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“God, what the fuck were you thinking?!” John’s palm slammed into my shoulder, his glove digging roughly through my jacket as the alarm blared around us.
You and Walker were sent to an abandoned Hydra workshop, and the rest of the team dropped you off from the Quinjet, claiming they’ll be back shortly. Your mission? Scouting out the area and making sure there aren’t any lost files about the many experiments Hydra conducted—really, it wasn’t your fault. I was leaning against the moldy wall, trying not to gag while waiting for John to finally bypass the computer’s security.
He takes, oh, so long.
Until you accidentally triggered the alarms
Fuck,
Doors immediately start locking, and bright flashing lights cover the room. And John’s face? Pure rage.
“Fuck, I didn’t mean it, you think I knew that there was a trigger on the wall? A fucking wall John!” voice breaking mid-way, your eyes couldn’t get off of his though, he was so angry and to you? that was the hottest you’ve ever seen him.
“Didn’t mean it my ass- Jesus, I saw you that whole time, doing nothing!” his grip on your shoulder getting tighter, pushing you further back into the wall. The red flicking lights bounce on and off of his figure to show you every detail of his face.
“Oh, screw you, Walk-“
“Hello? Any of you copy?”
Both yours and John’s headpieces go off, Bucky's soft voice racing through them.
Silence
“Copy,” John’s voice was rougher than Barnes'. If Bucky couldn’t tell that his reply was filled with anger, then he should have seen his face from here. His hand never left your shoulder, and when he spoke, his eyes twitched while locking into yours. You were staring so hard that you could probably study every expression on his face. The way his brows dent in wrath, the dark bags under his eyes, his lips so dry that the thought of licking them smooth came to mind.
“We’re like, 5 minutes away, what happened?” Yelena’s voice butting in.
Then, he pulled away, turning his back on you- making his way back to the computer, to finish what he started, clearly choosing to ignore the alarms as you hear him speak into the headpiece. Obviously outing you to the rest of the team. Snitch,
Lifting yourself off the wall, you lost yourself in your thoughts. Walker? John Walker, sure, you’ve thought about what he’s like in bed. But now? You guessed you’d get hot over Barnes, not this, wannabe Steve Rogers.
Maybe it’s the way he styled his hair today, or how he’s turned to you, his back flexing while his hands work, skimming through the old- rusty keyboard. Or maybe it’s how turned on you are from having John Walker yell at you while pinned down to a wall.
You’ll never know,
One final ‘click!’ from across the room, and suddenly the alarms are off and the door slams open again.
“‘Kay, we’re done here,” the rasp in his voice keeping you in check.
“Or, more like, I’m done here, because you haven’t done jackshit,” dragging out the ‘jackshit’ as he turns to face you, that overly fake smile. You roll your eyes in response.
He’s already halfway down the hall before you even had the chance to get out of the room, let alone ask what he found, and he didn’t even wait for you, dick.
……………………..
The tall, thin grass annoyingly covers your legs while the moisture in the air is slowly killing you, at least you think it is. This is definitely worse than hearing Alexei having a one-sided argument with the team over who’s the ‘boss’ when it always ends up with Bucky saying ‘..uh-huh,’ and ‘right,’ to everything Alexei tries to put in his mouth.
Eyes skimming the area, you finally see the Quinjet, raising your hands to wave at Ava, who is currently waiting outside the ramp for you, John nowhere to be seen, probably inside, sulking.
“Hi, Ava.”
“What the fuck is up with him,” she narrows her eyes, you just snort at her comment, wasting no time and walking into the Quinjet. She follows,
Taking a seat next to Bob, you make small conversation with one another, watching Walker across from you, arms crossed and head looking down.
“Are we ready?” Bucky says, looking back from his chair,
…………………………..
The ride took about an hour, no less, and it was spent with you and John debriefing the rest of the team about your mission. Bob asked us if we had found any files on the computers, and Walker finally answered the question in your head, “No.”
Finally getting inside the doors, you watch as Ava groans, making her way straight to the training room while Alexei, Bucky, and Yelena go to the living room, and John? Walking the opposite way with his footsteps raging with every step he takes, right down the hallway to his bedroom. You just have to follow him; it would be the right thing to do.
It’s not a surprise to you how fast he got to his room, but sometimes you forget he’s a super soldier; he just looks so ordinary. Turning the corner, you notice he’s already gone, his door shut.
