gildedkrone

[gildedkrone]

i'm curious so indulge me for a minute 🤔

#gk's ramblings

[gildedkrone]

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

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

Here's mine:

Tagging: @silentwillowwhisperer @hecateisalesbian @mushr00mswirl @mischievousmary

#the closest to a face reveal you'll ever get

[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

#thank you for supporting my fics

[gildedkrone]

That snippets got me tingling with excitement 😫😫

💓x4 maybe ill post some more (no promises)

#gk's ramblings

[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?”

#gk's ramblings #gk's snippets

[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 💓

#gk's ramblings

[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 🤭

#gk's ramblings #fanfic #cod mw2

[gildedkrone]

thank you lovelies 🩷

#gk's ramblings #thank you #even if i am not the most active these days #mwah!

[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

#fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #male reader #x male reader #x reader #price fanfiction #cod x male reader #Spotify

[gildedkrone]

the inevitable rise of x reader content

still remember when reader was above Laswell but below Alejandro 😭

#gk's ramblings

[gildedkrone]

Holy shit I just got done reading your a/b/o fic on ao3 and omfg u got me giggling and kicking my feet 😍 IT WAS SO GOOD

Also here is my favorite pickup line ever: is your mom a baker? Cuz you’re a cutie pie 😏😏😏

smooth operator much?

#gk's ramblings

[gildedkrone]

thank you, raf (the results are interesting)

mutuals tags: @dilfmade @batfleshh @amansabastris @justaholycorpse @lieutnt @rodolfoparras

What flower are you? Quiz

These fun/silly results awoke the inner Victorian in me and I thought it would be fun to share. No pressure tags and a hearty welcome to any who want to join in: @butlersxbirdy @ab4eva @aemondsbabe @sansas-amythest-hairnet @prompted-wordsmith @arabellasleopardcoat @missmaywemeetagain @thatbanditqueen @from-memphis-with-love @lookingforrainbows @foreverdolly @eliseinmemphis @stylespresleyhearted @ellie-24

My results:

#gk's ramblings #moots come on in

[gildedkrone]

thank you for

#gk's ramblings #six hundo #thank you everyone #💖💓💞

[gildedkrone]

I love weak men that bend to the wills of their sub partners and you write it so deliciously I just had to tell you that I love you <3

thank you! subs make the most dangerous tops/power bottoms🫢🫢🫢

#gk's ramblings #i agree anon

[gildedkrone]

meine Sonne

“Why do you keep waiting for him?”

The sunsets are the colours of violet on the metropolis and the drink in your hand has long gone cold. Winters in London are brutal; rainy days and grey skies overcast with the doubts in the heart—forlornly watching the future become present.

“Schatz, I want to know.” The Austrian flag on his arm, with some of its thread loose from the physicality of his job, never once replaced as the man held your patchwork on his uniform as always. He always said, it’s from you—that’s what makes it special.

The patch had been with him through heaven and hell and now, it brings him to the Sky Garden dome in London. The poignant stares are nothing to him as he rests a palm on yours between plates of half finished meals.

His heart is twisting so painfully and pulling into dead knots when he spots the glisten near your eyes and the restraint it takes to hold back, knowing that he hasn’t yet earned the right to wipe away those tears of someone else’s making.  

“I don’t know.” He moves closer and you finish the drink in one go and gloved hands take the glass away from you before it could fall through your fingers and go smashing into the marble flooring.

“I guess I thought I had a chance with him. I—hic—I-He told me I was worth it, once. Back during the mission in Siberia, he came back for me. Even if everyone told him not to, he still came back and I—I just thought we had something.”

König listens.

“I keep waiting for him, because one day, I don’t fucking know, I wish he would just see me—see that I’m here. That I am here, waiting for him. All of his extra duties, I take them. I do everything to show him that I-I care about him and he—”

“He never acknowledges them. He knows I am the one doing all of this for him and yet …”

König grasp on your palm tightens and he offers a napkin.

“Y-you shouldn’t have to hear about this. I’m sorry, König.” The bellow in his throat is building to a fervour; all the words he wanted to say, locked away behind a wall he’s built with his own hands.

For once, König wishes to live without the social anxiety that’s come to shadow his existence.

“It’s not right”—he speaks with such conviction and the mask around his face shifts with the rippling flesh underneath—“it’s not right, what he’s doing to you.”

“I just … keep waiting for him and he never looks back. Not since his sergeant met his death two months ago.”

John MacTavish. König has heard of him before, in passing comment.

“I keep holding out for hope; hope that he would at the very least, tell me, if he isn’t interested at all. His glances make me stay, even if he shows it to others. A few months ago, he even made a toast during a Christmas party. He said my name, you know? I thought I was dreaming, but it was my name he spoke.”

I thought we had something, unspoken.

