy smile stretched across your cheeks. 

“Hi.” John’s heart skipped, he’d spend every waking moment trying to see that smile again. The one that said nothing but showed him every feeling you’d ever had about him.  

“Morning,” John’s voice was low and hoarse with the remnants of sleep. You rolled closer into him, tracing your fingers through the sparse hair on his chest. Neither of you spoke, simply enjoying the silence that came with such mornings. They were still rare, and you still cherished them dearly. John rolled backwards with a grunt, pulling you gently over him.  

In response, you swung your leg up over his hips and lowered yourself onto his chest as the two of you lay together. His heartbeat was strong and steady. You could feel the combination of the rhythm and his warmth lulling you back into your slumber. So, you sat up. Well, you tried. Your body groaned in protest, and you heard an offended grunt escape John from behind you. You chuckled as you ignored him, rubbing at your eyes. 

“If I don’t get up now, I’m not going to get up.” 

“So don’t get up?” John grumbled with feigned annoyance, allowing a long arm to snake around your waist and hold you in position. You forgot how tall he was, and that height came with long limbs and too much strength. 

“Noo, I have stuff to do today-” Your whining was interrupted by your body being yanked down. John rolled over onto his stomach, arm still around your waist and upper chest pinning you to the bed. His warm breath fanned over your ear.  

“That stuff can wait.” You could hear the grin creeping into his voice, a low rumble that confirmed he was only messing with you. He’d move if you wanted him to. But did you want him to? “You can tell them I wouldn’t let you leave,” you feigned resistance, half-heartedly pushing on his bicep as he chuckled quietly at you. 

“But then they’ll be mad at you.” 

“I can be the bad guy if it means I get to keep you for a little longer.” He smiled at you, one eye open and studying your face from the pillow. You sighed, sinking back into the bed. But a small sense of relief flooded through your body. The small silence between you allowed for the other sounds of the morning to cut through, birds tweeting, the sounds of the city, and finally, rain. Oh, that was a good sign, and so was the pinging of your phone. You threw your arm out towards the bedside table, feeling about for the cold surface of your phone. Wincing, you studied the bright screen. 

“Looks like you won’t have to be Mr.EvilGuy after all. Plans were cancelled because of the rain.” A small, happy noise rumbled through Walker’s chest, and he tugged you in closer.  His nose pressed up against your collarbone as he pressed small butterfly kisses up your neck, beard tickling at the sensitive skin underneath. Eventually he slowed, groaning contentedly into the skin at the side of your neck, and his weight on your body increased. You traced your fingers down his arm, feeling yourself slowly start to sink back into slumber. 

He wasn’t going to get back to sleep, John had known that even before he had asked you to stay. But that wasn’t the point. He snuggled into you, enjoying the slow thrum of your pulse against his nose as he rested against you. He could hear the others from down the hall, a collective batch of laughter and shrieking in the kitchen. No doubt the result of Alexei’s terrible cooking skills. No. He wouldn’t deal with it yet; he’d enjoy this time with you. The others were an issue for later in the day. 

It was nearly midmorning by the time you awoke again, this time you were alone in the bed. As you gazed around the room in a fog, you could see John’s towel strewn across the chair by his desk, still damp from use. As you listened for movement, the door slid open, revealing a dressed and showered John holding two steaming mugs. 

The room was quiet, the way it always was after a fight—not the kind of fight that ended with shouting or slammed doors, but the slow, aching kind. The kind where silence said more than words ever could.

Y/N lay on their bed, sprawled like a siren in his favorite black silk nightdress, pretending to read a book. Her legs were long and bare in the amber light of the bedside lamp, her expression set in that unreadable calm she wore when she was absolutely livid.

Walker stood in the doorway, watching her like a man already halfway into enemy territory.

He’d just come out of the shower, hair damp, sweat from the night’s job washed off—but not the guilt. That still clung to him like smoke.

She had seen it when he’d peeled his shirt off, finally. The angry red scar slicing across his side. A knife, deep enough to have needed stitches. She hadn’t said anything right away. Just stared before turning and leaving the room.

That was definitely scarier than her yelling.

