Chapter Text
The briefing room smelled like old coffee and sweat, the kind of stale air that clung to government buildings. You'd barely dropped your bag by the door when the man himself walked in.
John Walker
He filled the doorway with squared shoulders and a cocky kind of stance, like the whole room already belonged to him. You knew him by reputation, arrogant, overbearing, impossible to work with, and in two seconds flat, he proved all of it true.
His eyes flicked to you, sharp, assessing "You the new addition?"
The way he said it made your skin bristle, like you were some temporary inconvenience, not a teammate. You lifted you chin "I'm not here for your approval"
That earned you the smallest smirk, the kind that looked more like a dare than amusement. He stepped further into the room, closer, towering just enough to test your boundaries "Didn't say you were. Just making sure you know how this works. You follow my lead, we won't have a problem."
You barked out a humorless laugh "That's funny. I don't recall anyone mentioning you were in charge"
For a moment, the air thickened, charged. His jaw flexed, eyes narrowing with a dangerous kind of interest. He leaned in slightly, voice low, "Keep that edge, and you're gonna find yourself in trouble"
You didn't blink, just matched his stare with steel of your own "Trouble's usually where I do my best work"
A dangerous smirk tugged at his mouth again. He straightened, stepping back but not away, eyes dragging over you one last time before he finally walked over to the table and wait for the rest of the team to arrive.
You let out an annoyed sigh and just as you sat on the opposite side, the rest of the team filled the room.
Your voice cut through Walker's not even five minutes into the mission briefing "No, that'll get us bottlenecked" you interrupted, stabbing a finger at the map on the table "We hit that street, we're trapped. No exits, no cover"
Walker's head snapped toward you, "I've done this a hundred times. You stick to the plan, it works"
Ava leaned back into her chair "Funny, last time we 'stuck to the plan' we were almost scraping you off the asphalt"
Walker's jaw ticked, shooting Ava an annoyed look. Yelena's eyebrow arched and you smirked, point proven
Walker leaned forward, eyes locked on you now "Fine" he growled "You think you've got the answers? Don't get in my way out there"
"Wouldn't dream of it"
The rest of the debrief went by with no more interruptions, surprisingly, Bucky dismissed everyone, leaving no place to argue "Good, no more questions, I suggest you go start getting ready for tonight" Walker made his way to the door, he paused, throwing one last look over his shoulder. That smirk was back, cocky and sharp. "Try to keep up out there."
Your jaw clenched. "Don't trip over your ego."
He chuckled low, almost to himself, and walked out.
The room was quiet for all of three seconds before Yelena groaned dramatically, dropping into Walker's vacated chair and propping her chin on her hand.
"Talk about first impressions!" she said, voice laced with amusement, "if the two of you keep at each other throats, one day the tension is going to break, and we are going to need therapy."
Ava snorted, shaking her head as she gathered her notes. "Tension's already breaking. Surprised neither of them's thrown a punch."
Bucky hadn't moved from his corner, arms folded, eyes on you. His silence was heavy enough to notice.
You glanced at him. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, but the tone carried weight. "Just wondering if you and Walker are going to spend more time fighting each other than the actual missions."
Six month into the team and you knew for a fact mission days were the worst. Not because of the danger, that part you could handle, It was because Walker insisted on hovering.
The night air stank of smoke and cordite, the ground littered with shards of broken glass. You ducked behind a wall, gun steady in your hands, Walker pressed just inches away.
"Left flank," he ordered, voice rough, decisive.
You didn't move. "That's a kill box. You push us that way, we won't make it out."
He shot you a glare, even in the low light, his jaw set like stone. "I said left flank."
You bristled. "And I said no. You want us boxed in, do it without me."
A bullet cracked overhead, spraying concrete dust into your hair. He cursed under his breath, grabbed your arm, and yanked you tighter against the wall with him. "You always got to argue?"
"Only when you're wrong," you hissed back, ripping your arm from his grip.
The air between you was molten, too hot, too close. His breath hit your cheek, his chest brushing yours every time he inhaled. The firefight raged just yards away, but all you could feel was him, his heat, his anger, the sheer force of his will pressing against yours.
"Listen to me for once," he growled, voice low, vibrating through your bones. "I can get us out of this, but only if you stop trying to be smarter than everyone in the damn room."
