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It's kinda impressive how Israel has wanted to do this for decades now, and this is literally the worst time in like 40 years that they could have done this.

Trump is incredibly unreliable, and has just alienated every single US ally. He's distracted by a huge and escalating internal insurrection and incredibly unpopular. Democrats will now probably rally to Israel's and Trump's side, but I dont think they have much support left among the general population.

A majority of Europeans, even in GERMANY, support an arms embargo on Israel. They have never been more isolated. I guess that's why they're doing this attack now, hoping to rally their Western allies despite all those facts.

May we see the end of Israel in our lifetimes. This possiblity is getting more real every single day. May the Iranian people be spared too much destruction by the genocidal Israelis. Death to Israel. Glory to the martyrs. Free Palestine.

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They had bunkers under Iran's soil for years, mossad agents inside Iran's nuclear program and you're telling me they somehow was caught off guard by Hama's attack? Like Iron dome didn't work that day?

Huh! They killed their own citizens during 7oct using Hannibal directive.

Burn in hell Zionists!

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Sinwar stayed in Palestine and fought for his country and became a martyr. He was an honorable patriot who cared for his people.

Satanyaho fled to Greece instead of staying for his people. Coward bitch.

This is how you know they're not indigenous to the land.

There's no country named Israel. It's occupied Palestine by colonizers.

Palestine will be free and get back to her own people, people that care for her soil, her olive trees.

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Notice Zionist jews living in Iran praying for both Iran and pissarel. Those are traitors and their loyalty is for that terrorist pissarel state. Don't fall those pos propaganda. No one will pray for the wellbeing of aggressor that harmed and killed innocent people of their country. Those are mossad agents. Fuck them bitches.

Long live Iran and death to Zionist genocidal entity.

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No way you look at Israel's strikes against Iran and expect to find a shred of justification. Yet, when you examine western news headlines, you'd think this is just a natural turn of event. It's sickening. This region is just expected to endure wars and destruction, so to them this is just another story to cover, without so much as a hint at how unjustifiable let alone how egregiously nefarious this is.

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Also how are people repeating the phrase "preemptive strikes" unironically? Does anyone even question the words they use and circulate? How can "preemptive" be used to describe deadly strikes by a nuclear power? How is it not the most obvious case of manufacturing consent for a blatant act of aggression?

It's not preemptive, it's unprovoked. That's the word.

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i lied. put your clothes back on. i’m going to talk to you about the meaning of john walker’s facial hair progression.

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Oopsie, I winter soldier'ed your Walker, sorry for dropping him on the floor like that

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actually obsessed with how tall john is

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It happens every time John doesn't put away his shield... Even for 5 minutes.

And yes... Again (consecutive) i draw a super soldier being bullied by animals.

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His little face I can't 🥹

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❝ 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: forced into attending a gala event, you go to john for help with your dress. things turn incredibly heated.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader (requested).

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.4K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), established relationship, talk of insecurities, insane levels of yearning, rougher john, bathroom sex (on the counter), groping, heavy kissing, brief handjob, dirty talk, john walker’s praise kink, brief fingering, mutual orgasm. cute ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: he’s my favorite part of the thunderbolts — yep, I said it !! my yearning levels are off the charts for him. thank you guys so much for your continued support! 🫶 I love writing for him sm !!

The last time John Walker wore a suit was at his wedding — five years ago, in a Georgian chapel where he’d grown up, nothing lavish. It was traditional, smaller, friends from high school, his family, Lemar’s family.

Part of him had detached himself from those memories, as if it were a different him that’d lived through it all.

Shame still festered, an ever-looming shadow, haunting his steps. There were some past mistakes that he would never be able to make amends for, but he was trying, making a valiant effort to forge something new.

John was a flawed man, an imperfect soldier trying to pick up the pieces, make something of himself again. Being an Avenger was his step forward in the right direction, wanting to help people again, a hero.

Publicity and being in the spotlight wasn’t a new concept for John, whose brief stint as Captain America was packed with shaking hands, playing the part, smiling for the camera.

When Valentina had pitched a charity gala to draw attention to the new Avengers, it was mandatory for everyone on the team to be in-attendance, with Bob as the singular exception. There were still reservations about him being exposed to any media attention.

Admittedly, the entire team still had reservations about Valentina altogether, a reluctance to work for her. He couldn’t blame anyone — she’d tried to kill them, created a superhuman, participated in an endless string of illicit activities.

Though, they’d found ways to exploit her generosity when it came to the Avengers ordeal. He’d gotten the well-equipped training room he’d asked for, a new suit, and a new shield, currently being constructed behind the scenes.

