the emporium

𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐇𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 | 🚫 No AI 🚫

[gildedkrone]

you may refer to me as the king of hearts ❤️

and you can have my card if you win

Captain || The LT || Helicopter sergeant || Mohawk sergeant || The Austrian

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent | he/him 20+ Do not feed my works into AI You can find my writing under the tag 'fanfic' Not taking requests at the moment

[gildedkrone]

Hi! I was wondering if you’ll ever finish that cod omegaverse fic, I was planning on bookbinding it (for personal use ofc).

hi anon, not sure if I’ll get round to it and publish it. If you want to bind it for you own use, that’s alright with me. 👍

[gildedkrone]

Hey, have you deleted your ao3 account? I loved your omegaverse fic but I can’t find it anymore

you need an AO3 account to view the fic

[gildedkrone]

Ur layout is so cool 😭😭

Alice in Borderland supremacy ‼️‼️

thank you 💜 your green neon matrix type theme looks really cool too 💚

[gildedkrone]

sometimes you just get struck by lightning when writing and this chapter is going places previously unknown

[gildedkrone]

today's listening

[gildedkrone]

What ideas do you have for the space scifi or historical you might work on in the future?

Ruined world is such an interesting setting. Civilisation ended and human society had regressed to an much infantile stage. Think the 141 on a mission before civilisation ended and one of them surviving post apocalypse to meet a reader who has never lived through the old world. Maybe going on a quest to finish their mission and find the rest of the squad.

[gildedkrone]

Do you have anything planned for after you finish your a/b/o fic?

Not right now, no. A break sounds nice and I might do something with space sci-fi or historical.

[gildedkrone]

new chapter tomorrow (16/5)

that's it

[heyhoneyfox]

Let's all make ourselves as little guys! Everyone is welcome to join!

little guy maker

little guy maker / ちっちゃいメーカー my third picrew :0 (first two were years old, ive since deleted them) please credit @reelrollsweat on tumbl

Here's mine:

Tagging: @silentwillowwhisperer @hecateisalesbian @mushr00mswirl @mischievousmary

[thee-great-enigma]

Thought I'd have a little fun with this

Tags!!: @rodolfoparras @adrawinggnome @thepeelucof87 @thegnomelord @yaekiss @silkval

[thegnomelord]

Okay this is cute as heck ngl, this is as close to a face reveal as you'll get

@embry-garrick @lieutnt @agoofyannoyancetolaw and anyone who wants to join lol

[embry-garrick-ravengard-deactiv]

This was the best and most accurate I can do!! (I am darker haired but I couldn't differentiate the beanie with the hair so I just made my hair lighter 💀) THANK YOU FOR THE TAG

No pressure tags!!: @agoofyannoyancetolaw @softggh0ul @demovamp and anyone who wishes to join!! Please join!!

[softggh0ul-deactivated20240709]

Tyyy for the tag pookie!

Tried to make it as accurate as possible gang😭🙏 the closest thing y’all will get for a face rev 🤗

No pressure tags @demovamp @fortheb0ys @seveett @gildedkrone @astroknottt @yourftmfriend @moralesirl @batfleshh @cosmicalwalrus @amansabastris and uhhh anyone else who wants to join ig

[amansabastris]

thank you for the tag :) no pressure tags + please do it if you want to even if i didn't tag you

@justaholycorpse @gildedkrone @waywardavatar @hornstwopointzero

[gildedkrone]

i've done one before but why not @batfleshh @2kiran @justaholycorpse

[gildedkrone]

KINKTOBER 2023 🔞

Simon “Ghost” Riley sits with his back into the large lounge chair made specifically for his stature and size. The cushion cradles his worn body now christened with more bruises and scars from a recent mission as a lowly sigh slips past chapped lips.

Simon “Ghost” Riley gently spreads his thighs further apart when you come to a stop beside him. Your eyes search for permission and it’s written in his tired eyes to continue. He gets cold feet—so unlike him—when you sink to your knees and rest your hands on his thighs flanking you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley wonders how he has gotten into this situation. A few weeks ago when Soap badgered him about his sex life and preferences. He almost throttled the sergeant when he mentioned you are a good candidate for his giant dick. It’s true that he is well endowed; if the makers had a favourite, he is one of them.

