Helping Hand

✦MORE INCORRECT C.o.D QUOTES✦

König: Hell, you could pour soup into my lap and I’ll probably apologize to you- --

Soap: What’s your life motto? Y/N: Hmmm, less a motto, more a general idea. But I run through life with four things in mind. Y/N: Fuck shit up, get shit done, get some glory, and hope for good dick in between. Gaz: *spit take* Soap: *WHEEZE* Ghost: …pretty good motto. Y/N: Thank you!

--

Graves: What are you doing? Y/N, losing their shit: *looking at the sky* Maybe, if I stand here long enough, a FUCK will fall from the SKY and then, I can give it to you. But oh, hey, look, THE SKY AIN’T GIVIN’ NOTHIN! Graves: I- Y/N: NO FUCKS, ANYWHERE, TO GIVE

-- Soap after being insulted by Ghost: ‘do sorta like it when he’s rude to me…hopefully that’s more a psychological defect than a weird sexual thing.

-- Some dickhead: And what's your job? 141 Whore? Y/N: Oh I fuckin' wish. Do you know how much easier of a job that'd be? No field drills, no paperwork, just be a dick receptacle. A fuckin' dream, that'd be. Price: *dissapointed sigh* Soap & Gaz: *WHEEZE* Ghost: *he's not laughing but he kinda wants to*

-- Ghost: Pretty cool, huh, Johnny? *looks and sees Graves beside him* Oh- Graves: Uh, I thought it was pretty cool. Ghost: I don't give a fuck 'bout what you think, Philip.(derogatory)

--

(TW; Unalive mention; but it's in a Gen Z joke way) Someone: Okay uh, what if 141 just...disappeared. Like your team just vanished. What would you do? Y/N, instantly: Oh I'd just *gun to temple hand signal* Easy. Quick decision. Price: Soldier, no- Y/N: Don't die and we won't have a problem. Think of it as more reason to stay alive. All of you. *Points at Ghost* You, specifically, sir. 'm watchin' you. Ghost: ...noted.

--

Ghost, suffering from blood loss: Johnny...you have beautiful eyes Soap: Damnit where's that evAC HE'S LOST HIS MIND

--

Soap: How d'ya feel 'bout gay people? Male!Y/N: ...I am gay- Gaz: He's dodging the question. Soap: HOMOPHOBIC! Male!Y/N: DON'T SHOUT THAT WHAT THE FU-

--

(I saw DILF!Reader headcanons and made an OC from it, I really like DILF/MILF Readers, we need more of them) Ghost: Daddy issues? Psh, I don't have those. Dilf!Y/N: *pats him on the back while passing by* Good job out there, Simon. Ghost, ready to cry whilst also having a boner: God damnit-

--

(In the idea of Y/N being a complete badass on field, maybe even a lil sadistic) Gaz: Hey, before getting into the military, what did you wanna do with your life? Y/N, cleaning dishes: Oh, I wanted to be a homemaker! Soap: ...huh? Y/N: Yeah! Little house, keepin' it clean, cookin' all day. An apron. The whole thing. Alas, God doesn't hand out opportunities for dreams, I was dealt a different hand in life's game of poker, and I had to make it work. So! Here I am. Gaz, remembering the time he watched them decapitate a man: ...a homemaker...right.

--

Y/N: I'm just sayin', one hug from Captain would probably be the equivalent of six years in therapy. Gaz: So...ask for a hug then? Y/N: AHA! No, no I won't do that. That's asking for problems. (Insert situation where Y/N gets said hug) Price: ...are you crying? Y/N: This! This is the problems I mentioned! Gaz: No, no I think this is proof you shoulda asked sooner.

--

Ghost: I don't have favorites. Gaz: You made Soap a lunch. Ghost: And? Y/N: You cut the sandwich in the shape of a cat...and the fruit is cut into stars & hearts. Ghost: Soldiers need balanced meals.

--

Y/N: Yeesh...Why did god have to give Cap such a tiny grabbable waist...seems unfair. Gaz: *chokes on water* Soap: *wheeze cackle* Price: ...pardon? Y/N: Oh shit, did I say that out loud? My bad, G.

