#god complex 12

— Paring; Cpt. John Price x male reader. Fandom; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II

Atychiphobia: (n.) fear of failure; fear of not being good enough

Quote; “When you repent, you make a promise to turn away from the sin… abandon it. But, Jonathan… you are my sin, and I am incapable of abandoning my love for you.”

Disclaimer; Mention of religion. Reader is an Angel. Religious based. Christianity. Talks of sinning. Reader is a fallen Angel. Descriptions of pain and blood. Not an accurate representation of Christianity. God is referred to as “father” and is depicted as slightly cruel. Kissing. Crying. Praying. Begging for forgiveness. Religious trauma. Tending to wounds. Reader is in the bath. John helps Y/N in the bath.

Word Count: 1.0k

Masterlist; part I

A/N: Please note that I do not believe this is how God truly is, this is for the sake of entertainment purposes only.

John is speechless as he stares at the torn and bloodied skin of his comrade. It’s revolting. Though this is nowhere near the worst John has ever seen, what brings him to a shake is what used to be in its place. Wings? No, that couldn’t be possible. Y/N had never had wings. Heaven and hell existed? John isn’t sure if that was something he wished was confirmed. He’s damned. But so is Y/N. Damned because of him, perhaps.

John gently poured the disinfectant onto the massive wounds. Y/N shuddered and sobbed. He wasn’t used to pain. Suddenly he felt unmeasurably weak. He’s mortal. This wasn’t fair. Since when was love a sin? And why was the punishment so cruel? Y/N’s fists balled, and his jaw clenched.

“Relax.” John whispered in the softest voice his gruff voice could manage. “It’ll pass.” He gently washed the dry blood from Y/N’s back. The warm water stung horribly, making Y/N tremble more. He sobbed silently into his hands. John was overwhelmed, but he didn’t let that stop him from taking care of the now man in front of him.

John dried his hands off on the towel next to him. He heard Y/N begin to whisper as he opened the box of medical supplies next to him. He knew what he was doing. “Y/N, stop.” He said sternly. However, Y/N did not stop. He continued to whisper to himself like a mad man. Whispering what, both of them knew, was a prayer that would fall on deaf ears. “Shh,” John shushed, “please.” He ran his hand over Y/N’s bare shoulder, he gently pushed the fallen angel a bit forward to gain better access to his wounds.

Padding the area with a cloth, Y/N made a pained noise and began praying more vigorously. John dried the area, and he wrapped Y/N’s torso in plaster. “He forgives all,” John whispered, “but why not you?” He pulled the sobbing soldier back towards him.

“Because I can’t seem to make a change.” He wiped his useless tears, getting a handful of water and drawing his flushed face. His voice trembles, as does his body. “When you repent, you make a promise to turn away from the sin… abandon it. But, Jonathan… you are my sin, and I am incapable of abandoning my love for you.”

“Your holy position is more important than man’s attention, is it not?”

“No.” Y/N said firmly. “Not when that man is you. I am a disgrace for committing the blasphemous act of loving one more than my creator. Not only have I chosen man over God, but I have committed a sacrilege act in allowing lust to cloud my faith.”

“Lust?” John questioned. “Do you mean this is all just lust?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and he spun around, water sloshing over the side of the tub. His wet hands grab John’s knee in an act of desperation. “No, no. This is love. I love you more than anything, and that is a problem. I am referring to the time we’ve gone farther than just touching hands. That was lust.”

“Was it?” John asked, his hand gently trailing up the side of the Fallen Angel’s neck, pushing around the wet strands of hair that clung to Y/N’s skin. “Because I didn’t sleep with you for the sake of your body.” He leaned closer. “I did it for the sake of love. The passion. I hold myself back, so when it happens, it feels even better.”

“That is why we are supposed to wait till marriage bonds us, though even then, Father would not be accepting of devious acts unless it is to reproduce… which I am unable to do either with man or woman.”

“This isn’t about his rules. This is about you and me. I don’t care about his incorrect judgment, and neither should you. His judgment only brought you immense pain. Should you still speak highly of a God who causes you only suffering?”