Simon “Ghost” Riley has had his fair share of unpleasant sexual encounters where his partner would balk at the size of his dick. More than once, he feels objectified when his previous partners would reduce him down to nothing but the organ between his legs and on some occasions, they turned him down after seeing it. The resulting shame burns his face and the ensuing cigarette smoke works in a bid to calm his agitated nerves.

Simon “Ghost” Riley knows it’s been close to a month since his last encounter with his right hand under the spray of warm water in his private toilet and bath. His sex drive is a swarm of bees forming a nest in his consciousness and growing louder by the day until his control over his urges are waned sufficiently for them to take over.

Simon “Ghost” Riley nearly balks when you casually mention you are available—he knows you must’ve heard Soap’s talk. He considers turning it down, that is before you suggest something simple. No penetration; just your mouth and his dick. A kiss ending in pleasure and release for him between two men. He’s worked with you before and trusted you with his life on the battlefield.

Simon “Ghost” Riley takes a few weeks to accept and now, you’ve been summoned to his private quarters on the base. It’s sparsely decorated and he goes to unbuckle his belt if your hand hadn’t stopped him. Let me do it, you eyes say and he relinquishes the act. The belt clicks open and the zipper is drawn down before the whole garment is pulled down to his knees.

Simon “Ghost” Riley wears a simple pair of white cotton boxers for the occasion and he stiffens slightly when a hand gently cups his clothed package. When he’s feeling ready, he grunts at the feeling of wet warmth laving up his boxer briefs. He sees your head resting against his thigh and under the single tableside light, it paints your face something orange and warm.

Simon “Ghost” Riley sucks in a deep breath when he is sufficiently chubbed up from the ministrations of your mouth and the garment feels too tight for comfort; the obscene tent is proof enough. Your hands come to grasp the elastic waistband to pull down his boxers and he prepares himself for what always comes next.

“You’re beautiful, Simon.”

Simon “Ghost” Riley feels it’s a joke when his dick is exposed to the air. There’s no feelings of shame or disgust; there’s only a soft wonder in your eyes reserved for him. He grunts a little louder when fingers come to wrap around the shaft. All the time, your eyes remain in contact with his when he melts at the tentative strokes and squeezes of his engorged dick. Asking if he’s ready to continue.

Simon “Ghost” Riley nods and your response is wordless. A few more strokes has him standing proudly erect and a moan escapes without his permission when your mouth descends on his dick. The previous feeling of damp warmth is replaced with the wet, velvety heat gently making its way down from the head to the base of his dick.

Simon “Ghost” Riley wrestles the urge to slam your head into his pelvis to speed up the process. It feels blindingly good and his hand comes nowhere close to what he is feeling. He exhales roughly when you nose brushes against his groin—he dimly registers your lack of a gag reflex. Never before has anyone taken him fully and his dick agrees as well when it throbs with the unsatiated lust pooling in his groin in something shimmery.

Simon “Ghost” Riley moans when your head pulls upwards to stop at the tip and he groans when a tongue slips past delectable lips to lick at his slit. Nothing is overly sexual in nature, and you blow him a penile kiss as a shiver runs up his spine. The sensation of his balls being caressed gently only serves to make him even harder and his hips jump forward as he leans back further into the chair.

Simon “Ghost” Riley feels some sort of way when you take him again, this time, however, not fully with a hand at the base of his dick. His thoughts flee with his rationality when your mouth combines with the pleasurable message of his balls chockful of his month-old cum. He fights demons, fights gods, and himself to not mistreat your mouth as it brings him waves of pleasure in ever greater crests.

Simon “Ghost” Riley isn’t a vocal man, but the ever growing grunts and groans are his way of showing how much he is enjoying this experience. The pace of the intimate act speeds up and his grip on the chair is leaving deep imprints into the material. It feels divine, the way his dick is encased in a cocoon of sinful sensations his hands and previous partners could never deliver.

Simon “Ghost” Riley rests a hand against your face as he feels the knot of pleasure building in his pelvis. Unlike his previous rough and hard experiences, this slowly growing knot ignites something fuzzy in him. It’s edges are soft and he can’t pinpoint exactly how it feels, just that it feels different in the best way possible and leaves him a lustful man seeking more of where it came from.

Simon “Ghost” Riley isn’t used to the sensual and slower pace of sex you are taking him on and he feels his peak arriving far too quickly. He prides himself on having a stamina rivalling bulls and a self-control rigid as iron clasps. Under the assault of your mouth, however, he finds his defences failing him one by one as his body twitches and flexes with the sheer visceral pleasure thrumming through his core. All from that lascivious mouth also producing the obscene noises of the coupling he’s in.