--

Graves: Are you supposed to be eye fucking your captain all the time? Y/N: Hey! I don't eye fuck my captain all the time. Graves: You- Y/N: I eye fuck all my teammates, equal opportunity eye fucking, I don't have favorites on my team. Soap & Gaz: *stifling laughter* Price: Can- *sigh* Can we please focus on the mission now?

--

Graves: Were you dropped as a child? Y/N: Bold of you to assume I was held. Price: Soldier- Soap: Oh, no that's- Gaz: *wince* Ghost: ...heh. Y/N: *points* Ahaaaa, he gets it!

Yes, I really want that!!💖🥺🥺

me & you, a bottle of wine, clumsy kisses, little moans in to each other’s mouths and wandering hands

I don’t know what’s going on.🫨🫨🫨

There is someone on twitter that thinks it’s okay to start a relationship with me calling him daddy. 😂😂

Hello, I hope you and your family are well. Can you please help me recycle the post on my account? 🌺 And help rescue my family from the war in Gaza? 🙏 Thank you.

https://gofund.me/1a1829cd

Of course love!

PLEASE I WOULD DIE FOR A SLIGHTLY SOUTHERN ACCENT READER BC THATS ME TOO 😭

Omg yes now I have to write this. I’ll just do like a bullet list bc it’ll be easier to read but I’m so glad there’s someone else like me anyway:

141 with a reader who has a slight country accent

Even if it’s slight, the boys can tell that you have a country accent

Sometimes you just say certain words that have a certain drawl or you pronounce them with the accent

All of them have different accents from each other even if they’re from around the same place but sometimes they’re not used to the way you say some things

“What?” Ghost would narrow his eyes and loom over you in frustrated confusion. “What the hell did you just say?”

You’d just roll your eyes and repeat it. If there was still further confusion you would explain what you were talking about and would most likely start some sort of argument about how’s it’s actually pronounced

You actually get into a lot of spats about stuff like that

They probably make fun of the way you speak sometimes. Not out of malice but just to joke around because you’re American and they’re not.

Price would jokingly say southern sayings in a really bad imitation of your accent when he’s teasing you

Don’t even ask Soap to try to do your accent it won’t end well

But they’re not the only ones who get to poke fun. You make it your duty to make fun of them and imitate their accents more than they do for you

It annoys the hell out of them sometimes but they just retaliate by making fun of yours. It’s a vicious cycle

Depending on your temperament, they’ve heard your accent get thicker when you’re angry.

The more angry you get, the thicker it is and while they might think it’s funny they know better than to laugh. They don’t want to be on the receiving end of southern rage

First time it happened though they were surprised and scared

“Steaming Jesus.” Soap muttered as he listened to you yell quick insults in a thick accent as you let out your anger. “And I thought I was the only one who could talk quick.”

Southern phrases (if you use them ironically or not) make them chuckle or confuse them

You’ll probably have to explain a lot of them

Don’t even get me started on the culture from where you’re from. Explaining to them what certain things are is difficult.

“What’s a Pawpaw?” Gaz asked one day which nearly made you joke on your drink.

They’d all be willing to listen if you told them but be prepared for a lot of questions.

Truthfully, they like your accent. It’s nice to listen to especially when you’re telling stories or just talking to them. You’re their southern operative and even if you’re not from over the pond you’re their teammate, their family.

They love you

Love for the southern readers! There probably a lot more about it I could talk about but I can’t think of any right now. I’ve heard from friends over seas that they like country accents so I incorporated that just because. Anyway hope you liked!

LET’S GO!!!! I AM FUCKING READY!

It’s literally a week till my hysterectomy and I want it done like now.😂😂 I’m actually happy about this…a surgery I’m happy to have.

this blog hates donald trump

How I wanna chew on him.🥰🥰

@chamomiletealeaf babe, Here’s a lovely picture for you!!!🥰🥺

if I found him like this I'd get a little nasty 😛

ONLY YOURS (Sub!Price x GN!Reader)

price masterlist — price picture credit

summary; he’s just too damn loud. — 1.7k words

[WARNINGS; sub!price, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance, secret relationships, handjob, light degradation, biting, out of place fluff.]