Y/N was stunned for a moment, stumbling to find the right words, but the pain, overwhelming reality, the closeness of their lips, it made his mind bug out. “I- He did not only cause me suffering. He has also given me life!” He sat on his knees. “If not for his orders, we would have never met!”

“Then why does he punish you when he was the one who caused us to love?” A silence engulfs them. Y/N is speechless, and he feels his breath quicken with each passing second. It’s all too much. His chest feels heavy, and he feels as though someone had covered his face with a pillow and watched him squirm around for a pocket of air. “Let us love without him, Y/N. Let me love you.”

“Okay,” Y/N whispered, almost inaudibly.

— Paring; Capt. John Price x male reader. Fandom; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II

Atychiphobia: (n.) fear of failure; fear of not being good enough

Quote; “You’re perfect.” “Not anymore.”

Description; An Angel falling in love with a human is sinful is the face of judgment, and is to be dissipated. Disclaimer; Reader is an Angel. Religious based. Christianity. Talks of sinning. Reader is a fallen Angel. Descriptions of pain. Not an accurate representation of the religion. God is referred to as “Father”. Kissing. Tears. Praying. Begging for forgiveness. More of the reader’s relationship with God rather than the reader’s relationship with John. Religious trauma.

Word Count: 0.6k

Masterlist

Over the hundreds and hundreds of years Y/N has lived, he has never once thought he would find himself here. Y/N loved being a Guardian Angel. He found a passion for protecting those who deserve it, and that feeling of joy he got when his Father assigned him to a human was indescribable. It was no different when he was assigned Jonathan Price.

As the Angel slowly worked his way into the man’s life, over years of working with him. He found an attachment to the man, but brushed it off because he does that with every human. He finds himself in Task Force 141, second in command to Captain John Price. Though it wasn’t hard for the Angel to work himself up to that status and he could even surpass Jonathan, but he doesn’t need a high status. All Y/N needs is to watch over this man.

“Jonathan, you shouldn’t smoke so much.” Y/N said, placing a warm cup of tea onto his desk.

John’s eyes flickered to meet Y/N’s. “Why do you call me that?” He asked suddenly, putting out the cigar in the ashtray. “You’re the only person I know that calls me by my full name.”

Y/N smiled warmly and shrugged. “I’ve just grown accustomed to it.”

Then there was a brief silence. They stared at each other, almost longingly. John breaks away first with a deep breath. He straightens himself in his seat and grabs the cup. “Thank you, Y/N. For the tea.”

Y/N nodded. “Do you need any help?”

John paused, looking over at the paperwork. He knew he could finish it within an hour, but he wanted Y/N to stay.

It seemed with every passing second they grew closer. Accidental touches turned into purposeful ones. A tension growing with each glance stolen, begging to be snapped. Those late night meetings, turning into late night talks, turning into something more intimate.

Y/N’s hand holds the side of John’s neck as they kiss. The other kept him propped up on the desk. John is standing between Y/N’s legs, his hands on the Angel’s thighs. John pulls back only to whisper, “You’re perfect.”

Y/N hopes his Father will forgive him for this. He shook his head. “Not anymore..” He whispered back, but before John could respond, Y/N’s lips found his.

But in the face of judgment, his Father had no mercy. Y/N was dissipated from heaven the minute he got to report back. The Angel finds himself kneeled in his room with an unfathomable pain shooting from his back as his wings are ripped from his body completely. Even if it can’t be seen, it can be felt. He’s biting his own hand to muffle his screams as he writhes in pain. Blood soaks into his shirt and he finds himself clawing desperately to get off.

Y/N shakily pulls himself to his knees, resting his head on the side of his bed. He puts his hands together and whispers a prayer through his pained sob. He failed to notice his barrack door open.

“Y/N?” John asked, terrified by the bloodied sight before him. He rushed to Y/N’s side. “Y/N what happened?”

Y/N doesn’t respond as he continues to beg for forgiveness from a God who is doubtful to listen.

————

Y/N: I’d call you a cunt, but you lack warmth and depth.

Ghost: Fuck you.