Your eyes locked, sparks cracking like live wires. For a moment too long, the war between you wasn't about bullets or strategy. It was about control.
Then another round tore past, whistling too close, and you both ducked in unison, his hand instinctively covering the back of your head, shoving you lower against the wall.
For a split second, you froze. Because under all that arrogance, he was still protecting you and that made you hate him even more.
Walker leaned out, firing back with precise, controlled shots that bought you seconds at most.
"Two on the roof!" you shouted, catching the movement.
"I see 'em," he barked, taking them out with clean, ruthless efficiency. His aim was good, you had to give him that, but you weren't about to admit it.
You vaulted the low wall, sprinting across open ground before he could stop you. "Cover me!"
"Dammit..." His curse followed you, along with the sharp bark of his rifle. Bullets chased your heels, but his fire cut down anyone who tried to pin you. You hated how reliable he was, how instinctively you trusted him to keep your back clear.
You dove behind a burnt out vehicle, breathing hard, adrenaline burning hot in your blood. Seconds later, Walker slammed into cover beside you, breath ragged, eyes blazing.
"Are you out of your mind?" he snapped, grabbing your vest and shoving you back against the metal. "Running into the open like that, what the hell were you thinking?"
You shoved him right back, teeth bared. "I was thinking I'd get the angle you were too blind to see."
His face hovered just inches from yours, eyes dark with fury.
Gunfire cracked again, forcing him to shift his weight, pressing into you as he fired over the hood. His chest crushed against yours, every movement rough and unrelenting, but his aim never faltered.
"We're doing it my way," he growled, voice hot against your ear.
"Over my dead body," you hissed back.
And yet, when the moment came, when you broke cover and stormed the building, your steps matched his perfectly. His shoulder brushed yours as you cleared rooms, his hand steadying your back when you nearly slipped. Every clash, every argument, somehow folded into a rhythm that worked.
By the time the last hostile hit the floor, you were both panting, adrenaline high, still pressed too close in the flickering light of gun smoke and broken glass.
Walker tilted his head, gaze locked on you, chest rising and falling like he was still in the fight. "You're reckless," he muttered.
"And you're unbearable," you shot back, but your voice was thinner than you wanted it to be.
His lips curved in that dangerous smirk. "Hell of a team, though."
You didn't answer. Couldn't. Because part of you hated to admit he was right.
The tower's briefing room was too bright, too clean, a sharp contrast to the smoke and grit still clinging to your skin. You dropped into your chair, muscles aching, every nerve still buzzing from the fight.
Walker was already there, leaning back with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on you like he hadn't stopped tracking you since the last shot was fired.
"You almost got yourself killed," he said, not bothering to wait for Bucky to start the debrief.
Your head snapped toward him. "I got the angle that won us the fight."
He leaned forward, jaw tight, voice like gravel. "You got lucky. That's it."
"Lucky?" you bit out, heat rushing into your cheeks. "If I'd waited for you, we'd still be pinned behind that wall."
The table went quiet. Ava scribbled something in her notes, eyes flicking between you two like she was watching a match about to explode.
Yelena smirked openly, propping her chin on her fist. "Here we go."
Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Both of you, stop"
But neither of you paid him any mind
Walker's eyes burned into yours, voice low, every word deliberate. "You want to play the hero? Fine. But don't expect me to save your ass next time."
You leaned forward, refusing to flinch. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't need saving from you."
The silence after was sharp, like a blade hanging in the air. Even Bucky's patience was thinning.
"Enough!" he said firmly, slamming the file shut. "Debrief's over."
Everyone rose, some stifling laughter, others rolling their eyes. But as you brushed past Walker on your way out, his arm shifted just enough to block your path.
For a breath, the two of you stood there, heat radiating between your bodies, glares locked, the whole team watching.
Then he stepped aside, letting you pass, his smirk razor sharp. "See you around"
You adjusted your gear, double-checking the sidearm at your thigh as you moved down the narrow, dimly lit corridor. Boots silent, breathing steady, focus sharp. Until the sound of heavier steps came up fast behind you.
Walker.
He didn't announce himself, he just filled the space with his broad frame and too loud presence, the way a storm fills a horizon.
"You're in my way," he said flatly, voice low but firm, his chest brushing your shoulder as if sheer size alone gave him the right of passage.
You scoffed. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing."