John watches as Soap laughs and slaps Gaz on his back over some story, his other hand holding a cup of some sort of alcohol; some brand that John doesn’t personally drink. He’s just thankful that it isn’t tequila as he doesn’t want a face full of his spit and the tequila. In John’s hand is a nice cup of whiskey, something that burns but goes down fairly easy. His eyes look into his cup, watching the dark liquid swirl around, vaguely hearing Ghost, who is next to him, speak up about Soap’s story, something about correcting a detail. John doesn’t care too much to pay attention at the moment, not when the alcohol is beginning to kick in just the right way. It’s rare that he gets these moments with his men; being able to drink together as John is nearly always busying himself with something. 

“—That reminds me, Captain,” Soap hums, a grin stretched across his face. John picks his eyes up from his glass of whiskey, locking eyes with the tipsy Scotsman. “You’ve seemed much more relaxed, aye?”

John’s lip twitches as he hums before taking a sip of his whiskey, relishing the burn. He nods, his other hand coming up to rub the pleasantly sensitive skin underneath his jacket. “My stress has been much better these days, yes.” John replies with a chuckle. Oh, only if they knew.

Only if they knew why.

God, John feels like such a teenager sneaking around like this; he can’t get enough of the rush you give him, the secrecy you two have to maintain—when you sit on his desk and you force him to stand between your legs with his heavy cock in your hand. John shudders as you grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer—you said no touching, so John scrambles to plant his palms down on the desk on the outside of your thighs to keep himself up. You laugh as he struggles to be obedient, as he lets you position him however you want. Your wrist absentmindedly keeps bumping against the edge of the desk due to how close John’s body is, but you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all, not when John is letting out shuddery grunts and groans as he struggles to stay quiet.

“God,” He groans lowly, his voice gritty and deep in his chest. He’s so close, your breath brushes over his face and all he wants to do is lean forward to kiss you. You ghost your lips over his as your hand begins to drag up and down his leaking cock, pulling a loud gasp out of him. Delicious pleasure shoots up his spine and melts deep in his chest and gut as your hand continues to squeeze precum from him. John’s fingers dig into the wood of his desk as his head reels from how good your hand feels. Your lips twitch into a smile as you watch John’s eyelids flutter and how he nearly leans into you for a kiss but always at the last second, he catches himself; because he wants to be good. John swears as your hand around his cock speeds up, spreading his precum along the length, making your hand a slicker surface to slide against. 

You tsk as one particular moan bounces off the wall, and you don’t miss the way his hips jolt forward. “Oh, Captain..” You murmur, your eyes never leaving his pleasure drunk face. John’s eyelids open and he looks back at you, causing his dick to twitch in your palm, his hazy eyes settling on yours—like he’s waiting for you to talk. “And here I thought that the talk we had was important; how we need to be careful and quiet.” You taunt, leaning your cheek against his, your lips brushing against his ear. John’s skin burns from touching yours and he wants more, more, more, more—”But here you are, moaning like a fuckin’ whore.” 

John shudders, doing his damn best staying still, letting you play with his cock and heavy balls all you want. “Bloody hell, sweetheart—” John breathes out and you can tell he isn’t complaining about the degradation. In fact, you swear your knuckles are stickier. You hold his cock with one hand and your other hand comes down to the head, your finger swirling right under the mushroom tip causing John to shout out and his hips thrust into your hand, his brain melting and pouring out of his ears—your hand comes up and slaps against his mouth, causing his eyelids to pop open. You’re talking, but John has no idea what you’re saying, not when you’re mercilessly teasing his tip, fuck, he wants to cum so bad.

Your hand that is covering his mouth pats his cheek, leaving a slight sting behind; just enough to ground him back into reality. You were high off of the power your Captain gave to you. Your superior, the man who others respected due to his presence, his work, his efforts; is handing everything over to you. “I’m talking to you, Captain.” You add a mocking tone at the end. “M’listenin’.” John says with a heavy tone, his breath hitching in his throat. You click your tongue, causing him to tense. He suppresses the noises of complaints that threaten to leave his mouth. “Now, there’s one thing I don’t like. Why don’t you tell me what that is, Captain?”