Simon “Ghost” Riley’s lips aren’t his anymore as he bites out praises and words. "Y-yes, fuck, right there, baby" and "Y-yer doin' so, so fuckin' good" are several of your favourites as you work dutifully to bring the man the euphoria he so deserved. A “good f-fuckin’ boy” is motivation to get you to redouble your efforts and work to give him the best blowjob he will ever have in his life.

Simon “Ghost” Riley grits his teeth harshly when you hollow your cheeks to apply maximum contact against the angry and very ready organ in your mouth. The dance of pleasure nears its grand finale and he seeks permission to dirty your mouth. You squeeze his thigh gently with your free hand and he hips surge when the tongue brushes under the frenulum of the already sensitive head jamming into the back of your throat. Everything, from the air to the coarse feeling of the fabric on the seat serves to inflame the sensations he’s experiencing and further edge him.

Simon “Ghost” Riley is a man standing at the precipice of control and mid suck, you feel it; the telltale shudder of his dick and his sudden choked gasp of “close!” ends in a loud grunt when you sink fully down his dick and warmth floods your orifice. His orgasm hits him like a runaway freight train and he just sinks into the chair to ride out the sexual gratification mending into relief and euphoria at the edges of his perception.

Simon “Ghost” Riley gently strokes your hair and temple as he cums hard and unleashes a month’s worth of pent up ball batter into your throat greedily sucking and milking him for all he’s worth. The world narrows down into this instance of time where nothing matters. Nothing but his feelings catching up to blindside him in a mirage where his fingers intertwine with yours and the dam of emotions fully crumble under a release cathartic as divinity is all encompassing; he finds the waves of satiation lapping at his parched lips.

Simon “Ghost” Riley isn’t a religious man by any means; his childhood is proof god has abandoned him. But this, this might have been his reward for overcoming his demons. Written by the deities of the stars and for him. Only him in the intimacy of his home with someone he trusted to experience the nirvana promised to him and every other man.

Simon “Ghost” Riley basks in the afterglow propping up his consciousness as his wrung out body is content to remain where it is while your mouth keeps his spent dick comfortable and warm. No stamina can ever compete with a release as monumental and with the kind of finality that robbed him of strength and left him strutless and fully relaxed.

Simon “Ghost” Riley wants to repay your act with pleasure when he spots the tightness of your combat pants. You shake your head and tell him tonight has been all about him and making him feel as good as he possibly can. He frowns when you insist but drops the topic when he feels warmth envelope his softening dick. There’s no urgency to do anything; he doesn’t feel capable of another round.

Simon “Ghost” Riley cups your cheek with rough, calloused fingers and lifts the balaclava up to his nose. He mouths, thank you.

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist || kinktober masterlist

[gildedkrone]

That snippets got me tingling with excitement 😫😫

💓x4 maybe ill post some more (no promises)

[gildedkrone]

tiny snippet (c21)

The touch of night, its shadows blanketed his eyes and perhaps it was knowing nobody was witness, perhaps it was fool’s intent when you took his hand in a spur of daring and he implored you to continue this unspoken thrill, almost daring you to commit to what you started. A private moment, under incandescent starlight where woven desire made itself known when slow blinks framed pretty lashes in eyes beholden to a man who held want in his gaze, unbroken.

Stay.

“Is this a good surprise? Am I—”

Framed by the hands on your jaw, he felt your pulse in the tips of his fingers.

“—a good surprise?”

[gildedkrone]

Just come back from ghost abo fic and let me tell you… abo is never my thing but i was a bit desperate for ghost/male reader content and AGHHHHHH YOU DELIVERED IT REAL GOOD!!!!!

The relationship development was spot on and although i would just prefer a different situation but the airport scene is still perfect and i love it so much

I hope ur doing alright for this year, where ever you are currently!!! Idk how many chapters more ur planning to write but i wish you the best!!!

Thank you!!!!

Hi anon!

Thanks for leaving your compliments! A/B/O fics are either the best or worst thing you'll ever read 🤭 Life's a slog right now so writing isn't my priority at the moment but I will finish the fic (I just don't know when😅)

Chapter 21 is currently in the works and there are 4 additional chapters planned for a total of 25. No promises on when they will be posted but the ending is more or less fixed at this point.

