Hello, due to deep compartmentalization and the prevalence of ADHD hyperfocus I am deep in my Call of Duty phase and thus, a new blog. Specifically, Captain John Price, Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish, Simon 'Ghost' Riley, and Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick.
Thanks for the venture here. Unless you're a minor, then you can fuck right off.
I'm Ty, I'm 25 and this is a fairly new blog. I'm mostly just here for SMUT, but I'm actively working on a book series for the aforementioned characters with a friend of mine, @kattsmuse. (John's is first.) We want to have the whole thing completed before we start posting but we've got about 200 pages of content already.
I'm working up to posting and writing longer bits but it's hard to do with an infant-just-turned-toddler literally waddling around and getting up to all kinds of mischief.
I reblog mostly SMUT recs and my blog will have Dead Dove content. If you don't know what that is, it's dark content that can include gore, kidnapping, dub- and non-consensual themes. This is your warning. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume, so if you got a problem with it, take yourself elsewhere. Otherwise, all you hellions are welcome to come and go as you please.
WIPs:
Untitled Series - Each book is a different 141 guy - Deadish Dove series (Simon's definitely is)
The makers of Kinktober 2025 are back again with a brand new list! The graphics are once again created by latte-cucumber. Check out our AO3 collection, or keep reading for more information.
More information
Kinktober is a kinky October prompt challenge that’s been running in one form or another since 2016. There are three prompts for each day in October, and the challenge is to use one (or more!) of the prompts to create something for that day. If you don’t want to use any of the three daily prompts, you can swap them out for the bonus prompts at the bottom of the prompt list.
If you have any questions, check our FAQs. Unfortunately, due to personal commitments, we won't be opening our askbox for questions this year. We've made it as rules-light as possible, though, so if your question is "Can I do this?", the answer is almost certainly yes!
I may of sent this before but my wifi was messed up so I don't know if it went through, but!!! Can you draw 141 doing communal shower antics and maybe if you'll be soooo kind to bless me with some gaz stuff just doing anything on duty love him in your style, keep creating😘
neighbor!simon riley who can't say no to you asking him for help (and still does things without you having to).
pt.1
ever since asking simon for help on your car, it's like a floodgate has opened up. first you're asking him for help on your car, and the next thing you know, he's in your house every few days with a new repair you've roped him into. he doesn't talk much. actually, you haven't been able to get another word out of him since he was on his back, under your car.
you've tried, you really have, but the bastard won't give in. you think he's just closed off—in reality, simon's heart is beating a mile a minute, and his mind is repeating over and over again not to make himself a fool in front of his pretty neighbor.
so you figured that asked him to help around your house would do the trick, luring him into your space in order to open him up. it's not like you'd get around to these tasks yourself. they just weren't your area of expertise.
and for a decently new house, you sure had a lot to be repaired.
first, it was those squeaky hinges on some of your doors. now, in the beginning, you were still hesitant to wander over to his front door to get his help, but after his eagerness the first time, it gave you the confidence to return. simon was in your house faster than you were, already taking a guess as to which door it was—since he knew his way around from bringing in groceries and such. armed with a lubricant and a few other tools, he got to work. within a few minutes, they were good as new. you couldn't thank the man before he was out the door.
it was off-putting, but you were still determined. it was unlucky that the first thing you asked him to do took only a few minutes of his time, and even less for cleanup.
with every day that passed, you were grasping at straws. how could you get this man over here? your house was in perfect condition, and you barely saw the recluse of a man, as he remained in his house most of the time. save for the times he takes in your groceries or takes your bins out, you don't see him.
until you notice something odd.
coming home from work—this time, your car light remains off—you get out of your car and notice a bit of chopped grass that's been left behind. with furrowed brows, you took a moment to look at your lawn.
what are the chances that, after living here for a few months, the grass doesn't decide to grow?
yeah, none. the bastard has been doing it for you, and you never noticed. he never mentioned or made a big deal out of it, and somehow, it got missed on your motion activated doorbell cameras that has a perfect view of the lawn. even the hedges are trimmed.
so what do you do? take the opportunity to stop over to his doorstep, rapping your fist on his door until he opens. eyebrows raised, ready to take on the next task at your house, he steps out and shuts the door behind him. with a nod, he gestures you to lead the way.
except you don't have a repair for him. "have you been mowing my lawn?" the words spill from your lips before you have a chance to reign yourself in. the absurdity of the situation is making you loose-lipped.
his eyes widen, and you swear you see a faint blush on the pale skin behind his balaclava. he just nods, gaze softening as he stares down at you.