His jaw flexed, that perpetual clench like he was one second away from barking an order. His eyes caught yours in the pale glow of the emergency lights. Cold blue, sharp. You hated the way they could cut right through you. Worse, you hated that you noticed the flicker in them, the way, just for a fraction of a second, they dipped down to your lips before snapping back up.
"Try to keep up," he muttered, brushing past you, the faint smell of sweat and leather in his wake.
"Try not to get yourself killed showing off," you shot back, your voice low and laced with venom.
The banter should've been easy to shrug off. That's what it always was, back and forth, bite for bite. But as you trailed behind him, eyes fixed on the line of his shoulders beneath the tactical suit, something coiled in your stomach. Heat, sharp and unwelcome.
He signaled silently, two fingers up, then motioned left. You moved without hesitation, instinctively falling into rhythm with him. No matter how much you fought against it, there was a flow to the way you worked together. Like fire and steel sparking against each other.
The hallway opened into a wider room, dim and quiet, too quiet.
Walker's hand shot out, pressing against your stomach to stop you from moving forward. His palm was hot, solid through the fabric of your suit.
"Wait," he whispered, so close you felt the ghost of his breath brush against your temple.
Every nerve in your body lit up. Not because of the danger. Because of him. His hand lingered a second too long before he let go.
You wanted to shove him, to snap that if he ever touched you again without asking, he'd regret it. But the words caught in your throat. The room was clear, the mission moved on, and so did he, like nothing had happened.
But something had.
And the heat from his touch burned all the way back to base.
The lights in the debrief room always seemed harsher after a mission. White walls, steel table, the hum of the overheads, it all grated, especially with adrenaline still running hot in your veins. You dropped into a chair, tugging off your gloves and tossing them onto the table.
Walker stood instead of sitting, looming against the wall with his arms crossed like he owned the place. Typical.
"Next time," he said, voice clipped, "don't charge in before I clear the corner."
You raised your brows, leaning back in your chair. "Oh, I'm sorry, did my doing my job interfere with your need to look dramatic?"
His jaw ticked. He always clenched it when he was holding something back. "You could've gotten yourself shot."
"And yet, here I am. Not even a scratch." You smirked, holding your arms out in mock display. "Try to keep your blood pressure in check, Cap."
He bristled at the nickname. You could practically feel the way it dug under his skin, the same way you knew it would when you said it. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, silence pressed between you like a taut wire.
"You think this is a joke?" His voice dropped, softer but edged with steel.
"I think you take yourself way too seriously," you countered, your own voice pitched low, defiant. "And someone needs to remind you you're not untouchable."
He pushed off the wall and closed the distance, palms braced flat on the table as he leaned in. His presence was overwhelming, his shadow cutting across you.
"You really want to test that theory?" His words came out like a growl, eyes locked on yours with that unshakable intensity.
Heat flared in your chest, unbidden. You held his stare, refusing to flinch, even as your pulse betrayed you, thudding faster under his scrutiny.
"Careful, Walker," you murmured, leaning just enough to match his closeness. "Someone might think you actually care what happens to me."
The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a snarl. Just something dangerous in between.
Before either of you could push it further, the door swung open. Yelena strolled in, a protein bar in hand, eyes flicking between you and Walker with unmasked amusement.
"Ohhh," she drawled, biting off a piece of the bar. "Don't mind me, please carry on"
Walker straightened instantly, clearing his throat and moving back to his corner. You rolled your eyes, grabbing your gloves and tossing them at her.
"Shut it, Belova."
But Yelena only grinned wider, her gaze flicking back to Walker. His ears were pink, jaw locked, hands flexing like he couldn't decide whether to argue or walk out.
You, on the other hand, just leaned back in your chair again, letting the tension settle, knowing damn well this wasn't over.
The tower was quiet at night. Too quiet.
You made your way to the kitchen, hunting down something stronger than the protein bars shoved into every drawer. Most of the team already retreated into their corners. Bucky nursing a whiskey somewhere in the lounge, Alexei already snoring loud enough to rattle the vents, Ava and Bob, probably already dozed off in their respective rooms, shockingly, as Yelena was still blasting music in her room.
The fridge door clicked open, light spilling across your face as you leaned in. And of course, because the universe loved irony, you heard his voice behind you.
"Midnight snack?"