You knock,
…No reply
..
.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, can I come in?”
You hear heavy footsteps on the other side of the door, then a long pause.
The lock clicks. The door swings open just enough for you to slip inside, and John’s already halfway across the room, arms crossed like he’s daring you to speak.
“You’ve got five minutes,” he mutters, not looking at you. “And if this is just another excuse to defend what happened, don’t waste my time.”
You shut the door behind you, slowly.
“Actually,” you say, voice a little tighter than you meant, “I came to say thanks. For being a raging asshole in front of everyone.”
That makes him turn. Jaw tight. Eyebrows raised. “Oh, you’re feeling brave now?”
“I’m feeling annoyed,” you shoot back, stepping forward. “Because yeah, I messed up. But you’ve been acting like I tried to sabotage the mission.”
“You did screw it up,” he snaps, advancing on you without hesitation. “You stood there like a tourist while I had to fix your mess.”
“You’re unbelievable-”
“No, you are,” he interrupts, suddenly close. “Waltzing in here thinking you can talk your way out of it with that little attitude of yours-”
He’s standing way too close now. You should back up, but something in his eyes dares you not to.
“What,” you ask, breath catching, “gonna shove me into a wall again? Yell at me some more?”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. His eyes flick to your mouth for just a second. Just one.
You grin, even though you shouldn't. “Didn’t hate that, did you?
Silence.
“You think I want you ?”
His voice is venom.
But his hands are already on your hips.
“You use your mouth like your hot shit, but all you’re good for is this,” he mutters, grabbing your jaw and tilting your face up to him.
You don't argue. You don’t want to. You’re already burning with it.
Then, his mouth crashes into yours, all heat and frustration. He grabs your wrist, walking you backward until your spine hits the wall. One hand braces beside your head, the other tight on your waist.
“You’re such a pain in my ass,” he growls against your lips.
“Likewise,” you breathe, kissing him again, harder this time.
His lips are burning like yours, his breath is ragged, and his teeth are clenched like he’s fighting a war inside himself. And you know this isn’t about you. It’s about everything bottled up that day, that week, that goddamn life he never asked for but got stuck with anyway.
“Fuck, you’re lucky I don’t snap your neck right here,” he growls, voice rough, low. His fingers digging into your body - there's no gentleness, no softness. Just raw.
But you don’t pull away. You want this. You want to feel what he’s feeling, even if it’s messy, brutal, and a little fucked up.
John’s teeth are stuck grazing your bottom lip before his tongue can even force in, tasting, marking. His hands shove your shirt up, skin already flushed from the heat and tension of the day, and you arch into his touch without a second thought.
He’s not sweet. He’s not tender. He’s hard and rough and breathless. His hands roam your body with a possessiveness that’s more about venting than affection. His fingers meet the curve of your breasts, running them up and down your smooth skin.
“God, you make me fucking insane,” he mutters against your lips, voice harsh like he’s biting back something deeper. But you don’t care. You want the anger that he's built up.
Suddenly, every grip that he had on your body disappears, pulling back. His jacket hits the floor, but that abandonment of loss didn't last long, as he was soon back in front of you, having your back pressed hard against the wall as he pins you there like he’s holding onto every bit of control he can grasp. Kissing you again, harder , stronger.
When he finally pulls away, he's breathing heavy, eyes dark and unreadable, you trace your fingers down his cheek - smirking despite the sting of his bite marks on your neck.
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you whisper, voice thick with heat.
John’s lips twitch into a cruel little smile, like he’s proud of it.
“Call it what you want. Doesn’t change the fact you’re exactly where you belong.”
Your eyes flashing “Fuck you,”
John’s eyes narrow dangerously, a slow, hard laugh rumbling from his throat.
“Yeah? You really think you can talk to me like that and still get away with it? God, you're such a fucking slut, ” His voice is low, harsh, like a warning.
You meet his gaze, unflinching.
“Please, you’re not mad because I messed up, you’re mad because you want to fuck me and you hate that I know it.”
And that sent him, crossed a line you didn't even know existed.
His hands that were once pinning you to the wall let go, slamming you onto the floor.
Your ass hitting the ground as you let out a soft ‘hmpt!’ from the sudden shock, his fingers are tangling in your hair, making it so you have no choice but to look up at his smug face, looking down at you like you’re some... Peasant, his peasant .
“Are you going to make yourself useful, or just sit there and take it?”