It had been an hour. She hadn’t moved except to turn the pages of that book she wasn’t actually reading. She just lay there, silent, taunting him with her body and her indifference like it wasn’t a weapon.

Walker stepped in, shutting the bathroom door softly behind him. She didn’t look up.

“You’re not even reading that,” he said quietly.

“Yes I am.” Her voice was flat, clipped. The verbal equivalent of slamming a door in his face.

He crossed the room slowly, crawling onto the bed like a man approaching dangerous territory. Because he was. But she didn’t stop him—she just kept her eyes on the page, like he wasn’t already sliding between her legs.

“You’re mad,” he said against her knee, kissing just above it.

“No, Walker,” she replied, flipping a page she hadn’t read. “I’m furious.”

Another kiss, higher this time, on the inside of her thigh. She sucked in a breath but didn’t pull away.

“You got stabbed and didn’t tell me.”

“I got a cut,” he corrected, fingers pushing up the edge of her nightdress. “There is a big difference.”

She finally looked at him, the book dropping onto her chest. “Are you being serious right now? You think because you downplay it that it makes it better?”

He kissed her hip, then the soft skin above it, fingers grazing up her sides. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react exactly like this, and it was nothing.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It was already healing—”

“How long?” she cut in, dropping the book beside her with a soft thud and finally looking down at him, fury and something else simmering behind her eyes.

He paused, caught in that moment between truth and deflection, his finger brushing lazily over her nipple through the thin silk. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. Just kept her gaze locked on his like she wasn’t unraveling beneath him.

“How long what?” he asked, pretending not to notice the way her chest rose just a little quicker beneath his hand.

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. How long have you been hiding it from me?”

Walker didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand slid down, palm dragging across the dip of her stomach, fingers curling under the hem of her nightdress like he had all the time in the world.

She did a damn good job of pretending not to be turned on—legs stretched out, lips pursed in that tight, unimpressed line, not a flicker of emotion on her face. But he knew her better than that. Knew every tell, every shift in her breathing, every way her body betrayed her long before her mouth ever did.

If he touched her now—really touched her—he knew what he’d find.

Wet. Warm. Waiting.

Still, she played it cool. That stubborn, glorious pride in full swing.

“Three days,” he said at last.

She blinked. “You’re kidding.”

But he wasn’t. And when his fingers slipped between her thighs, finding heat and slickness like he knew he would, her jaw dropped in spite of herself.

“You absolute—”

She choked on a gasp as he pushed two fingers inside her with maddening confidence, a slow grin stretching across his face.

“Three days?” she bit out, hands fisting the sheets beside her. “You came home bleeding and just didn’t say a word?”

“I said ‘hi,’” he teased, voice low against her neck as he kissed his way down it, lips brushing her pulse, slow and deliberate. “Pretty sure that counts.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t murder you in your sleep.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he smirked, pumping his fingers slow and deep. “You’d miss me too much.”

“You overestimate your importance.”

“And yet your legs are wide open right now.”

She squirmed underneath him, hips giving away what her mouth wouldn’t. Her head stayed pinned to the pillow, expression set—like this wasn’t lighting her nerves on fire.

“Nothing? Not a peep?” he murmured against her skin. “That’s fine. I’ve got time.”

Walker came in with the killshot, thumb rubbing slow, excruciating circles over her clit. Her fingers dug into his shoulders then, nails pressing crescents into his skin.

“Fuck—You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re soaked.” He pulled back just enough to meet her glare, his smile maddeningly smug. “For someone who's furious with me, you're sure making it hard to believe.”

“You think this means I forgive you?”

“I think your body’s saying a hell of a lot more than your mouth is,” he said, curling his fingers just right, making her back arch against her will.

She hissed in frustration. “I should dump you. Find someone boring and safe. Who reports paper cuts.”

“Oh, please.” He chuckled against her chest. “You’d eat them alive.”

“They wouldn’t be as brazen as you.”

“They also wouldn’t make you come like I do.”

She opened her mouth, maybe to argue—maybe to say something sharp and clever—but then his mouth closed around her nipple through the silk and her breath hitched instead.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she muttered, voice low and wrecked now.

