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socially-awkward-skeleton · 28 days

Text

I'm Your Man

banner by @/cafekitsune

Pairing: John Price x fem!oc (3rd person pov)

Word count: 3.5 K

Warnings/tags: mask and glove kink, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, p in v sex, established relationship

A/N: this skin awoke something in me. Written with only slight description of the oc, but better safe than sorry to not mark it as an x reader fic. Title based on the Leonard Cohen song.

Step by step she moves through the house, checking that each light is switched off, windows are closed and locked, doors too. It's a ritual she's used to now, one that keeps her safe. Secure. Of course she knows if someone did try to break in, some thug in a ski mask, she could easily take care of the fucker. Pressure points, weak spots, faster reflexes – she was no weak link. However, it was always better to be safe than sorry.

In the bedroom, she peels off the restraints that bind her to society. In the safe haven of her home, in its heart, she no longer needs to keep up appearances. Stripping herself down to the woman underneath and not the elegant mask of a lady. The cool sheen of the silk robe she slips on gently grazes over her flesh. A soft rose-petal pink that makes her glow in the warm golden light of the bedside lamps that cast shadows in the room.

There's a serene comfort to this room, one she feels more than in any other in the house. It's the place where she is most firmly protected. The confines of her bed are a kind reprieve from the stressors of the day and the madness of the world outside. The sheets are freshly washed, the comforter is thick and warm, it's an embrace she looks forward to as the moon rises higher in the night sky.

Padding into the en suite to wash off her makeup, truly baring herself before bed, she turns on the faucet. The water runs, the constant stream blocking out the noises of the city streets below. Another step in the process as she massages the cleanser on her face, starting with her cheeks as a froth collects. The splash of water that comes next rejuvenates her tired eyes for a fleeting moment. Each drip down the contours of her face taking with it the remains of the day. Skincare, like everything else in her life, had an order. Something that gave her a sense of control in a world that often proved that was a concept that rarely ever truly existed.

The silence of the house seemed to follow her as she went about her business. A quieting blanket like the hush from fresh fallen snow. Her bedroom left exactly as it was when she returned. The curtains at the balcony doors fluttered. Thin, phantom-like sheers drifting and dancing in the breeze. Shutting the doors, locking the latch, the antique brass chilled from the night air sends a shiver through her starting with her fingertips.

Taking a moment, she gazes at the world outside steeped in silhouette, the lights in the windows mirroring the stars in the sky. She's lost in thought. A hundred plans and expectations spinning through her mind at once. Grocery lists, dinner plans, the odd chores she needs to take care of before she has to go back to work. Her hand drifts through her hair, pushing back the silken strands as she sighs wearily. Even when she's given time off she still finds ways to fill every ounce of her time. It's easier that way, it keeps the memories at bay.

When she turns back around, she doesn't notice the dark shape in the corner of the room at first, there's just enough shadow to obscure and enough on her plate to dull her senses. That is, until she's grabbed, tugged into the imprisoning grip of two strong arms that clamp around her like an iron vice.

Her heart races, she yelps out a choked squeal, her eyes wide like captured prey as she chastises herself for being caught off guard. Until she recognizes the all too familiar scent of smoke, heady and thick. The pungent aroma of tobacco seeping from every fiber of clothing. Whiskers rasp against her cheek leaving a prickling trail before plush lips purr into her ear.

“Did I scare you, love?”

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed by the antics. Her heart rate steadying, flattening out to its usual beat and she relaxes with a huffed laugh. “Bloody prat.”

Elbowing him in the stomach, she finds herself colliding with padding, pockets and straps. Hard ridges and stiff plates. He's in his gear?

The low, rumbling chuckle that graces the tight space between them fans warm breath over her face tinted with a hint of whiskey and she glances upwards. Her brow lifts in surprise and, to be honest, mild bewilderment.

He's not just wearing his gear, tac vest, leather gloves, and all. He's wearing a mask – half his face is covered in black, something near resembling a skull, but not quite. A hood covering his head like he's the bloody grim reaper.

“What the hell’s all this?” A quiet little giggle bubbles out of her at the sight. John’s arms loosen just enough to allow her to turn and face him. “Are you dressed like a comic book villain's henchman for a reason?”