— Paring; Sgt. John “Soap” MacTavish x male reader. Fandom; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare III

Anomia: (n.) the inability to recall the names of people or things.

Quote; “John MacTavish.”

Description; When someone is gone for so long, you can only remember so much. Disclaimer; SPOILERS TO THE NEW COD:MW3!! Angst, grief, major character death, sad, established relationship, forgetfulness, loneliness.

Word Count: 0.7k

Masterlist

A/N: No, I haven’t watched anything on the lore part of Modern Warfare III, however I have had plenty of spoilers and I’ve seen the specific cutscene of both Soap and Graves (was it Graves?) and TF141 being all sad and pouty.

It’s been months. Months and yet still grief resonates in Y/N. It feels like just yesterday he was embracing such the warm presence of his now dead lover. Y/N can’t sleep. His tired, exhausted demeanor was evident to everyone, but no one dared to ask what was wrong. They too grieved, but not as hard as Y/N did.

Everything feels so dull. So dull and cold. Y/N lies wide awake in his once shared bed. He doesn’t dare lay on John’s side. Even when gone, Y/N couldn’t bring himself to mess with John’s things. The bed felt so much bigger. He never notices when John was deployed, but the sudden immortality of it left Y/N no choice but to realize it.

Y/N doesn’t talk about John and no one asked about him. Y/N finds himself forgetting how to say the man’s name, or maybe it’s just because the name has become so foreign to him. He’s forgotten the sound of John’s voice, desperately searching his camera roll for any recording to remind him. He’s forgotten what it felt like to hold him.

Y/N hates he can’t remember now, but it’s become so hard. The only thing he can’t seem to shake is when he found out.

Y/N stares at the ceiling. His hand wrapped around the metal slabs with numbers in the name “John MacTavish” indented onto it. He plays with the dog tags, looking at them, his thumb running over his boyfriend's name. He doesn’t cry. Not this time at least.

Y/N holds the tag up, so the moonlight from the curtain makes the words more visible. He ignores the rest, his focus just on that name. The room was dead silent except for the sound of a dog breathing.

“John MacTavish.” He whispered. Y/N’s nose scrunched up, cringing. It doesn’t sound right anymore.

Y/N kissed it. He then rolls over and puts the dog tags back in the nightstand drawer. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. This catched the dog’s attention. Y/N stands up and puts his shoes on. He clicks his tongue at Angel. “Come on, girl. Get up.”

She happily gets up, excited for a new adventure as she follows Y/N downstairs. Y/N grabs a jacket, quickly putting it on. He puts Angel’s harness and leash on, grabs his wallet, and out he goes.

Y/N has completely convinced himself he’s just getting fresh air. Getting fresh air and buying flowers at a gas station with a light up sign that says “OPEN 24/7”. Getting fresh air and walking a mile away from home. Getting fresh air and standing in front of a rock with that same damn name.

Y/N’s shaky hands lace the flowers in front of the grave. He knows John’s not really buried there, but he can pretend. He sat down on the damp grass, Angel using this as a chance to try and lick his face to which Y/N quickly pushed her away.

He stared at the name. He nudged Angel and gestured to the gravestone as if she could understand. “Say hi to him. I bet he misses you so much.” He then chuckled. “Probably mad you have to sleep on the floor now. He’s not around to convince me to let you in the bed anymore.” He teased.

— Paring; Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley x male reader. Fandom; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II

Saudade: (n.) a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia; longing to be near something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; “the love that remains”.

Quote; “Fuck you, Simon.”

Disclaimer; middle of a war, angst, sad, guns, violence, descriptions of war, childhood friends, childhood trauma, kind of PTSD, blood, fighting, fear, stabbing, no use of Y/N, conflict, arguing.

Word Count: 0.9k.

Masterlist

A/N: I read the very first lines of this @charliemwrites fic and this came to my mind. I haven’t read the rest yet, but inspo from them. Also, please send in requests. I’m desperate for ideas.

The sound of gunfire wasn’t foreign. Not to Simon. However, even with ear coverage, the headache couldn’t be stopped. The adrenaline of the bloodshed kept his mind off the pain. It was moments like these where his mind was empty and only set on surviving and carrying out the mission.