He told himself to enjoy tonight — allow himself to feel a sense of normalcy, fraternize with wide-eyed senators, repair what threadbare reputation he already had.

In the mirror, John was posturing, adjusting his cufflinks, pushing strands of blonde away from his temples. He was still uncertain about whether or not this was a good idea — losing the role of Captain America still stung.

He wanted to use this new opportunity to be himself, no Captain America, no U.S. Agent — just John Walker, former Army captain, now an Avenger.

Crisp, light linen of a pressed dress shirt clung to his musculature, dark blazer strung over the bathroom door. A line of pearlescent buttons were strung through the center, formal attire perfectly tailored to his physique.

It felt strange, standing in a suit jacket instead of kevlar and body armor; uncomfortable, even. Smoothing a hand over the ivory material, his brows pinched together, jaw twitching in mild annoyance.

Tugging at his collar, John sighed, an indignant huff escaping him as he heard a knock at his door. “Just a minute.” He called, still attempting to fidget with certain elements of his suit.

“It’s me.”

Timid, the softer cadence of your voice carried, ripping him from his thoughts, as if he’d been shoved off-balance. He was softer for you, towards you — the team noticed, everyone noticed.

Cocksure arrogance had bled away to something sweeter, vulnerable; John was sluggish to trust, but you’d shattered that barrier with ease. He had you to thank for growing, for beginning to heal from everything else.

With a soft stirring in his throat, John stopped over-analyzing his outfit, dress shoes polished, slacks ironed and without a single wrinkle. It was required of him to steam his dress uniform before special events back in the Army.

Stepping toward the door, John hits the panel, tinted windowpane sliding open with a soft hiss. Cerulean hues search until they find you, abashed and hunched in on yourself as if you’re attempting to conceal something.

Fashion is a foe, it isn’t your forte; Yelena had attempted to assist to the best of her ability, but even then, you felt fumbling and awkward.

The dress you’re wearing is formal, pressed silk the shade of a graying sky, nothing exorbitantly vibrant. It’s pretty, you think you feel pretty, but the stilettos do nothing except make you feel as if you’re walking on nails.

Though, you’re having too many issues with the zipper, which seems stuck toward the small of your back, no budging in sight. A light layer of cosmetics compliments your features, tresses modestly styled — you clean up nicely.

Too nicely; John’s jaw is unhinged, agape with a thinly-veiled awe as he swallows, words turning to ash within his throat. Unable to tear his gaze away, his appraisal is soft, burning with affection as he steps forward.

“You look …” John begins, cadence disarmingly gentle, as if he’s speaking to a startled doe. You drive him crazy, and that’s not something anyone can do; you’re drop-dead gorgeous.

“Awful?” Interjecting, your voice teems with underlying insecurities, brimming with a veiled frustration that laces into your physicality. You seem somewhat upset, as if something else is bothering you.

With a scoff, John’s lip curls in disdain, preparing to shoot your self-deprecation down in one clean swipe. “Stop it,” He warns, stern and sharp as he moves aside, letting you come in. “We’re not arguing about this.”

Admittedly, you’re thankful that John is quick to destroy your nervousness, shoving it aside as if it was an insignificant thing. “I just … This doesn’t feel right at all. This party, the publicity, this dress won’t zip up, either —”

John stops you, large palm splaying over the small of your back, dragging you against the warmth of his musculature. “You’re nervous,” He deadpans, as if he’s solved the puzzle. “Relax, honey.”

That damned nickname; it sometimes slips out in sweeter, vulnerable moments, often in the comfort of your own rooms. It’s only spilled from his mouth in front of the team on one occasion, in the heat of a mission, but it’d been brushed off as condescension.

“You’re calm about this.” It’s an observation — a blatant one, but he doesn’t seem nearly as perturbed about this as you are. For as mouthy and smug as John could be, he wasn’t outwardly ruffled by new situations.

“It’s a charity event,” John shrugged, thumbs stroking comforting circles over your spine, attempting to quell your tangle of nerves. He can taste your anxiety, see it in your pupils. “We’re there to shake hands and get funding.”

“You’ve done this before,” Mellowing, a flicker of realization crosses your features, a sense of understanding. “I know that I shouldn’t be nervous, but I’m still getting used to the spotlight.”

John knows plenty, having done news interviews as Captain America, public speaking, countless events where he was the center of attention. Back then, he thrived as best as he could — now, the notion seemed incredibly dull.

Shaking hands and throwing on a facade wasn’t who he wanted to be anymore, but if it meant funding and upgrades, he was willing to play nice. If it weren’t for the Avengers, he might’ve been on the run, or sitting in a cold cell somewhere.