“I really am,” he said, the nightdress pushed up so he could kiss her stomach. “Because if I didn’t have that going for me, I think you’d actually kill me.”

“You have no idea.”

But her tone had softened, even if her body still hummed with tension. He could feel it—anger knotted up with desire, a coil inside her just waiting to snap. She wanted to stay mad. She was mad. But she wanted him more.

“It just scares me,” she said after a moment, voice quiet now, brushing the edge of a confession.

Walker looked up at her, the teasing falling away, just for a second.

“I know,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry.”

He crawled back up and kissed her then—slow, honest, nothing cocky about it. Just the truth, pressed to her lips.

Her fingers slid into his hair again, not pulling now. Fingers brushing through the blonde strands as he moved back down to her stomach.

“Next time, you tell me.”

“I will.”

“Promise.”

“I swear.” His voice was rough. Real.

She rolled her eyes—barely—then let out a low gasp as his tongue replaced his thumb, warm and slow against her clit. Her hand flew to his hair again, gripping tight this time, like she couldn’t decide whether to push him away or drag him closer.

“Oh God—John.”

Walker groaned low in his throat like he was savoring her, like the taste of her was the only absolution he needed. And maybe it was. He worked her with a patience that bordered on sinful, tongue moving in slow, teasing strokes, then faster—his fingers sliding back inside her, curling just right, drawing little sounds from her throat she tried so hard to hold in.

“T—this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” she gasped, her hips lifting off the bed.

“Didn’t say I was,” he murmured against her, not letting up for a second.

“You’re just—trying to distract me—”

“Is it working?”

“Shut up and—oh fuck—”

Her head snapped back against the pillow, thighs trembling around his shoulders as he doubled down. Her hands fisted the sheets now, jaw slack, her breath turning ragged and fast. Her control shattered in pieces—glorious, breathless pieces—as he pushed her right to the edge and held her there.

“Come for me,” he whispered against her, voice rough. “Come on, baby. Let me have it.”

She broke for him in a rush, pleasure crashing through her like a wave, blinding and hot and perfect. Her body arched off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she clenched around his fingers, pulsing through every slow stroke of his tongue until she was trembling beneath him.

Walker didn’t move until the last of it had passed, until she sagged into the mattress, boneless and breathing hard.

Only then did he kiss the inside of her thigh, a soft press of lips like a seal on a promise. He crawled up her body slowly, curling beside her, brushing her sweat-damp hair off her cheek.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his cocky grin gone for now—just him. 

She blinked at him, chest still rising fast, lips parted like she wanted to say something.

Then she shoved him lightly with the back of her hand. “You’re an idiot.”

He grinned. “Yeah. But I’m the idiot who just made you forget your own name.”

“…Temporarily,” she said, biting back a smile.

     A body lurched at you out of a locker, mumbling and muttering as its fingers ineffectually tried to hold you. Butt of your gun to its temple it dropped, and you moved to leave only to feel its fingers weakly try to grab your ankle. Unsettled, even if it was easy to pull your foot free, you continued down the hall. 

     It was only after the fifth thing jumped at you that you finally turned off the flashlight, panting in the dark as you tried to settle the anxiety that made your stomach twist. You should have just done it sooner, flicking down the night vision goggles and waiting for your eyes to adjust. The sound of chains rattling made you freeze, foot lifted for a step lowered as you started backing towards a corner. 

     An idiot thing to do, but nothing could get behind you if there wasn’t an option to. Too many bodies had leapt at you, wearing tattered clothing, skin just as patchwork. Training only covered so much, could only override the genetic deep ingrained response to fear for so long. A bubble of hysteria threatened to crush your lungs, wanting to scream, wanting to run, wanting to pull the trigger and just start shooting. 

     You could feel the vibrations before you were able to hear the heavy tread, a small bubble breaking off the larger one, remembering the TRex scene in Jurassic Park. Very apt, and you wouldn’t put it past Murkoff to have dinosaurs. You’d been seeing monsters for the last twenty minutes, things that shouldn’t be alive, shouldn’t be able to walk around and function. 