Simon’s back hit the wall as he took a brief breather before he busted into the room, firing at the first man he saw in a Shadow uniform. His gun was aimed at the wrong person at the wrong time because he was quickly met with a hit, sending him to the ground with a groan of pain. He tried to shoot whoever the perpetrator was, but the enemy pried the rifle from his hands and pinned him to the ground, holding their own gun to his head. All Simon could see were the soldier’s eyes, but even those let off more emotion than would be ideal in a situation like this. Simon struggled, but his struggle did him no good against the body weight of the enemy atop him.

The soldier didn’t shoot, though. That’s why Simon was trying to act fast, as he managed to get his hand out from under the enemy, and he grabbed the knife on his leg and lodged it into the man’s thigh. Instinctively, the stranger yelled out and slammed the handgun down against the lieutenant's head. The mask cracked and Simon cringed in pain.

“You fuckin’ piece of shit!” The soldier yelled, and he angrily ripped the mask from the other man’s face. He tore everything off Simon's face, destroying his comm and headset, ripping the balaclava, and using the broken mask to stab him in the shoulder. Simon fought him, tossing his head around to stop him and even grabbing him by the face to make him let go. The soldier pointed the gun back at Simon’s bare forehead. He held Simon’s wrist tightly, stabbing the other piece of his mask into his palm, making Simon let go.

As the enemy’s rage calmed and his breathing steadied, his hand wavered. His eyes widened ever so slightly before sharpening again. “What are you doing here?” His tone was harsh, as if he were talking to a private. Simon took it as a demand in order to win rather than the man’s curiosity.

“You’re a dumb fuck if you think you can get information out of me in the middle of a warzone,” Simon spat out through gritted teeth.

The soldier paused before they lowered their balaclava. Simon’s eyes widened in fear as all the unwanted memories rushed back to him like a tsunami. His breath became labored. Everything he wanted to forget was on top of him, pointing a pistol at his head. He started thrashing more. “Get off of me! Get the hell off of me, you dickhead!” He shouted angrily.

“Stop it,” he says calmly. However, all gentleness was gone when Simon continued to fight. “I said stop!” He punched Simon with his full strength. He grabbed Simon’s face harshly, making him look at him. “You can run. Forget everything bad. But I’ll be damned if you try to forget me, you cowardly bitch. I fought for you. I’m the only reason you lived through your pathetic childhood and you abandoned me. You left me with everything I fought with you through. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you! I could’ve had a happy childhood, but I was too busy fending for your bitch ass.” All that pent-up aggression was being spewed through a tight jaw and angry eyes.

Simon was desperate to get away. He looked like a little boy again, trying to get away from whatever his father brought home. “I had to! You don’t get it!” Another hit from the gun shut Simon up. The lieutenant knew exactly what he had done was wrong, and he knew that the man in front of him had every right to be angry. Even though Simon was the reason his youth was corrupted, they never split. He was like a brother to him. One who helped him through all, yet Simon left him with everything the other protected him from.

The soldier got back to his feet and pulled his mask back up. He turned around and was ready to walk away from his opponent, unable to pull the trigger, even though he was overwhelmed with a burning hatred for Simon. Angry at him for putting him through his fucked-up family even though they weren’t related. He still had the urge to protect him.

Tried Your Best *

— Paring; [Mr. Knight] Steven Grant x male reader. Fandom; Moon Knight/Marvel

Quote; “Bet you won’t be trying this again, huh?”

Disclaimer; SMUT. Restraints. Embarrassment. Dumbification. Riding. Teasing. Penetration (Character receiving). Sub Steven. Dom reader. Amab reader.

Word Count: 0.9k

Masterlist

A/N: If you know me irl (you know who you are) do not read this. Thank you for your request and once again, I am so so sorry for how long it has taken me to get to these requests. I am sorry. I’ve just been really really busy, please forgive me. My request will remain closed until I can get these other ones out.