A heavy hand swats the round rump of her making her jump once more as she continues to laugh, dimples carving into her cheeks.

“Bloody cheeky,” he rasps, gripping her arse and squeezing. “For an op,” he adds as if it was perfectly normal for military men to dress like that on any given day.

“And who decided on the outfits?” Her eyes roam over his figure with a playful gleam. “Riley?” she snickers. “Almost happy I'm on another assignment.”

His piercing eyes narrow from behind his mask, a mischievous glint in them she knew all too well. The only parts of his face revealed are his mouth and jaw which quickly stretch into a wry smirk.

“Can't tell me it doesn't do a little somethin’ for ya, darlin’,” he drawls.

She sighs and tuts her tongue, shaking her head. “Not even in my top ten fantasies, love.”

Leaning down towards her, the shade of his hood blanking out the light of the room, his smirk transforms into something damn near wolfish. Cold, blue eyes as hungry as a predator. “Is that right?” His voice, husky and deep, is a taunting whisper that leaves her mouth going dry and a heat beginning to bloom in her core.

“Perhaps you’d like to change my mind,” she murmured softly, breathless with the arousal gathering inside her.

A growl builds in his chest, as thunderous as the ocean in a hurricane. His eyes becoming just as stormy, the grey flecks seeming to flare with his own desires.

“Tha's my good girl.”

She swallows thickly as he stalks towards her, guiding her back to the bed with a hand gripping her hip tightly. His calloused fingers toying with the silk material under his touch, the only barrier between him and his prize, kneading at the flesh below.

“Is the gear staying on too?” she asks with a lift of her brow.

“You bet your arse.”

His smirk damn near makes her melt once more. Her chest rising and falling with short, sharp pants. The flush rising up her skin from her chest to the tips of her ears, floods her with warmth that radiates outwards. Her doe eyes half-lidded as her lips part and she wets them before biting down on the full lower pout.

“D'you have any idea how much I've been wantin’ you, sweetheart? All soft and sweet and laid out f’me. Draped all pretty across the bed. Been thinkin’ about that gorgeous little cunt o'yours all day.”

She moans softly, a quiet whimper slipping past her lips. The little twist in her gut is the only warning before she knows her thighs will be slick with her need.

“Get on the bed, darlin’.” He directs her with another gentle tap to her arse. “Want you nice and comfortable.”

Settling onto the mattress, her head resting against the pillows, she focuses on him. Watching as he climbs up and the bed creaks with his weight, concaving under the strength of his hands and knees. He moves with practiced measure, slow, unbothered. It's clear this effort isn't for him, so much as it is for her. There's no need to rush what's about to come.

His hands slide under the silky garment, climbing up her thighs and increasing the anticipation that flutters in her core, the rough leather leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as he spreads her legs wide for him.

“So goddamn gorgeous, you know that? Absolutely perfect,” he purrs, lunging forward as if to pounce but instead meeting her mouth in slow, deep kisses. Encouraging her lips to open with a sweep of his tongue along their seam.

His mustache tickles her lip. The stubble on his chin burns her soft skin each time it rubs against her. It's the stark difference of sensations that leaves her breathless, head spinning as she moans into his mouth. Tongue sliding against his, it curls with each pass. The spice of whiskey and the richness of his cigars spreading over her taste buds and filling her with his essence.

Her hands, so used to roaming over his body in moments like this, grazing over scars, muscles, and freckles, don’t know what to do with themselves met by armor and tactical clothing. She can’t feel him the way she wants to. The cold carbon of the mask pressing against her forehead throwing her for a loop.

“John,” she mewls against his mouth, her hips starting to roll and grind against him. The opening of her robe having split open, her bare cunt rubs over rough material and the hard press of the zipper that strains against his stiffened bulge.

He shushes her, his words a low, throaty whisper as his mouth finds its way to her ear and nibbles on her lobe sending a thrill down her spine, “Lemme take care o’you, darlin’. You know I know best. Just sit there and be your pretty self f’me, love.”

Facial hair pricks her sensitive skin as he scours a trail down the column of her neck, taking the time to suck her salty-sweet flesh and lavish her in open-mouthed kisses leaving red marks from his attention behind. He groans against her, nuzzling into the crook of her neck as much as his gear and mask will allow as his hands begin their ascent along her waist.