"thank you." you sputter out, in shock at his brazen admission. he just nods again, and you're at a loss for words. how do you keep his attention, keep his eyes on you? "well, I'm gonna need your help planting flowers."
planting flowers? that's all you could come up with? your face flushes with embarrassment, bracing yourself for his reaction. the man could easily say no because mowing the lawn and changing your lightbulb and fixing your squeaky door hinges is considered masculine. you could've insulted his masculinity by suggesting he plants flowers.
but he just stares at you some more. "let m'know when," and he shuts the door in your face.
but you turn around with the goofiest smile on your face and pump your fist with a soft "yes" before skipping back down the path and road towards your house just next door. little do you know, simon's face wears a smile just like yours as he watches the dorky display.
It was one of those serendipidous moments where you'd both blended seemlessly into each other. Like he was just nonexistant one day and then the two of you just returning to find a perfect fit. Trading off each others mixed up orders at the coffee shop on base had somehow become living together in a matter of months.
He'd been so rough around the edges. Bossing you about in the ways you couldn't argue. Him griping about you waiting for him to open the door for you or carrying something he could be carrying instead. You half worried he'd boss you around in bed too. Only...
The couch cushion is plenty soft between your cheek. Eyes lazily watching whatever binge show you'd put on. You can barely breathe under the delicious weight of Simon. You can feel the trembling of his entire frame against your back, his arms tightly wound your chest, his chin hooked over your shoulder. His desperate moans are muffled into the pillow.
And you... you're a melted puddle beneath him, whining as he humps softly into you. Having been stretching you lovingly on his cock for only a few minutes. You're fuzzy, floating as he whimpers like this is his first time getting lost to the pleasures of sex.
You never fucking doubt he's enjoying himself as he whimpers into kisses against your shoulder. "Fuuuck- ngh, not hurtin' ya, am I, lovie?"
"Mmm, no, you're being a good boy, baby," you mumble back. It kicks off him cumming a second time with a raspy cry... and then rocking his hips again with louder whining.
mmm ghost who wears briefs instead of boxers, no shame in answering the door with the bulge of his cock clearly visible when his poor neighbor knocks. can't help the little smirk that twists his lips when your eyes dart to the thin grey fabric and nearly bulge themselves at what you find. wonders if a nervous thing like you would let him put you on your knees right there in the doorway or if you'd fuss before his big hand guided you to nose at his cock. just the thought has him twitching in his pants, knows you saw it too the way your eyes dart to his in embarrassment.
or maybe you're embarrassed about the loud moaning and wet sounds that spill out of the flat behind him, porno still playing full volume on the TV.
either way you stutter out the cutest little apology with your head hung low to avoid looking at him before you scurry away. if he weren't working he might just follow after you, let you get a taste of the cotton you'd seemed so eager to try and stare a hole through.
inspired wholly by this hard of hearing!simon by @ynstark — i’ve been plagued by the thought ever since
cw: suggestive
he hears the kettle just fine when it whistles, and he hears the front door when it slams with the wind. what he doesn’t hear, almost ever, is you.
“john,” you call.
you get nothing in return. he’s got his feet up on the coffee table, his reading glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, some dense paperback open in his hands.
“john,” you try again, huffing.
still nothing. the corner of the room he’s not facing may as well be another county.
you cross to the sofa and stop right in front of him until the shape of you finally registers and he looks up over the rim of his glasses, eyebrows lifting like you’ve appeared out of nowhere.
“what?”
“i called for you twice.”
“did you?” he asks, lips pursing slightly.
you’ve been dealing with this for a long while. over dinner, leaning across the table, repeating yourself, watching him nod at the wrong moments and answer questions you never asked. in the kitchen, talking to his back, getting no reply. in bed, breathing his name against his neck, not getting the same response from him you would’ve got a few years ago.
decades of gunfire and breaching charges and the thumping punch of helo rotors, year over year. by the time anyone thought to check, preserving it was out of the question because the damage was already there. the audiologist had been matter-of-fact about it. showed him the chart, the slope of it dropping off. he nodded along like it was someone else’s ear.
the hearing aids have been sitting in the dish by the bathroom sink for weeks, untouched. they’re good ones too. tiny things. they sit down in the canal, you’d have to be nose-to-nose with him to spot the little nub of them, and even then you’d have to know to look. nothing hooks over the ear or catches in the light.
he just wont wear them.
“i’m not seventy,” he’d said the once you really pushed it. “m’not puttin’ in hearing aids.”
“you’re wearing them, john. you already had them fitted.”