Steven was tired, so so tired. His thighs ached, and his dick throbbed. He was sweaty and his face was red with frustration and embarrassment. He felt both under and overstimulated. His movements never stopped, but his pleasured moans did. He only panted in desperation. He looked like a wreck. His hair was messy and his brows were knitted together. He was supposed to take the reins, but Steven couldn’t even please himself, let alone Y/N. He was pathetically sloppy, losing all the rhythm he had before.

Steven looked down to the restrained man below him. He cringed at Y/N’s smug expression. He whined and stilled himself — almost in defeat. His face was red with embarrassment. He gripped at Y/N’s shoulders, his nails digging into the flesh in frustration.

“Need help?” Y/N asked with an almost- no, a taunting grin.

Steven’s pathetic glare made Y/N chuckle teasingly. “Come on.” Y/N gentured to Steven’s desperate state with his head. . “You’re getting nowhere like this. Let me help you.” He tried to offer.

Steven whined. “You’re more bottom than power when you make noises like that.” Y/N said with a taunting grin and laugh.

Steven tried moving again, only to stop again in defeat. He begins to fist himself in desperation. His frustration grew every second he was deprived of a release. Y/N gripped at the rope around his wrists. “This is sad to watch.” Y/N lied, Y/N loved watching every but of this. Every single bit.

“Shut up.” Steven grumbled. Any snarkiness in his voice was gone, instead he sounded whiny and shaky. He went back to trying to move again, but he was quickly met with the same disappointing fate. Steven whines in frustration. He shoved his red face in his hands as he let out a dramatic sob.

Y/N looked up at his restraints then back to Steven. His eyebrows rose in an offer. He didn’t say anything — he didn’t have to. His face said it all and Steven understood immediately.

Steven hesitates to undo the rope that bound Y/N to the head board. Y/N grins as his hands are free. He rubs his slightly sore wrists. He then leaned up and kissed Steven. He gently flipped both of them — Steven on his back, Y/N hovering over him. Y/N’s hands roam over Steven’s thighed and chest. Y/N was slow at first despite Steven’s whines in protest.

Y/N began moving. A moan escaped Steven’s mouth as his eyes squeezed shut as he finally felt some relief. He was slow at first. The urge to cum came quickly for Steven from all the over-under stimulation. Y/N puts his hand on Steven's cock and begins rubbing his thumb on the tip. Steven bit his lip and moaned.

Y/N sets a fast pace, his thrusts way more coordinated than how Steven was before. Steven's moans and gasps filled the room. His eyes were squeezed shut as if to focus on the pleasure he wasn’t able to get before. He felt his orgasm was approaching way quicker than he had expected.

“I’m close- oh, shit- I’m close.” He moaned out. His arms wrapped around Y/N.

Y/N chuckled. “Oh, yeah?” He said, tauntingly.

Steven groaned and his head shot back into the pillow. He bit his lip and hummed in confrontation. Y/N snickered at the sight. “Come on, Steven.” He said with a grin. He gripped Steven's thighs.

Steven practically sobbed as he came all over himself. Y/N fucks Steven through his high. “Don’t you feel so much better?” He cooed, gently rubbing circles on Steven’s thighs. Steven pants and nods frantically, his eyes still closed.

Y/N continues to move, this time at a slow pace so as to not hurt the man below him too bad. Steven doesn’t stop him despite the pain — instead, he finds a bit of pleasure in it. Y/N slowly picks up his pace again. Steven whined in the slight overstimulation, but it felt too good to stop. Y/N attached himself to Steven's neck, leaving a pretty little mark for the morning.

Steven felt all control leave him when Y/N hit the same spot over and over. His mind hazed over with lust, pleasure and pain. Multiple pleads spill from his mouth. “Please, please, don’t stop.” He begged. “Oh, please.” He babbles out nonsense.

Y/N’s chuckle was cut off by a moan himself. Steven desperately clawed at Y/N back. The mix of pain and pleasure caused Y/N to groan. Y/N leaned down and kissed Steven. Steven was too out of it to really kiss back, but he tried. Y/N chuckled against his lips when he realized he was fucking the poor guy dumb.

“Bet you won’t be trying this again, huh?” He teased.

Y/N: How much money?

Jason: $500.

Y/N: No.