You straightened, a bottle of water in hand, and turned just enough to find John Walker leaning in the doorway. Arms crossed. Always arms crossed, like he thought it made him look untouchable.
"Thirsty," you replied, unscrewing the cap. "Not that it's any of your business."
He raised a brow. "Everything you do is my business if it affects the team."
You took a slow drink, just to make him wait, then lowered the bottle. "Wow. Do you practice sounding like a condescending prick, or does it just come naturally?"
A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, the kind that infuriated you more than his lectures. "Natural talent."
You rolled your eyes and brushed past him toward the counter, deliberately close, your shoulder grazing his arm. His body went rigid at the contact, though he didn't move out of the way.
"You know," he said after a pause, "you fight me every step of the way, even out on the field."
You grabbed a glass from the cupboard, setting it down harder than necessary. "That's because I actually want the mission to succeed."
He chuckled, low and rough, like gravel under boots. "You're a real piece of work."
You leaned back against the counter, arms folded to mirror his stance. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing."
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Just the hum of the fridge and the faint sound of Yelena's music bleeding through the wall. His gaze lingered on you too long, steady, unblinking, the kind of look that pinned you to the spot.
You shifted, uncomfortable with the way heat pooled low in your stomach. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, though his voice was softer than before. "Just wondering how long you're gonna keep pretending you don't enjoy this."
Your pulse jumped. You forced a scoff, pushing off the counter. "Enjoy what, exactly? Your brooding? Your lectures? The way you bulldoze into every room like you own it?"
He tilted his head, eyes catching yours in the low light. "The way we push each other."
Something in the air tightened, a wire pulled taut, ready to snap.
But before you could answer, Yelena's voice rang out from down the hall "If you're done eye fucking each other in the kitchen, some of us are trying to sleep!"
Heat rushed to your face. Walker stiffened, clearing his throat and stepping aside as you shoved past him toward the stairs.
But as you climbed, you could feel it, his eyes still on you, heavy as a hand at your back.
You made your way to the the locker room to put your belongings away after another stressful mission. The clang of your locker door echoed through the empty room, sharp and final. You ripped off your vest, jaw clenched, still fuming. The mission was over, but Walker's voice was still in your head, barking orders, second-guessing you, acting like the world revolved around him. A hot, quick shower should wash away the muscle pain and relieve the stress.
"Thought I'd find you here."
You stiffened, glancing over your shoulder to see him leaning against the row of lockers, arms crossed over his chest. His presence filled the room like a storm cloud, heavy and charged.
"Congratulations," you shot back, tugging on your boots. "Want a medal for tracking me down?"
Walker pushed off the lockers, taking a slow step closer. "You like testing me, don't you?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Poking, until you get a reaction."
You stood your ground, even though your body instinctively wanted to step back, you met his gaze. "Or maybe I just don't take orders from a man who thinks barking makes him a leader."
The words landed like a spark on dry wood. His jaw flexed, eyes narrowing as he crowded into your space, you refused to give an inch. For a moment, the room held its breath. His fists clenched at his sides, his gaze dropping to your mouth before snapping back up, and then, like something inside him snapped, he grabbed your wrist and shoved you back against the locker.
The clang reverberated through the metal, but you didn't flinch. You just smirked. "There it is. The temper."
His mouth crashed onto yours before you could say another word. Hard, claiming, all teeth and tongue. It wasn't gentle, it wasn't meant to be. It was the collision of two people too stubborn to admit what had been building since the moment they met.
You groaned into his mouth, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The scrape of his stubble against your skin sent sparks shooting through you. His kiss is wild, messy, teeth scraping your lip before his tongue forces its way past your defenses. You answer with a bite, hard enough to make him grunt, and he only presses harder, like the sting fuels him.
His body caged you in, solid chest, heavy thighs, broad shoulders crowding your space until you're trapped between metal and muscle. His hand fists in your hair, tugging your head back just enough so he can drag his mouth along your throat, teeth grazing before he bites down.
"Cocky little thing," he mutters against your skin, voice low and raw. "Always mouthing off. Bet this'll shut you up."
His other hand grips your hip, sliding down, rough fingers squeezing until they slip between your legs, cupping you through the thin fabric. The pressure makes your breath hitch, and that's all the reaction he needs, his lips curl into a dark smirk against your throat.