“Yeah,” He gruffs, unwilling to cage himself into a reminder of his past. John’s tongue darts to wet his lower lip, palm still flush to your back as he wordlessly guides you towards his bathroom. “We’ll stay together.”

His assurances are gentler than you expected, and you know John’s never been the most tactful with words. Through action alone, through touch, he conveys a sense of understanding, of your anxiousness.

Standing before the mirror, John appraises you again, thinly-veiled affection oozing through his gaze, incendiary. You’re so beautiful that he feels entirely unworthy, and he knows just how lucky he is to have you.

There’s still an hour before you’re set to leave, limousine service ordered by Valentina herself. Alexei had offered to drive the team, but there was strong pushback from her end.

Hands find the zipper seated at the base of your spine, tugged up only an inch or two. “Need some help?” John inquires, even though he already knows the answer. Sometimes, he likes hearing you say it; that you need him.

“If you don’t mind,” Flustered, you feel inept, an Avenger who can’t zip up her own dress. Though, part of you had deliberately ensured that John assisted you in some capacity, just to be close to him. “Thank you.”

With a brief nod, he steps forward, towering behind you, chest briefly ghosting over your back, tantalizing. Doggedly, John’s calloused digits snare around the zipper, giving it a tug to set it straight.

It’s eerily quiet, save for his heavier exhales and your excitable tremor, catching him staring at you through the mirror. Warmth slithers over the nape of your neck, creeping over your spine like ivy upon a column of stone.

A brief chuckle jostles his chest, as if he’s thought of something humorous without letting you in on it. Perplexed, your gaze flutters, meeting his own through the mirror. “What’s wrong? Is it still stuck?” You sigh, defeated.

“No,” Through a low hum, John plants a slow, careful kiss to the nape of your neck. “I’m lucky, that’s all.” It’s all he really needs to say, and you preen beneath his words. Despite the simplicity, there’s a depth conveyed to you, a mutual understanding.

Fire stirs within your belly, mere embers brought to life by soft-spoken murmurs. His hands still over the zipper of your dress, calloused thumb circling over the bare flesh of your spine, left exposed by the gap in your gown.

Warm breath plumes over your shoulders, licking across the back of your neck. A hush falls between, a comfortable one, crackling with splinters of tension that threaten to expand, grow.

John’s stare is exceedingly soft, something reserved for you, blonde lashes kissing the faint freckles beneath his eyes. There’s something starving within him, a hunger revealing.

Pale-blue fabric curls around your form, accentuating your curves, as if you’re part of the sky. A hitch forms within your throat, feeling his hands steady over the swell of your hips, fingers clamping down.

Rough lips pepper themselves to the hollow between your throat and shoulder, placing a careful string of kisses along your flesh. A sharp, poignant exhale comes rushing from your lungs, spine shivering with exhilaration.

“Stop looking at me like that, John.” Through a sheepish murmur, you shrink beneath his ogling, as if it might burn a hole right through you.

Feigning innocence, he laughs; dry, but it’s genuine. Pressing another kiss to your shoulder, your pulse quickens, climbing as he shrugs. “Like what?” He inquires, body exuding ripples of heat.

“Like you’re starting something,” It’s a threadbare warning, but he responds by squeezing your hips, chest shaking with a light scoff. “Something that you won’t finish before …”

“I’ll finish it, if that’s what you want.” Placating, John smooths a kiss over your jaw, thick shadow of a beard prickling your flesh. It sends shivers down your spine, exhilaration mounting into a knot of excitement.

He’d made your heart lurch, bones already molten with warmth, thighs shifting together beneath your dress. There’s time to spare before the gala, and your concern for your garments diminishes entirely.

His mouth tempts you, his eyes — John stares at you as if you’re the center of his universe, blonde brows creased together, lip curled in concentration. Maneuvering within the sliver of space, you turn, chest flush to his own.

“You’re so handsome,” Swooning, there’s stars in your eyes as you tilt forward, palms flattening over his chest, fingertips tracing idle patterns into his shirt. “So perfect like this.”

Bristling beneath your praise, John huffs, attempting to cling to some fraction of restraint. It’s thin, threatening to snap into two as he pulls you in, mouth locking with yours.

From the first scrape of lips, the fire festers, raging into something uncontrollable as he cages you in against the countertop, hungry. Fingers begin to curl into his chest, a moan bubbling from your mouth as he surges forward.

“Jesus,” He whispers into your mouth, reverent, hands molded to your curves as he picks you up with ease, placing you on the solid granite. Bullying between your legs, he’s eager, cock twitching to life within his pants. “You’re so beautiful.”