John swallows the spit that has accumulated in his mouth. “Liars.” He whispers, his face burning with embarrassment. God, you being in control is thrilling, sneaking around is thrilling but he can’t ignore the embarrassment that bubbles in his gut every time. “I didn’t hear you, John. You want to be quiet now, but when it matters, you’re whimpering so loudly that I bet someone heard; you know Soap has a blabbermouth,” You grin as you witness John feel conflicted, but you don’t ignore the way his cock throbs in your hand. 

John lets out an unsteady breath, and nods—he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to anymore, which tugs another laugh from your chest. John didn’t think he was the type to do this; he was sure only reckless privates and other lower ranks would risk something like this. Handjobs, quickies, everything of the sort on base. If you told him three years ago what he was doing right at this moment, his mouth would’ve frowned and shook his head in disbelief, and he wouldn’t blame his past self for doing so. Risking his whole career for a little stress belief—except, you’re more than stress relief to him and he’s more than a toy for you to play with. John loves when you distract him from the paperwork he has to do by wrapping a hand around his throat, leaning in—so uncharacteristic of him, he thinks—but he loves it more when you press a loving kiss against his temple.

John likes it when your hand touches the small of his back to check in with him, and he likes doing it in return. He likes speaking with only glances, and no words; sending you glances only the two of you understand. You can read him like no other. John likes it when you don’t question his authority as a Captain, you respect his rank and his experience, despite your control in the bedroom—or should you say office? John liked it when he realized you began to get up earlier, at the time he got up just to spend more time with him—an hour or two just for the two of you, sipping your morning drinks in silence together. He’s embarrassed at how easily you got him under your thumb because his libido is suddenly like it was when he was much younger; he isn’t too old, but he’s certainly aged a bit.

He’s brought back to reality by your hand squeezing the back of his neck then traveling to the back of his head, grasping threads of his short hair and gently tugging. “You with me, John?” You ask, your voice firmer than before. John makes a noise as he settles back into reality, his eyelids blinking rapidly as the unbearably hot feeling of arousal swirls in his gut. “M’with you, love.” John croaks, your eyes locking with his. Your eyebrow cocks ever so slightly—he knows what you want. “Green. Just a bit out of it.” John adds, noticing the way your eyebrow relaxes back into place. You hum and let go of his hair, letting his head lean forward a bit more than its previous strenuous position. 

“Out of it?” You question, your hand tilting his head to the side by his chin. John’s eyes stay on you, searching for any hint of how you feel, but your eyes have drifted down to his neck area. Your hand trails down from his chin to the buttons on his shirt, which you slowly begin to undo with one hand, your other still loosely wrapped around his cock. “Mm, you mean you were distracted, John.” You mock pout, you blink, and your eyes meet his again. John swallows, your eyes swirling with something he craves. 

“Dont’cha worry, pet. I’ll get you back on track.” John’s eyes widen at the name—pet—but he doesn’t have time to think about it too much when you pull one of the flaps of his shirt to the side and you sink your teeth into his shoulder harshly. “Fuck—” John curses, his hips jolting as the pain swirls against his nerves, your teeth hungrily biting down on his muscle and flesh. You pull away and John winces for a second, his breath stuttering when he sees something red on your teeth. Blood. You grin and lick your teeth, somehow stealing all of John’s air from his lungs. 

His knees buckle—and crack—violently when your hand suddenly begins to stroke his painfully hard cock, causing him to gasp. “Shit, love—” John moans out of appreciation, and you roll your eyes and grab his face, covering his mouth. “Noisy brat.” You reprimand as you stroke his cock. “My noisy brat.” John can’t believe himself when he nods, agreeing with you because he is yours. All of him is yours—like you are his.

U.S. conservatives always talk about creating jobs but get SO MAD whenever anyone mentions banning prison labor like imagine the insane ammout of jobs that would be created literally overnight if companies in your country had to actually employ people instead of using slave labor from people that got caught with weed 10 years ago.