     The footsteps paused, your grip adjusted on the gun settling your finger against the trigger. The rattling chains went silent, you focused on breathing as quietly as possible. The prey response was demanding you flee, a rabbit tucked into its burrow knowing the fox is waiting at the end of the tunnel. A rat knowing it was time to jump ship because the water was gushing through the holes some creature had carved into it. 

“Little pig…’

     You jolted, recognizing the voice. It wasn’t quite the same, there was something… wet about it. Was if the words were too thick, as if the person speaking them was drowning. But it was Chris, and some asshole had taken his stuffed animal. 

     Easing out of the corner, you couldn’t bring yourself to lower your gun. It didn’t bring half as much comfort as it would usually in hostile territory but it was better than nothing. You’d wanted to bring it with you, of more accurately its twin. The original had been locked up in evidence and then incinerated. Along with the evidence that had been gathered on his.. crimes. 

Don’t open the fucking door!

     But you had to, hearing the chains rattle softly now that you were closer. Fingers curling around the knob, you held it in your palm, hyping yourself up before twisting it. As if that had been a cue, the door burst inwards, sending you flying back as something absolutely massive skulked into the room. 

     Bile burned your throat, staring up at the thing baring its teeth at you as it reached out with a scarred bloody hand. That at least was familiar, not the mind numbing terror that tried to extinguish the relief at finding him. Not in one piece by any means, but still alive. 

“Hey, buddy.’ You whispered, throat squeezed tight from trapping the screams that had threatened to spill out. If they had they never would have stopped. 

     The hand that had been moving towards you the way a building fell over stilled. Honestly you’d been pretty sure you were going to be crushed, the familiar palm pressing against your face and then through it. The sudden grasp of the front of your tactical gear, feeling your body yanked off the ground sharply enough, that was familiar too. 

“Still eating those wheaties, huh?’ 

     A bit better, though even you could hear the fear in your voice, slowly lowering your gun and letting go, leaving it hanging by the strap. One hand on the wrist, the other patting his forearm. What had they done to him, looking at the torn skin and tissue on his forehead, seeing far deeper into his nose than you’d ever wanted to. 

     You flicked the night vision goggles up to fully expose your face, not because it made you sick to look at him. You’d gotten a glimpse at his file, feet dangling uselessly beneath you. Self inflicted, the maiming had been done by his own hand. Jesus…

“You…’

“That’s right.’ Too cheerful, but based on what you could see in the dark, eyes slowly adjusting, he didn’t take it personal. “Came to visit you, told you I would.’

     It’d been easier before they’d tried to hide him away at Mount Massive, tossing another vet as sacrificial lamb to a broken justice system. And then they’d done whatever the hell it was they did here to him. 

“Late. You’re late.’

“I know, I know, but I got that promotion, remember?’ He seemed to consider this, your toes slowly touching the ground. “If you think the brass sucks, imagine becoming one.’

“Stupid brass…’

“Yeah I worked with a bunch of real dodos.’ 

     You watched as he grabbed a sofa and just righted it one handed, swallowing a little thickly. A mixture of nostalgia, and the nagging reminder how easy he could just slam you around like Bam Bam. The frame creaked as he sat, perching on the opposite end’s arm, the feeling all too familiar. 

“I got the cards on me if you wanna…’

     The sentence slowly trailed off, watching the way he stared at the wall. A blank wall. Throat tight, you coughed to clear it. 

“Did you get my letter? I got a lil pig, well not so little anymore.’ That got his attention, breath hitching, but he didn’t look away from that damned wall. “Swear she’s almost as big as you, but the sweetest princess. You’d like her.’

“Miss piggy?’

“Yeah, a lil lady through and through.’ When he nodded as if it went without saying, you pulled your phone out of its pouch. “You wanna see her? I got some pictures and a video.’

     Easing onto the couch, like slowly sinking into a lake that was too damned cold by half. When he didn’t immediately take your head off, you scooted closer, unlocking your phone and pulling up a video. 

“Little lady.’ His head finally turned, locked onto your phone screen with the same intensity he’d given the wall. “Pretty piggy.’