“i don’t need them,” he’d protested. “not day to day.”
which is how you ended up here, two weeks later, watching the back of his head while he reads and ignores the sound of you existing.
so you change tactics.
you don’t say his name again. you take the book out of his hands gently, dog-ear his page with your thumb, set it on the table next to his feet. and before he can do more than open his mouth you climb into his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, settling yourself down onto him.
his hands land on your hips instinctually, his whole expression changing. the annoyance smooths out and something warm comes up slowly in its place, you can read his thoughts as clearly as if he’d said it out loud — ‘well, this is alright’.
“well, hello,” he says low, hands sliding up your sides.
he thinks he’s won something. he’s already tilting his chin up for you, lips looking for yours.
you reach into the pocket of your cardigan and pull them out, cupped in your palm where he can see, and his face drops.
“oh, you’re joking,” his shoulders sink with disappointment.
“hold still,” you grumble, leaning forward.
“i was comfortable,” he complains.
“john.” you get the first one in before he can turn his head, fingers careful at his ear, and he huffs through his nose like a dog that’s been told no. “other side.”
“this is entrapment.”
“mm-hm.” you fit the second one in, tucking his hair back where it’s gone astray. you sit back against him to look with your hands resting on his chest. “there,” you grin, satisfied.
“i was reading.”
“and you weren’t hearing a single word i said all night.”
“i can hear!”
“so you’re choosing to ignore me then?”
“i wasn’t— i just—,”
“you answered ‘fine’ when i asked if you wanted chicken or fish for dinner.”
his jaw works. he doesn’t have anything to say to that. “they itch,” he tries instead, pressing a finger against the front of his ear, rubbing the cartilage there.
“they don’t itch. you’re being dramatic.” you shift your weight, just slightly, settling in more solidly against him, and watch his breath catch. “tell me they itch now.”
he’s still scowling, but his hands have tightened on your hips. “i don’t see what hearing’s got to do with this…” he looks down at where you’re pressed to him.
you roll your hips down against him, folding forward, letting your mouth go to the side of his face, right up close to his ear, and you breathe out — soft, the smallest sound, half a moan and half a laugh because you can’t help yourself.
you feel him go still beneath you.
you do it again. rocking down against the shape of him through his trousers and let the noise come up out of you naturally, quiet and close and meant only for him, the kind of sound you make without thinking when his hands are on you. his fingers flex and splay and grip harder, his head turns toward you like it’s being pulled.
“there you are,” you murmur.
“…christ.”
“you hear that?”
he doesn’t answer. his eyes have gone heavy lidded and his hand’s come up into your hair and he’s turned fully into you now, chasing it, the small wet sounds of your breath against his ear, the catch in your throat when you press down and he pushes up to meet you.
these little intimate things he stopped hearing a long time ago and never noticed he’d lost because of how gradual it happened. this way you sound when you want him, the quiet things. the things you only ever say just for him, the things you’ve been saying into the dark for a year now with no return.
“say my name,” you breathe.
“…what?”
“in bed. i always say your name and you never—,” you rock against him and his breath stutters, “you never answer anymore.”
his hand comes up to the side of your face. he pulls back just far enough to look at you, and there’s something that’s gone serious under the want, something that’s caught up with what you’re telling him.
“m’so sorry, love,” he nudges his nose under your jaw, kissing the soft of your neck. “say it now. again,” he says, rough. “go on.” he’s gone hard under you, rolling his hips up, hands keeping your hips down. the seam of his zipper pushing through the thin cotton of your joggers
“john,” you breathe.
he hears you and you watch him — watch his eyes close for a second like it’s gone straight through him.
“yeah,” he says, his thumb moving slow against your cheek. “heard that.” then your name unfurls from his tongue and you kiss him before he can pretend he wasn’t affected, and his arms come all the way around you, and he doesn’t say a single word about the hearing aids again.
john wears them after that without making a fuss over it. just puts them in every morning before you’re up. you never mention that you notice. don’t wanna spook him.
Thinking about diver!reader who can do absolutely nothing when selkie!soap decides he wants some cuddles....
Because you're under the impression soap is a seal, you follow the law and do not touch him. Marine mammals are protected, and as a diver you respect that.
If only soap could show you the same respect.
Instead, you are forced to hold your hands up while a very curious and familiar seal practically purrs against you, gently biting to explore the newest additions to your gear.
Usually he's not an issue, most seals are curious and so long as you dont touch it, it can touch you. Though, once he decided to climb on top of you while you were drying off on the sand, and for the next five hours all you could do was lie there because rolling him off is technically illegal.
Your neighbor, a sweet old man with a mohawk and graying beard, thought this was absolutely hilarious when you recounted the story to him.
How’s my “pullout game?” You mean the game where you desperately struggle and beg and plead and try your hardest to get me to pull out, and I try to pin you down and cum inside you anyway? I’ve never lost yet. Why, do you want to play?