Deft fingers pull the neckline of her robe open and reveal the swells of her breasts. Her nipples pebbling with the growing heat between them, hardening into stiff buds as leather clad digits pinch and twist at them with just the right amount of friction and force.

Back arching in reaction, whining, growing desperate and needy as he draws out her sweet torture, getting her ready to surrender, she grips at the straps of his vest, holding on for dear life as he begins to dry hump against the wet folds of her mound.

“Christ,” he mumbles, “Love those bloody sounds you make, sweetheart.” His tongue drags against her pulse point before he nips her gently with his teeth, grazing them along her skin to make her shiver.

Slowly working his way down, he nibbles on her collarbone, pressing kisses to the hollow of her throat. The vibrations of the deep purrs that emanate from him travel through her skin right down into the marrow of her bones.

Lost to him, completely his.

He leans down, glancing up at her from under his hood, eyes glinting. Something primal stirs within him as she lays there at his mercy. His hot breath warming her flesh as he calms himself, regains control. His tongue teases her nipple, circling the areola, before wrapping his lips around it and suckling. Alternating between gentle and rougher tugs on her stiffened bud, biting down gently to make her squeal and grip him harder.

The dark chuckle from his lips makes her eyes flutter shut, she'd think he was being cruel and teasing her if she wasn't so sure of what he was building up to.

Undoing the waist tie of her robe, it fell away from her like the petals spreading on a newly sprouted flower, opening her to him. All smooth, soft skin for his eyes to feast upon, dragging over her like he was a starving man as ragged breaths crawled up from his lungs.

“Never gonna get tired of that sight. Bloody perfect.”

She didn't think she could feel any more flushed. However, even with the simple compliment, her ears began to burn and her cheeks grew warm. A bashful grin curling her lips.

“Oh, darlin’. Now if that ain't the prettiest sight.” His grin was downright smug, barrel chest puffed up and proud at the way he could still get her to blush like a schoolgirl.

“Shut up,” she giggled, covering her sheepish face with her arm.

His gleeful smirk, darkened by the mask and hood, revealed pearly whites. The hunger in his eyes is all the more prominent as he settles between her thighs, gloved paws wrapping around them, maintaining their distance, keeping them spread wide as he maneuvers each leg over his shoulders. John licks his lips, pink tongue darting out, tasting her in the air like a serpent.

Breath hitching, she bites her lip, waiting for the inevitable. Time slows to a halt, lingering in that moment like staring down the barrel of a gun.

Sharp eyes snap to her heaving chest and the shuddering breaths that make her breasts lift and fall, staring at the soft peaks with the attention of a sniper waiting for the perfect shot.

And then the moment strikes –

His tongue travels over her inner thigh, his saliva mixing with the glint of her arousal that has spread over the skin. The small offering imparted to him, gifted to stoke the pangs that have burrowed deep inside. He groans once more as he kisses her slick flesh, the bristles of his beard burning her as he tests her folds with his tongue, licking a long stripe through them before pursing his lips together and blowing softly against her mound.

She mewls, gripping the sheets on either side of her, sparks shooting through her nerves. Fire and ice tickling every synapse in her brain.

Flinching, her legs shift as her hips buck and he coils his arms under her thighs, gripping her hips and pulling her back into position. “Stay right there, darlin’,” he orders, a strictness to his command that shoots through her and causes her cunt to clench in response and her body to freeze.

“Tha’s better,” he purrs. “Always such a good girl f’me.” His focus shifts back to the glistening cunt before him and he delves in once more with an unforgiving hold on her thighs, suffocating himself between them. Tongue teasing her clit before wrapping his lips around it, sucking, making her grind against his mouth, moaning and whimpering. He growls against her, and once piercing eyes turn glazed, the lids growing heavy with lust as his tongue drifts through her folds. Pulling every little whine and mewl from her that he can as he sinks deeper into his drunken state on the taste of her.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles, words slurred and almost incoherent with how far he’s drifted, letting his control fall away before returning to his duty. Her hands reach out, pushing back the hood he wears and burying her fingers into his hair. Nails drag over his scalp, massaging at his crown as she finds herself slipping and falling into the pleasure he delivers her.