Your knees scrape against the floor as he yanks your head back further, and despite the sting, your lips curve.
You breathe out, voice low, defiant,
“Whatever gets that stick out of your ass, Captain.”
His grip tightens, and for a second, he actually laughs - dark and humorless.
“Smart mouth like that,” he mutters, leaning in, “it’s a miracle you’re still breathing.”
But his other hand is already undoing his belt, and you know:
This isn’t about love.
It’s about control, release, and the fact that even when he’s using you, you’re still the one driving him crazy.
The harsh sound of his belt hitting the floor snaps through the room, making your eyes flicker down. His pants pool at his feet, boxers low enough to show just how hard he is.
He doesn’t give you long to look.
His fingers trail up, rough pads brushing your lips, thumb pausing at the corner of your mouth like he’s sizing you up.
“What a waste.”
It’s not pity. It’s condescension.
And then he’s in your mouth.
No warning. No buildup. Just the sudden, blunt thrust of his cock against your tongue, sealing your lips around him. The muffled groan you let out vibrates against him, and you feel the tension roll through his body.
His fingers stay tangled in your hair, tightening with each slow drag of his hips. There's no rhythm, just frustration, raw and biting, shoved down your throat like it's the only way he knows how to deal with it. His grip is bruising, possessive, using you to work through whatever rage or regret has been boiling in his chest since the second he laid eyes on you.
"That's right," he growls, voice low, teeth clenched. "This is all you're good for, huh?"
He pulls out slightly, just enough to let you catch a breath before pushing back in, harder this time. You gag, your eyes watering, but you don't stop. You don't want to. Every time he shudders, every twitch of his hips, every breathless curse muttered under his breath - it's like feeding the fire burning between you.
“You weren’t so mouthy earlier,” he sneers, eyes dark with satisfaction as he watches you take it. “Look at you. On your knees for the guy you called an asshole.”
Your nails dig into his thighs, but it only makes him chuckle, mean and breathless. His other hand cups your jaw, thumb swiping the corner of your lips where spit and precum smear your skin.
“You’re such a fucking mess,” he mutters, yanking your mouth off of him for a second. Strings of spit connect you, your chest rising and falling fast, and John’s gaze flickers across your face like he’s trying to burn this image into his brain.
"You think I care what they think?" he spits. "The whole team? They don’t know shit. But this," he presses the tip of his cock back against your lips, smirking, "-this is real. This is the only thing that’s honest around here."
You look up at him, your voice hoarse but steady as you breathe out, “Then shut up and use me like you mean it.”
And that breaks something in him.
He growls your name under his breath like a curse, pushing you back until you’re flat on the floor. He kneels between your legs, dragging your pants down with rough hands, not even bothering to undress you fully. His fingers ghost over your thighs for just a second before he’s lining himself up, his eyes still locked with yours.
“This what you wanted?” he asks, low and dangerous. “This what you’ve been thinking about every time you mouth off? Getting fucked into the floor like you’re nothing?”
You don't answer. You don’t need to. The look in your eyes says it all.
And then he thrusts into you, hard and deep, punching the air from your lungs with the force. His hands lock around your hips, holding you in place while he drives himself in again and again - every motion fueled by spite and desperation, nothing sweet about it. Just bodies, heat, and tension years in the making.
“You take it so fucking well,” he pants, leaning over you, one hand gripping your throat just tight enough to make your head spin. “Like you were made for this.”
Your nails rake down his back as he pounds into you, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your skin. There’s no love here. No softness. Just raw need. Frustration. Lust.
You can barely breathe, and it only makes everything feel sharper, every thrust, every drag of his teeth against your collarbone, every filthy word spat through gritted teeth.
“You like being used like this?” he snarls, voice low, dangerous. “Treated like nothing but a fuckin’ hole for me to work through my rage?”
You choke out a breathless moan that makes his hips stutter. His grip tightens for a second, not enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you that he could.
“That’s what I thought,” he spits, eyes dark as sin. “You talk all that shit. Act like you’ve got claws. But the second I get you under me, you’re begging for more.”
“Go to hell,” you gasp, even as your legs lock tighter around his waist, forcing him deeper.
He grins like the devil. “Already there. Dragged you with me.”
His hand slides down your body, gripping your thigh so hard it’ll bruise. He shifts his angle and slams back in, harder, deeper, like he’s trying to carve his fury into your bones.
Your back arches off the floor, a cry slipping from your lips before you can stop it.
“Oh, that’s the sound,” he growls. “That little cry, fucking knew I could pull that out of you.”
His fingers find your jaw again, forcing your eyes up to meet his.
“Look at me,” he demands. “Look at me while I ruin you.”
You do. You can’t not. He’s all you can see, all you can feel. His body, his weight, his fury, it’s overwhelming, brutal. And still not enough.
“God, you’re such a fucking mess,” he mutters, voice catching as he drives into you harder. “So desperate for it. You act like you hate me, but you’re soaked the second I lay hands on you.”
You snarl at him, panting. “ Fuck you. ”
He leans in, nose brushing yours, breath hot on your lips.
“You are.”
And with that, he thrusts again-sharper, crueler, punishing, dragging every ounce of tension from both your bodies until you’re gasping, clawing at him, the world blurring behind the heat of it all.
There’s no rhythm left, just chaos. Collisions. The sound of skin on skin and labored, vicious breathing.
John’s hand tightens around your throat again, not enough to hurt, but enough to make everything else feel more intense, more raw. Your eyes flutter, nails digging into his back like you’re holding on for dear life.
“Fucking - take it,” he growls, hips slamming into you harder, deeper, every thrust punching sound out of your lungs. “You’re just a hole when you act like this. A filthy, needy little hole.”
You moan around it, unable to form words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how overwhelmed your body is, how it’s all too much and still somehow not enough.
“God, look at you,” he spits, sweat dripping down his chest as he pounds into you. “You like it, being used. Owned.”
And fuck, he’s right.
You feel the knot tightening in your gut, that electric heat about to burst like a dam. Your thighs start to tremble.
“Come,” he barks, like a command. “Right now. You come when I say.”
And with one last, brutal thrust, everything inside you snaps.
Your body arches off the ground as the orgasm tears through you like fire, white-hot and blinding. You cry out, mouth open in a gasp, hands clinging to him while you ride the waves. John groans, low, broken, and spills inside you with a violent shudder, his rhythm stuttering before collapsing entirely.
The room is silent except for your ragged breathing, his weight pressing against you. For a long moment, neither of you moves.
Afterward, he pulls away, already turning his back on you. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t ask if you’re okay. Just throws on a shirt like you’re nothing more than a temporary fix.
You sit up, still breathless, attempting to drag your clothes back on.
“Still an asshole,” you mutter.
“Yeah?” he smirks over his shoulder. “You came knocking.”
Before you can even reply—
SLAM.
The door bursts open.
“—so unless we all wanna die on the next mission, we need to—”
Yelena stops mid-sentence. Dead still. Her eyes flick from your flushed face, to John’s half-dressed state, to the scattered clothing on the floor.
The room goes silent.
A beat passes.
Then another.
“…Jesus Christ,” Ava says flatly.
Bob, who had been standing behind them all, takes one look at the scene and makes a noise, something between a gasp and a dying bird. He immediately turns around, shielding his eyes. “I—I didn’t see anything. I swear. I’m legally blind now.”
Alexei, never one for subtlety, just points. “I KNEW IT. I called it. You all said I was dramatic - HA!”
“I said you were nosy, not wrong,” Ava mutters.
“Is this what that shouting was?” Yelena asks, hands on her hips. “I thought someone was getting murdered, not - railed.”
You bury your face in your hands.
John just stretches like he had a good workout. “We done here?”
“Oh no. No. No,” Bob stammers, still facing the wall like it’ll save him. “We are not done. This is… this is an incident. I have to report this. I think. Wait. Does this count as workplace harassment?”
“Only if she didn’t enjoy it,” John smirks.
You glare at him. “You’re a pig.”
“Didn’t hear you complaining,” he tosses back.
“Oh my god, stop talking,” Ava groans, already pulling out her phone. “Do I have to schedule an exorcism?”
Bucky, silent until now, finally chimes in with a single unimpressed grunt. “Messy.”
John eyes him. “Don’t start.”
You smirk. “Jealous, Barnes?”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Please. I’ve had better.”
“Damn right you have,” you murmur, just to be petty.
John freezes.
Bob actually whimpers. “Can we please do literally anything else?! Like maybe… save the world?! Or read quietly?!”
Alexei slaps a hand on his back. “This is team bonding, Bob.”
“I’m traumatized,” Bob whispers.
“You’re welcome,” you and John say at the same time.