It’s the hope that destroys us all—König knows this, knows this all too well.

“He gives you just enough attention to keep you wanting him, but never enough to make a move.”

You grimace is sardonic and you agree with him.

“Yeah. I … Is it so much to ask for to be loved?”

No, it’s not, schatz.

“This relationship? It’s not healthy and you … you don’t deserve this. Not you, you deserve far better. Far better than a man who would lead you on, and never give you anything in return.”

“Who else could love me, König?”

Me.

“Don’t say that. I … you are worthy of someone better. You are.” He wishes for the strength to say he could.

The crackle and burst of tangerine and purple across the space draws your attention to the fireworks outside. Cold whips across your jacket and König settles beside you and the night sky lights up with fireworks showering London in splendour you once felt seeing Ghost.

Not anymore. Not ever since that day when he took everything away with him into the afterlife.

Fur tickles your face and a heavy weight settles on your shoulders and it’s warm. König pulls the jacket tighter around you and streaks of gold fireworks echo in his eyes in trails of comet dust of longing.

“You always did love the gold ones. Remember in university? In Norway on new year’s eve, how our friends made fun of us for our awful pronunciation and you said something like … ish leeber dick?”

“Ich liebe dich.”

“Yeah, that one. Could never understand what it meant.”

“It … it means I love you.”

His eyes widen and hope—hope is a firecracker in his hands lit and burning with a fuse to no return; time to detonation is nigh.

“What?”

“Verdammt … I—I … fuck …”

He looks anywhere but at you and when he makes a move, his hands are with yours and his eyes are overwhelmed with emotion in depths of blue seas.

“I … schatz, I … I know it’s not my place to comment on your relationship with Ghost but he isn’t a good partner. You deserve more, more than what he gives you and with the sincerity of someone who wants, loves you.”

He presses on, afraid if he stopped he would never start again.

“Your love is not second rate, second class or anything.” He drops your hands to grasp your arms. “I … I can’t stand watching your throw your love away like that. Not when I’m here.”

His jacket is warm with more than just the heat of the man.

“It’s not fair to make you compete with a dead man for love. It’s not right and Stärke, I—I am here. And … I want to show you what love can be.”

“What love can be?”

“If you let me, liebling.”

Impossibly soft and brimming with yearning, the fuse burns through and the world explodes into colour. Of tears and light overpowering the shadows following him since youth into oblivion, König’s scarred lips are pressed against yours in repressed longing and you are pulled in close by his arm around your back.

Finally, he wipes away the tears and love tastes like the chap stick König uses and more. It’s indescribable, with it depth and intangible strings and he holds on tightly with all of his being.

“Your patch is fraying, König.”

“I’ve got you to fix it up for me.”

Ich liebe dich so sehr, meine Liebe. Du strahlst mit den Farben der Sonne. Ich bin so glücklich, dich in meinem Leben zu haben.

Sei mein und nur mein, Liebling.

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

#fanfic #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x male reader #x male reader #konig x male reader #könig x male reader #könig cod #konig fanfiction #könig mw2 #konig x reader #könig x reader

[gildedkrone]

Do you regret the things we shared that I’ll never forget

“This is inappropriate.”

Captain Price. SAS veteran and commander, with his hands in your trousers as the belt buckle rattles when a strong hand cusps you through your boxers. Price’s eyes are lasered in on your lips as a tongue coats them in glisten.

“So is this. Stop, if you find it so.”

“Cadet, this is—”

“Tell me to stop, and I will. But it seems as if you’re the one who can’t, captain.”

Price tries to pull his hand away but your hand arrests his and keeps it there and you feel it—the gentle curling of his thick fingers pushes fingertips into intimacy and how inappropriate, in the quiet cool of his office where your hips settle into the edge of the desk with the man between your legs.

Captain John Price. Cadet trainer and with his authority, you would go far.

“Stop this at once. We should not be doing this.”

“If so, why are you eye fucking me the whole day, Price?”

Price’s brows furrow and shame is apparent on his face for having been so … brazen with his looks. He jerks when your palm moulds his cheeks and a strong iron grasp stops your wrists in an unspoken do not.

Minute tremors from his shaking hands are passing into yours and he inhales sharply when you hand presses his palm further into your briefs as you part your lips in show when a thumb gently rubs against your balls.

“It feels good, captain.” He looks so unsure of himself, for once. “Bet I could make you feel good too.”

“This—this is wrong. What do you want, cadet?” He speaks with herculean effort to keep his voice steady and unwavering against the warring emotions in his chest.

“Let’s care about your first. I know you like men, Price.”

You feel his fingers moving on their accord, squeezing and gently messaging you are most private and your fingers weave between his to give him permission to be bolder with his advances. The want for him to take what is before him; gods above, you have him exactly where you want him.

And he knows, too.