Behind closed doors, the bravado and swagger dissipate, leaving only the rawness of John at his core; in his essence, he’s good. There’s a disarming gentleness to each ministration, every look one of a veiled affection.

Silk rides up along your thighs, your dress beginning to bunch and pool around your hips. A sigh feathers from your lips, hands climbing toward the nape of his neck, toying with the blonde hair there.

Lips clamor for one another, ceaseless, dragging into another kiss and then again, again; your heart threatens to burst from your chest. He holds you steady, hips rutting into yours until you feel something firm.

His scruffy countenance melds with yours, bleeding heat, kissing you with enough vigor that it prompts you to hold onto him. Your heart gallops, races — it’s quick and erratic, beating in your ears.

It doesn’t take much for him, kiss stuttering as a low grunt rips through his diaphragm. Arousal sits heavy in the pit of his abdomen, a taut coil charged with heat, preparing to loose as he rocks into you.

Rough, careworn hands begin to caress beneath your dress, digits snaring into the soft cotton of your panties. There’s a brief exchange of glances, his jaw twitching, lips agape as he looks to you for consent. “Yeah?” He gruffs, waiting.

With an enthusiastic nod, you’re squirming with an unbridled want, feeling his hands drag your underwear down, lower, until they’re dangling from your ankles. Kicking them to the floor, your hands go clawing at his belt.

One hand grips the granite countertop, and with enough flexing, leaves behind a faultline fracture that snakes through stone. Muscles pull taut in his forearms, knuckles bruised, his flesh rougher, akin to leather.

Urging him in for another kiss, you’re lost within the heated labyrinth of his lips, savoring that rugged scratch of his beard. A low moan rouses within your chest, caught between your mouths.

He’s wedged between your legs, other palm holding steadfastly to your haunch, fingertips pressing into pliant flesh. As his belt clatters and loosens, John feels your hand, cold as it wraps around his cock.

A pleading groan splits his diaphragm, hot and disheveled beside your ear as his hips absently jolt forward. Your hand is like silk, tense against his length as you begin to stroke in easy, rhythmic flicks of your wrist.

“Christ,” John pants, brows pinched together, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer bliss. A thrilled gasp leaves you when he urges into you again, oozing heat against your palm. “S’good, good.” He grunts, groping at your thigh.

“I want you,” You exhale, your saccharine sigh wafting over his features, dragging him in with your magnetizing pull. Even then, you’re still touching him, his cock aching within your grasp. “God, John — I need you.”

Through the strained pitch of your voice, he’s more than eager to comply, mouth dropping to your throat, kisses wanton and thirsty. He plants a string of greedy kisses there, like hot brands to your skin.

If it weren’t for the gala, he would’ve marked you a time or two, but it was best to avoid any sharp questioning from the team.

However, it doesn’t stop him from scraping his teeth over the sensitive flesh of your neck, feeling you shiver against him. Arousal coalesces between your thighs, slick and warm, making you squirm atop the slab of granite.

Bodies close any sliver of space, friction taking root, an explosion of heat festering between. John’s mouth climbs over your throat, nipping at your jugular, catching the moan that floats from your lips.

Tension unfurls from his muscles, now released into this, into being intimate. He withdraws, lips ghosting over yours, feeling you collide into the kiss with a searing passion.

One hand snakes from your thigh to the heat between, cerulean hues flickering to gauge your reaction. A soft gasp tumbles from your mouth, and you have the audacity to give him that doe-eyed stare, his heart stuttering.

Finding your slit, John drags two digits over your core, biting back a haughty smirk, forehead dipping to flush against yours. “Figured as much,” He teases, voice a low husk beside your ear. “Is that for me?” He murmurs.

Flustered, you want to rip the cheeky remark right from his mouth, growing unbearably warm beneath his gaze. “Yeah,” You huff, smothering a whine when his fingers graze over your cunt, pushing past your folds. “John, please.”

He’s often one to tease you a little if he can, but time is running short and he’s just as eager, if not more, than you are.

John nods knowingly, rucking your dress up around your hips, slotting you closer, until his hips brush yours. Slipping your hand from his pants, there’s a shuffle of fabric, intermingled with sharp inhales, tremulous sighs.

Loosely hitching one leg around his hips, you’re bracing for the pressure, watching as he guides his cock to your cunt. “Still with me?” He mumbles, planting a kiss to your jaw.

“Mm-hm,” Through a gentle hum, he’s parting your legs, arms flexing as he maneuvers you as he sees fit. The flushed tip of his cock splits your folds, dragging through a time or two. “Please, I need you.”

Unable to suppress a groan, he’s fighting against baser instincts, against the primal urge clawing inside of him. “Say it again.” He grunts, cock prodding against the warmth of your cunt, preparing to push past.