The room fills with obscenely wet noises as his mouth works her cunt, his tongue slithering, lips sucking. Building her up to the very edge, and bringing her over it, again and again. A man on a mission, aching to make her as much of a begging, weak mess as he feels burying his face in her delicious core. Stomach fluttering in conjunction with her breathless pants, she writhes under his constant touch. Fisting his short hair and trying to pull him away so she can have just a moment to get a hold of herself. She’s losing the ability to think, to speak. Words won’t form, just nonsensical moans as she stumbles into an ecstatic delirium. Her cunt clenches around nothing, walls fluttering as heat pools in her core and at the base of her spine. Clutching her tighter in response, he’s a dog with a bone and he’ll never let it go. Lost in his own moment of peace. A man whose whole life has been defined by his loyalty to his work, his persistence to defeat every obstacle in his way, and here – in this bedroom, between her thighs – he only has to worry about one thing: giving her every ounce of perfect pleasure he can reward her with.

John ruts against the bed, the friction against his clothed bulge enough to make his eyes roll back in his head as his tongue sinks into the tight entrance of her cunt. This is the only home he needs, doesn’t matter where he is as long as she’s there too. And as she starts screaming, crying out, her voice damn near hoarse with how many times he’s brought her to completion, that coiling knot in his gut makes itself known, tightening like a noose. Their eyes meet, vision hazy, blurred by satisfaction and drunk on the high. The entire lower half of his face is soaked. His beard slick with her juices, mustache glistening in the warm light as he lifts his head and pleads, desperate to relieve the ache in his groin.

“Please, darlin’...” Blue eyes beg her for release. His ragged breaths are the only evidence of the way he’s worked himself up. The sweat, the reddened face, hidden by his mask. “Please,” he mumbles, flicking his tongue against her swollen, pulsing clit. Her puffy cunt is sensitive, overstimulated. Her thighs covered in her arousal, and the bed covers below her are wet with her slick and his spit. As his tongue grazes her, barely touching the skin, she gasps and moans once more, too weak to make a louder noise. She nods her head, catching her breath, her chest straining to collect enough air as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his fly, his throbbing cock springing free, drooling with precum.

It’s a sight that always brings her back up to the heights of desire. Even when her mind is a foggy mess she can still recall just how good it feels when he stretches open her velvet walls. While his tongue can work wonders, and his fingers know exactly where to stroke, it’s his cock that she dreams about when they’re apart: the way it fills her with each demanding thrust, the heavy drag of it.

She collects his chin in her hand and pulls him up towards her. The smirk on his face is intoxicating, his dimples driving her crazy as she cradles his jaw and kisses him, tasting herself on his lips.

“You’re bloody amazing, love,” he rumbles against her mouth, his hand curling under her, holding her tight to him as she wraps her legs around his waist.

His cock slips into her easily, she’s so wet there’s barely any resistance at all. Grunting with each pistoning of his hips, John has to close his eyes as he presses his forehead to hers. He’s so close already, it’s easy to tell with each stuttered drive into her depths. There’s no rhythm – as much as he tries – the heavy gear he’s wearing is a burden, slowing him down, adding to his work load. It doesn’t take long however, before he can’t hold out and his eyes squeeze shut, his body tensing.

“It’s okay, love,” she moans softly, her voice a breathy whisper as she strokes her thumb through the drenched bristles of his facial hair.

He groans, panting heavily, and he can’t stop himself as his come escapes him in hot ropes. His thrusts grow shallower, riding out his orgasm before slipping out of her, leaving a trail of their mixed fluids behind, collapsing beside her on the bed.

“Fucking hell,” he drawls, pulling off the mask he was wearing and putting it on the bedside table. Puffing out heavy breaths as he rubs a hand down his sweat-drenched face. “That was… something else,” she breathes. Rolling over, she curls up beside him, resting her head on his chest and wrapping an arm over his stomach. “What in the hell gave you the idea to do all that,” she asks, gazing up at him with her large doe-eyed stare, as pretty and sweet as can be.

“You know how I feel about you, sweetheart.” He nuzzled against the top of her head, brushing his nose through her hair as his big hand cupped the back of her head, fingers carding through the soft strands. “I’d do anythin’ for you.”

#call of duty #cod fanfic #cod smut #john price #captain john price #cod modern warfare #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #ship: you are the sword to my shield #skelly writes

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