“I know you dream of being in a relationship with a man. But not just any man.” He mourns the loss of the heat of your palm when you unbuckle your shirt and it flops onto his desk in a heap.

“You want an omega, don’t you? Unmarked, untamed.” His eyes linger on your shoulder where clean, pristine flesh is presented to him. A free omega.

“If you don’t stop, I will have to report this to your unit commander.”

He pulls his hand away from your crotch and you watch him retreat to the other side of desk and sit.

“I dare you.”

“I dare you, Price. Do you know how many omegas there are in the SAS?”

His flimsy attempts at pretending to be busy with work stop when he feels your hand settle on his.

“Five percent.” You sit on the edge of his desk. “In this base? Just twenty. And most of the female omegas don’t even catch your fancy, do they?”

He lips curl when you lean forward and intermingles your scent with his.

“There’s only five of us right here, right now. Four of them in medical and—” He protests when you push his chair to the side, “only one in combat service.”

“Bet you like that, don’t you? The smell of gunpowder and sweat, it drives you crazy, doesn’t it? I know you want me, Price.”

“And lucky for you, I want you very much, too.”

The hiss of the chair when you settle into his lap with your half unbuttoned pants and shirtless torso is just too much for the alpha and Price pulls you in until his clothed chest is pressed against yours. Hands come to rest against your hip and arse and they keep you there against the very handsome captain in the chair.

He gasps—the sound echoes in his office—when a roll of your hips puts pressure against his groin and his hand grabs a handful of your trousers, further dislodging the garment as it slides lower down your thighs.

“W-what do you want?”

“I want to be assigned to an intelligence role.” Surprise, the captain is surprised. “The other cadets I work with are all fools, stupid and lacking in brains.”

You hold his wrist up to your chest and pleasure explodes from the nub between his fingers. Below, his trousers are tented obscenely as the near pornographic moan from your pliant throat fuels the lust clouding his judgement.

“I-I—fuck—I can’t guarantee that, cadet.” Of course it wouldn’t be enough.

His collar unfurls to reveal a strong and toned chest and you examine the dog tags around his neck.

“I know. But a recommendation letter with your signature will open doors for me. And in return, you will have me.”

Your lips brushes against his clenched jaw and a stutter escapes his lips.

“I’ll be your needy and wet omega, all ready to satiate your needs, captain.”

“Y-you wanted this …”

The chair squeaks further when you push your hips flush against his, eliciting a strong grasp of the armrest as the captain desperately fights against his biology. The light behind you only serves to agitate him; his teeth is a perfect fit for your shoulder.

“It must be difficult, being so accomplished yet going home to an empty bed with no companionship. But, you have me now. Say it, John.”

“You are … ngh … in your twenties? Shit, you fuckin’ heathen!”

His shirt comes to rest at his pelvis and you just couldn’t resist—your teeth leaves shallow prints on his nips and you run a tongue over in apology.

“Well, I like my men older. Can you feel how much I need you, John?”

He almost loses it right there and then when you push his fingers past the waistband into sinful territory and warm slick coats all of his fingers and your tip leaks pearly onto his forearm. The smell is ambrosial and he cleans his fingers thoroughly with his tongue and it tastes—heavenly.

“I’ll be your secret, John. We won’t have to tell anyone about this.”

His men once joked about it, and now he’s finally experiencing it for himself.

“Help me, Price. Help me and I’ll be yours. All yours and only yours. I don’t want Janus. I want you, captain.”

The mention of Janus, another hot headed alpha cadet roils Price up—the mental image of another useless thick dicked idiot eliciting drunken moans and drools from your lips sparks the territorial side of him to claim, mark and take the willing omega before someone else comes along.

How long has he been without a partner? In his late thirties, time runs thin for this alpha. Right in front him and settled over his thighs, virility and lust paw at his chest for his attention. You both know—you’re his best chance at the euphoria just a mile off.

All he just had to do is say yes. Inappropriate as hell, but age gap be damned, he wants this all for himself. His acquiescence, a white flag of defeat against his basal instincts and deep seated desires, comes roaring into the present when heat grasps him through parted trousers and he shouts with you as the very last of his defences comes crashing down when a warm, velvety tight heat engulfs his satin and milks him for all of his alpha seed into finally, satiation as his teeth breaks the skin on your shoulder.

You grasp onto his back as Price settles into a brutal pace of a man having his first frolic in the great pools of nirvana. The air smells of sex and the pleasure drunk look on your face—he wants to frame it on his wall to remind himself of what youth tastes on teeth.

A consummation of lust in his office. The captain’s pet indeed, has the captain wrapped around his finger. So special, so … you leaving his office an hour later with a sated captain and a letter signed in his name:

I, CPT Jonathan Price, hereby give me recommendation …

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[gildedkrone]

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