“Need you,” With urgency this time, you reached for his biceps, thick and firm beneath your palms, nails scratching over his dress shirt. Hot, labored sighs drift between one another, wanton; you’re desperate for him. “John, please.” You plead, not above begging.

Christ, he needs you, too — craves you more than anything else, cerulean hues glistening with a thinly-veiled ardor. Locking you in against him, he groans, mouth melding with yours, pulling another grunt from his sternum.

“You’re my girl,” John murmurs, subdued and husky, scratching an itch in your brain. Slowly, you plant a kiss against the scruff of his jaw, listening to his excitable sighs. “Good?”

Attentive, he ensures that you’re prepared before taking him, writhing as his cock pushes incessantly against your cunt. “Good.” Conceding, your hips lurch forward, creating a spark of tension.

His hips slowly urge forward, flushed head of his cock pushing into you with mild resistance. Disarmingly gentle, John doesn’t move quickly or rough, burying his way into you with sluggish rolls of his body.

An entangled cry escapes you, followed by a choked sob that catches in your throat. His own sounds are gruff, rugged; his face is flush to yours, brows furrowed in concentration.

He knows he’s going to be thinking about this for the rest of the night — your body against his, your dress ruffled around your hips, the gleam in your eyes. John continues, hand strangling the granite countertop.

“You feel so perfect,” Feeding into his deep-seated desire for praise, you notice the tick in his jaw, the way he manhandles your leg. “So handsome like this, John.” You know exactly what you’re doing, and it induces some frenzy within him.

John’s resolve is crumbling, foundation swept away in the wake of your affections, and your wanton moan doesn’t make anything easier. “Jesus,” He grits, jaw clenched, body coiled around you. “You’re tight.”

A string of hoarse expletives flutter from his mouth, barely above a whisper, setting your bones ablaze as he pulls back and pushes forward.

A soft whimper escaped you, feeling yourself clench around him out of sheer want. His groan vexed you, your fingertips cupping the nape of his neck. Carding through blonde tresses, you tug, coaxing him in for a messy kiss.

It’s all teeth, tongue, affection — he briefly bites at your bottom lip, savoring the sharp inhale you give him, leg snug around his hips.

His pace was agonizingly sluggish at first, drawing out each thrust in an effort to let you grow accustomed. Hot sighs of passion fluttered between the both of you, lips brushing over one another as he rolled his hips forward.

Your heart pounded within your ribcage, so powerful that you thought it might burst through. “God, you’re mine.” He gruffed, cadence hoarse, permeated with possessiveness.

John’s movements had started slow before turning into calculated thrusts, sharp and precise, cock buried deep into your cunt. There’s a pattern to it, an erratic rhythm, born of a mutual desperation that you feed from.

He began to thrust into you, hunching in and over, stabilizing himself with one palm flat atop the counter. Stone splintered and groaned beneath, malleable in the wake of John’s inhuman strength.

Your head spun, clouded by desire as your paramour ravished you in the way that you deserved. “M’yours, John.” With a keening moan, your hips rolled forward, pulling a grunt from his throat.

His countenance echoed your sentiments, shadowed with the haze of want, a carnality that clawed at your being. You let your forehead press to his, brows screwed together in a state of bliss, grasping at his tresses.

“Drivin’ me crazy.” He drawls, visage contorting into a look of pleasure, head dropping toward the hollow between your throat and shoulder. His beard scratches ragged over your flesh, sending a shudder through your spine.

As he moves forward, his cock beginning to sheathe itself fully within your cunt, your nails dig crescents into the nape of his neck, back arching forward.

It’s a push-and-pull, euphoric as you cling to him like a drowning woman, unbridled noises escaping you in droves.

With each sluggish rut of his hips, you feel everything, his cock rocking into you with a rhythm that only seems to climb higher, higher still. He’s a little rougher, passionate; it makes you want him even more.

Rooted within you, John’s hips withdraw, enough to rut forward with a sense of urgency, filling you to the brim with his cock. Lewd, crass noises reverberated in the haze of heat that enveloped you, his thrusts gathering in intensity.

“Fu— John, please,” Through a strangled whine, you roll your hips again, friction blossoming between bodies, eliciting a groan from him. Arousal mounts, wanton, and you’re eager for a release. “Please.”

A low whimper left you as he snapped forward, letting passion and want pour into each ministration, cock sheathing itself inside of your aching cunt. John does it again, again, again — a pattern of rhythmic thrusts that jostle your body.

He’s getting close, perspiration building along his brow, hands moving to hold you close, cage you in against his musculature. “Jesus, you’re perfect.” John growls, the noise making you shiver, cunt pulsing around his length.