Since we're on the topic of the next chapter,

Working title (Chapter 21): For the love, for laughter, I flew up to your arms Tags: Smut & Angst

Thank you and everyone who have supported this fic in their own ways 💓

[gildedkrone]

Sir, I just wanted to say that your writing is a a whole fucking masterpiece

This chapter was incredible, really. Going to sleep with a smile on my face.

Thank you for supplying us with such a work of art.

comments like this really make my day and i really, really appreciate your continued support! 💞

why not leave a comment on ao3 instead so i can stalk keep track of my comments easily 🤭

[gildedkrone]

thank you lovelies 🩷

[gildedkrone]

John Price

Recommended listening: John Wayne (Lady Gaga)

The Harley rumbles and bellows when the man gives several twists of the throttle. Several other men roll up in their bikes and Martha yells your name.

The man on the Harley sets his cigar down. Siren wails come from the distant south and it’s then you notice the duffel bags hooked to their bikes.

“You coming, sweetheart?”

-

“Oooh, check that man out,” Martha whispers and licks cream from her lips. “The one in that booth over there, in that leather jacket and my, almost good enough to eat.”

She’s looking at a booth in the diner where a man is sat. Certainly older with a roguish charm, the leather jacket on the seat next to him is well worn and its your cue to take his order when he looks around.

“What can I get for you?”

“Bourbon. On the rocks.” His accent is distinctly British and his companion across the booth orders bourbon, without ice.

The bourbon is served quickly. You sneak a couple of glances at them when fixing the jukebox; the diner on the roadside of the interstate rarely saw foreigners. Much less with how good the man looked in his leathers.

“And what’s a British man doing this deep in God’s country?”

“Afraid we’ll take what we are owed?”

You glance at the other patrons in the diner—several burly coal miners and an army soldier in faded uniform.

“Don’t let the others hear you. Might have to cut your trip short if that happens.”

When you cleaned the table, you unfolded the tip and turns out, the gentleman is a big tipper, tipping fifty on a twenty order.

What a man.

-

“Twenty and you put on a classic.”

He’s back again, alone in the same booth as last time. You pluck the twenty out of his hand and he leans fully back with a roll of his hips as he made himself comfortable in the booth.

“What kind of classic?”

“The Beatles. If you have any,” he savours the whisky again.

It takes you a moment but eventually, you do find it and the jukebox plays the dusty record. As the melancholic notes plays, you are more than happy to keep him company. After all, you are a waiter and no one does hospitality quite like the South.

“So, what’s an Englishman doing here?”

“What’s a sight for sore eyes doing here?”

Mike is absolutely going to yell at you for using strawberries in your drink but Mike can go eat shit for all you cared.

“Just working. Paying off my debts to the local gangs.”

He eyes the scar on your arm. “’s how you got that scar?”

“Absolutely is. Pig fucker wasn’t happy that my payment was a day late.” You lean against the table encroaching into his side. “My turn now. What are you doing here?”

“Can’t say.”

“Not even to me?”

“Not to anyone.”

The red entrance door slams open and a pig of man pushes Martha away. Shit, it was collection day and when he sees you, he stomps to the table. The drink floods the ebony table and the man pulls you close by the collar.

“The money?”

You grimace when grabbing the stack of cash and he yanks it forcefully. You stumble back onto the seats and pig man starts counting. Sorry, you mouth to the British man across the table.

No worries, as he finishes his bourbon.

“Don’t be late again, buddy. Jackson hates it when you fuck with his money.”

“No thanks to you, Lincoln.”

When he leaves, you straightened your collar and Martha picks up the broom. Thank fuck there weren’t other patrons in the diner to watch you get picked apart.  

“Lincoln?”

“Bastard’s the one who gave me the scar.”

“Debt? How much?”

Fifty thousand.

“Suppose you are disgusted now, hm?”

He hums. Pig fucker certainly has an inbred face and you guffaw while clearing the table. Martha shoots you an unimpressed glare and you give her the finger; bitch is still bitter he’s not paying her any attention. You walk him out the diner and whistle when he swings a leg across the black Harley.

“Nice bike.”

He who dares scribbled on the bike and it rumbles.

“Don’t get yourself killed, sweetheart.” And he’s kicking up a dust storm with a flourish of tire screech and peeling off onto the highway.