You grab his wrist, not to stop him but to force him harder against you. "If you think I'm the one who'll break first, Walker," you hiss, your voice ragged with need, "you're dead wrong."
He laughs, low and gravelly, before slamming his mouth back on yours. His fingers press harder, rubbing until the friction has your knees trembling. You claw at his shirt, shoving it up until your nails rake over hot skin and hard muscle. He jerks against you when you scrape him just under his ribs, the sound he makes somewhere between a growl and a groan.
In the next instant, he's shoving your gear halfway down, his hands greedy, frantic, like patience has already burned to ash. His knuckles brush bare skin, and you gasp, your whole body sparking at the sudden touch. "Already so wet for me"
"Fuck..." the word tears out of you before you can stop it.
"That's more like it," he growls, dragging his fingers over you with brutal precision. "Knew you had a sweeter sound in you."
Your head tips back against the locker, a sharp moan slipping free as he pushes his fingers inside you. Every movement is a fight and a surrender all at once, your body demanding what your pride refuses to admit.
When you grab him through his pants, hard and thick under your palm, he groans into your mouth like he's finally losing control. His hips jerk against your hand, desperate, and for the first time you realize just how close he is to breaking.
His mouth crushes yours again, all teeth and breathless hunger, as his hand works you open with rough determination. The wet sounds of his fingers sliding against you echo in the locker room, indecent in the quiet. You moan into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders as your hips buck against his hand, shameless now.
"Yeah," he growls, dragging his lips down your throat. "That's it. Take it. Don't hold back."
You're past holding back. Every thrust of his fingers sends sparks tearing through your body, your breath breaking into sharp, desperate sounds you can't control. His thumb presses hard where you need it most, and you arch against the lockers, your gasp muffled only by his mouth claiming yours again.
When your release crashes over you, it's brutal, your whole body jerking, thighs trembling as he drives you through it, swallowing every ragged cry you make. He pulls back just enough to see your face, eyes dark and wild as he watches you unravel against him.
"Fuck," he rasps, voice wrecked. "You're even better than I..." He cuts himself off with a grunt, fumbling his belt open with one hand while the other keeps you pinned. The metal buckle clatters, sharp and loud in the still air.
You're already shoving at his pants, impatient, your fingers wrapping around him the second he's free. Hot, thick, pulsing in your hand, he groans, head dropping to your shoulder as his hips jerk into your grip. With a growl, he spins you, pressing your chest to the lockers, the cool metal shocking against your flushed skin. He yanks your gear down the rest of the way, hands rough, greedy, before lining himself up and slamming into you in one hard thrust.
You cry out, the sound echoing off the walls, your fingers clawing at the metal as he fills you. He groans low and guttural, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck as he bottoms out.
"Jesus," he hisses. "So fucking tight."
His pace is relentless from the start, hard, driving thrusts that make the lockers rattle with every impact. The sharp sting of metal digging into your palms only sharpens the pleasure, every slam of his hips against yours wringing another raw sound from your throat.
"Louder," he growls, teeth scraping your ear. "Let them hear you."
And you do, you can't help it. The rhythm builds fast, every thrust pushing you higher, harder, until your voice breaks "Walker" He grabs your hips, dragging you back to meet every brutal snap of his body, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.
When you come again, it rips through you violently, your whole body convulsing around him. He snarls, his rhythm faltering as he slams into you once, twice more before spilling hot and hard inside you, groaning your name like it's been dragged out of his chest.
The two of you collapse against the lockers, breath ragged, sweat slicking your skin. His grip on your hip loosens slowly, his forehead resting against the back of your shoulder as if he's not ready to let go yet. Walker pulls back slowly, his hands lingering at your hips longer than they should before finally stepping away. The absence of his body makes the locker room feel colder, emptier.
You turn, tugging your gear back into place, forcing your hands not to shake. He's watching you, still flushed, still raw around the edges, but trying damn hard to look unaffected. That arrogant mask settling back over his face.
"Don't go thinking this means anything," he says, buckling his belt with sharp motions. His voice is rougher than usual, though, strained in a way that betrays him.
You smirk, adjusting your top. "Relax, Walker. You're not my type."
The lie tastes bitter even as you say it, and judging by the way his eyes flicker, he knows it. But neither of you calls the other out.
"This doesn't happen again." you say firmly
A smirk paints on Walker's face "You keep telling yourself that."