“Touch me,” You plead, noticing the look he gives you, cerulean hues boring into you. John doesn’t grouse nor protest, head jostling in a brief nod as one hand snakes to the heat between your legs. “Th—There, shit.”

Seeking your clit like a missile, his thumb presses over the clutch of nerves, circling over it, watching as you writhe from the contact. He huffs a breathy scoff, lips smoothing over your jaw, hips rutting into you with a fervor.

Each snap of his hips are drawn-out, deliberate; it is a lascivious torture that torments the both of you, cunt tightening pathetically around his length.

“That’s it,” John grunts, the husky cadence of his voice sending you into some frenzy. Molten heat pools between your thighs, legs rattling like leaves as you hold onto him. “That’s my girl.”

Between the careful caresses over your clit and his cock, still pounding away at you, the amalgamation of sensations is nearly overwhelming. You’re pushed into your release, falling over the precipice, body a furnace of bliss.

It’s white-hot and feverish, as if you’ve been washed in fire, all-consuming. He’s touching you still, grinding over your clit, panting beside your ear as if he’s running a marathon.

Grunts continued to spill beside your ear as he reached his peak, but you were already there. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, sobbing with ecstasy.

A coil of heat began to unfurl within the both of you, bodies constantly shifting against the other, an amalgamation of friction.

John fucked you through your release, cock steadily rutting into your cunt, pressing a messy kiss against your mouth. He’s breathing fire, lungs burning, stinging in the wake of your shared orgasm.

He cums inside of you, holding steadfastly to you like a vice, fingers groping at the swell of your hips, the other recoiling from between your thighs. Everything is warm, the room blanketed in a haze of heat that settles in the afterglow.

Each sigh feels ragged, blistering through your chest, foreheads flush together as he peppers a string of kisses over your temples. “How am I supposed to get through the gala now?” You mumble, breathless.

John laughs; a genuine chuckle, something rarely heard, lacking the typical sardonicism. “Should’ve thought this through,” He remarks, though it applies to him, too. He’s visibly disheveled, blonde tresses mussed. “Jesus.”

He doesn’t withdraw immediately, getting a good look at you, beautiful beyond compare. You’re quick to press a kiss over his scruffy jaw, stringing along until you reach the corner of his mouth.

“Sorry about your hair,” Licking your fingertips, you attempt to smooth his tresses back into place, but it’s noticeably shoddy. “You still look really handsome.” You smile, and he’s grinning, catching a flash of pearlescent teeth.

There’s a knock at his door — sharp, hurried.

“We have to leave in ten minutes! Please make yourselves presentable, at the very least.” It’s Ava, whose tone is already thick with amusement, and you swear you can hear Yelena’s laughter somewhere beyond the door.

Caught, John groans, visage contorting slightly as he pulls out of you, but he’s just as quick to get a wet towel and help clean you up. “Next time, we’ll do this a couple hours before.” He murmurs, gracing your shoulder with a kiss.

Smitten, the both of you are quick to clean yourselves up, look presentable again. He finally zipped up your dress, suit jacket tugged on over his broad shoulders, crimson dissipating from his features.

As you’re making for the door, his hand smoothing over the small of your back, you stop, peering up at him with an affectionate smile. “Was it worth it?”

John kisses your brow without a lick of hesitation, a glimmer within his eyes before he smirks. He answers you, no stammer or reluctance to his response.

“Yes.”

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if I see one more thing tagged incorrectly when I am trying to do my daily doom scroll I am going to flip out.

PSA: if you’re writing a Bucky Barnes x Reader guess what that isn’t? A JOHN WALKER X READER. if the character you are writing the reader with isn’t the character you are tagging STOP IT

[acmecorn]

Guess who saw Thunderbolts and loved it!

[acmecorn]

swimming pool

pairing: John Walker × fem!reader

words: 2.2k

summary: John challenges you to keep quiet while he touches you in the pool. (explicit)

･ﾟ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The edge of the pool melted into the skyline of the city, seamless and tempting.

Black night sky met crystal blue water, illuminated by pretty lights hiding underneath the water surface. And in the middle where the void clashed with the liquid deep, was you, your back pressed against the pool’s safe edge as John devoured your mouth in a bruising kiss, starving and seeking.

You made a small noise against his lips, trying to keep up with him as your hands continued their restless journey. Fingers playing with the blonde hair in his nape, drifting over his strong shoulders and arms, the other hand touching his abs underwater. Your knees were weak and you had to stand on your tiptoes to meet him, a possessive heat radiating from John that was making you feel smaller, awaiting of what was going to happen next.

There was just the two of you outside here, your towels abandoned by the lounge chairs, the sounds of the city at the feet of the tower just a background noise. It was dark and dangerous and when he bit down on your lip, a hungry growl in his throat, you almost felt the need to present your neck to him, willing to be snapped into two by him if that’s what he desired.

But you were his baby. His honey.

John had made himself a promise to never hurt again what was his.

The palms of his hands had left your heated cheeks a while ago, firstly resting on the back of your head while the two of you kissed, then overwhelmed by a primal instinct to feel the whole of your tits in his hand. The pretty bows of your bikini top had become undone, half hanging off your body as he played with you, the coolness of his thumbs on your buds eliciting a small gasp from you.

With difficulty, John broke the kiss and relished the way you tried to chase after it. He allowed himself a moment to take some deep breaths, watching as you did the same with unfocused eyes and kiss-bruised lips he adored so much. “You’ll have to be quiet, okay?”

You blinked at him. “No one’s here.”

He hummed, drawing you closer against his body by a hand over your ass, playing with the straps of your flimsy bikini bottom. Two decorative white bows on each hip. When you had bought it, all you had been able to think about was the moment he was going to take it off you and in excitement, your thighs tried to squeeze together, only to find out his leg had already bullied its way between them.

The pool wall behind you. His leg between yours and his muscular arms caging you in. You were trapped and you wanted to beg for him to throw the keys away.

“I don’t care if someone’s here.” He informed you darkly and your breath hitched as the sudden friction against your core.

Your chin was softly tilted upwards while his strong thigh rubbed over the thin fabric separating your skin from his. His eyes and the water surrounding you were the same color and you got lost in them, hypnotized by what feelings he awakened in you. Unable to keep your pouty mouth closed, a little moan got caught in your throat as his calloused thumb brushed over your bottom lip.

“But I know you can do it anyway, hm?” He cocked his head at you, keeping his voice low. “Can you do that for me, honey? Can you keep quiet and be a good girl for daddy?”

Not even quite processing his words, you nodded eagerly, touching his wrist and feeling your mind slip more and more into the familiar headspace John liked to keep you in when he fucked you. Obedient, sweet and not a single ounce of brattiness in your big, innocent eyes.

You pressed yourself closer against his thigh, slinging your arms around his neck and wanting to be lifted. “Yes, daddy. I can be quiet.”

A slow grin spread over John’s face at that. We’ll see about that, he thought to himself. “Yeah?”

You kissed the pad of his thumb, blinking up at him. “Mhm.”

“Fuck yeah.” John muttered and met you halfway as you were arching forward, your lips colliding once again as he kissed you breathless. Without losing his rhythm, he hoisted you up into his arms, placing your smooth legs around his hips and grinding forward. The tent in his swim shorts rubbed against your clothed pussy and you stifled a whine.

You needed more. It was never enough with him.

Grinding down on him, you pressed your tits against his chest and buried your hand in his wet strands of hair. John groaned, his tongue swirling against yours and setting your body on fire despite the soothing cool of the water. You weighted nothing in his arms, the sweetest temptation and before you could deepen the kiss even more, John lifted you up and out of the water.

Your bum met the heated tiles and you whined at the loss of contact. From beneath you, John’s body was a masterpiece, all hard muscles and naked skin for you on display. You watched breathlessly as he threw your wet bikini bra behind you, his stare predatory as he stepped between your legs.

“What did I tell you, honey?” He asked, his lazy smile making your spine tingle nervously. “I want you to stay quiet or I’ll stop.”

“Stop wh-“

The cool night air hit your pussy as he peeled your bikini bottom to the side and groaned at the sight of you. The little fabric hadn’t hid much before, but now your dripping cunt was fully on display for him, your wetness drooling on the tiles, puffy lips glistening with want. John licked his lips, a droplet of water falling from his hair into his eyes as he looked up at you. “Spread those pretty legs for me, baby girl.”

You bit back another whine, your arousal throbbing just behind your untouched clit as you followed his order. Slowly, you showed him, leaning back on your elbows as he took you in like you were his personal feast.

John didn’t tear his hungry gaze away from you as he leaned in, softly blowing on your heated flesh as a muscle in your thigh twitched in surprise. Goosebumps rose on your arm, the cooling water on your skin doing nothing to hide the violent shiver going through you. “So fucking wet…all for me, huh?”

“All for you…” You whispered, remembering his order. You bit down on your lip to suppress the helpless whimper rising in you as he made himself comfortable in front of you, his hand running down your calf until he could eclose your ankle and lift it out of the water.

Slowly, John tilted your exposed leg to the side and watched your pussy clench around nothing. For a moment, he thought about just diving in and eating you out until you’d scream…but well, there was always going to be dessert, right?

“I’m gonna touch you now and you’ll stay quiet as a little mouse, okay honey?” He explained slowly, your chest heaving now as the weight of his words fully sank in. When you were in bed with John, you usually had to bite down on his forearm or a pillow from the way he made you scream. How were you going to make it out here, with nothing close by to aid you? “If you’re good, I’ll let you come. If you're not…”

John didn’t have to finish the sentence for you. You knew his vicious tendencies to tease the shit out of you, but for some reason, you had a dreading feeling this wasn’t going to be any different with the way you were riled up already.

“Relax…” He soothed, taking his time to bend down and pepper little kisses on your knees and thighs, a part of you instantly loosening up as his gentle care. “I got you. You can do this.”

You breathed out, bracing yourself as he leaned in and softly touched your clit with two fingers. The flat contact was enough to make you twitch, a heavy exhale leaving your chest but -  not a sound. You watched him with big eyes, hoping you’d passed the test.

His heated gaze flickered up at you. John rewarded you with a proud grin and pressed a kiss just under your belly button while his hand on your ankle drew little circles into the skin. “So good for daddy, hm? Let’s make this a little more complicated.”

When his fingers began to rub, your back arched and you nearly choked on a sharp inhale. Your whole body was tensing, nerves travelling down between your legs until all you could feel was the spot where his and your body touched.

“Doing so good…” John muttered, watching your every reaction as he kept the slow pace, knowing it’d work you up more than just drawing fast figures on your clit. He was nothing if not thorough, knowing exactly how to get you to the edge and just how hard it was for you to keep your moans and little precious sounds in.

You bit down hard on your lip again, your hands trembling as you held yourself up, not willing to tear your eyes away from John as he touched you. His steady rubs and the way you could feel his hot breath bounce back on your pussy

“You getting there yet, honey?” He prodded softly and you nodded, tilting your head back in ecstasy before his dark voice brought you back to him. “Stay quiet and I’ll let you come, I’m gonna count down and then I wanna see you fall apart.”

You nodded, swallowing hard at the challenge. Just a little more. You could do this.

“Three…” John began and you did it with him in his head, anticipating the next number like it was a gulp of fresh water in the desert. But the two didn’t follow, not immediately, and John stayed silent and continued his torturous caress over your folds, drawing out his assault on you.

Fuck.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you fought against yourself, trying to keep the moans in your chest down. You were floating, unable to focus on anything that wasn’t John and you silently begged to quit playing with you, knowing you were nearing your limits…

“Two…” His hand shot out and let go of your leg just as you were about to clamp your hand down on your mouth. He fixated it against your own belly and pushed it down just slightly, the pressure in your lower stomach heightening and becoming deliciously overwhelming.

John panted at the sinful image you made, naked and wet and writhing and completely silent as he rubbed your sweet little pussy. As much as he enjoyed making you hoarse from screaming on his cock, the sight of you struggling to keep your pleasure inside was getting him off just as good. His cock was pulsing in his shorts and he wanted nothing more than bury himself balls deep into you soon. So soon…

“Perfect…almost there.” He praised and let a third finger briefly dip down and into your wetness, barely even breaching the soft, sensitive entrance he knew so well.

But just like that, a shock went through you at it and in the next moment, a high-pitched moan left your pretty lips and echoed betrayingly across the empty terrace.

Your eyes met his. “No, no, no.”

“Aww, honey.” John cooed and moved away, his touch leaving you completely as your hips tried to buck against him. You whined, nearly sobbing at the loss of contact and his touch, but John was there in an instant and cradled you against his chest. He laid your head on his shoulder and stroked your back to soothe you down.

You were shaking in his arms, trying to calm down from the denied orgasm you had anticipated so much. If you had been in any other mindset, you would’ve cursed him out for counting so slow, but his warm body around yours felt too good to put up a fight.

“That was so good, honey.” He praised you lowly, brushing back your wet hair as he kissed your temple. “You just couldn’t help yourself, hm? I understand.”

“Thank you…” You breathed, your senses tingling as your body slowly climbed down from the edge. “’just wanna be good for you…”

“Oh you are. So, so good for me. We’re gonna try again, hm?” John’s hand ran over your thighs as he slowly tilted you back again, this time allowing you to lay comfortably on your back and watch the faint glow of the night above you.

He rested his hand between your boobs, keeping it there to feel your pounding heartbeat. With a kiss to your neck, he dragged your lower half closer to the edge and to his hungry, awaiting mouth. “Maybe you’ll do better with my mouth on you? We got all night to find out.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

[acmecorn]

I like John Walker because he's hot and definitely not because I too am exactly like that*