Funny, chivalrous and a chiselled face by the gods’ favour. How unfair, you can’t have him.

-

Lincoln returns at dinner service with the man you dreaded seeing, Jackson. The other patrons are affected by the presence of the head gang member. Chatter, normally boisterous, is otherwise muted and Jackson curls his finger.

Resigned, you grab a tray and stop beside his table with the menus. He snatches the menu, looks over it and throws it back at you. A while later, you return with a steak for the man and fried chicken for his lackey.

You don’t think much of his food until he marches up to you. You were midway taking an order for a family of four when he slaps you, hard. Without time to defend yourself, your head snaps to the side and gasps come from the table. Dragging you to his table by the ear, he grabbed a piece of steak from the half-finished plate.

“How do I like my steak?” The harder you struggled against his grip, the more punishing it became.

“How. Do. I. Like. It?”

“Well done! Y-you like it grey!” You barely hand a chance to breathe when he takes the plate and smashes it to the floor.

“You fuckin’ thing, dare to serve me raw food. Are you trying to kill me!”

Martha giggled to herself and you curse yourself—how could you be this blind to fall into one of her traps? He reaches for the whip and Lincoln imprisons your arms before you can run.

The whip uncurls onto the floor and you look around for help. They either looked away or pretended not to see and Jackson gives two experimental strikes using the whip. Lashes of the whip will leave marks against your skin and Jackson owned the local doctor too.

It’s how he has kept everyone indebted to him.

“This is what happens when you try to fuck with me. You get the whip.”

“Hold him.” Lincoln slams your chest down against the table.

The sounds of bikes outside the diner.

“Do you have anything you want to say, sugar?”

You had nothing to say to the likes of him.

The whip is raised high into the sky and you shut your eyes as the diner crowd gasps when the whips strikes something. You wait for anything, pain but nothing comes. When you open you eyes, there was an arm across your back.

It’s him. How? How is he not screaming in pain?

“Take your boys and leave.” He drowns the cigar in the glass of juice on the table.

“Hey, hey, I don’t know who the fuck you are but who are you to tell me what to do!”

He’s unimpressed as Jackson waved him the fuck on. You stagger to your feet and he tells you to stand behind him.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t leave.”

Jackson swings the whip and Brit catches it easily in a grip and rips the whip away. He grabs a beer bottle and Jackson screams in pain when he brings it down hard. The diners are screaming and yelling as Jackson suffers blow after blow from the angry Brit. You catch glimpses of his bloodied face as Jackson yells for help.

He’s violence in motion and Jackson throws every dirty trick he knows and he catches them all in time.

Lincoln pushes a kid off a chair and throws it at the man. The chair clatters to fall and he looks at Lincoln. He’s fuming, with his eyes set into blazing fury and he grabs Jackson off the ground and something snaps when he knees the downed gang leader in the chest.

“Tell your men to fuck off, or you’ll get it.”

“L-Lincoln … T-tell the boys t-t-to … go.”

“What about you!” Lincoln cries out as he looks to the entrance.

The man throws him down onto the floor and Jackson crawls weakly when he drives a boot down hard on the man.

“Apologize.”

“S-sorry! I—I won’t ever!”

“Not to me. To him.”

Jackson pleads for mercy and you nod when he begs for his life. Leaving the now humiliated gang leader on the floor, he crosses to you. His knuckles are bloodied, not with his, and you wipe them off with a napkin.

-

“You coming, sweetheart?”

What did you have to lose from leaving this crappy town? Nothing. You certainly won’t miss the tiny room you rent as home and the dreary job in a diner in the bumfuck nowhere in god’s country.

Martha bursts through the door and you shout at her very nicely to go fuck herself. She catches your cap and the man smiles when you climb on board his bike in your waiter uniform.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart. This one’s gonna be fast.”

You grasp onto him as he twists the throttle and leaves Martha in dust.

“You never told me what you were in town for.”

He instructs you to open the bag and you gasp. Hundred dollar bills are stashed neatly in rows.

“We came here to rob a bank, darling.”

“Outlaw, huh? Gonna give my mother a heart attack?”

“If she doesn’t die of old age first.”

“You are a bad, bad man, you know?”

The rushing wind forces you to raise your voice and he adds a burst of speed to the bike to join the highway.

“You never told me your name!”

He speaks with the sounds of freedom.

“Name’s Price. John Price.”

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist