Hi! This is my fanfiction writing blog, where I will mainly post various things I write from various fandoms. It just depends on what fits my fancy or what gives me any sort of inspiration!
I have two side blogs if anyone is curious!
For any of my original writings: ApolloTheSunner
For any of my nsfw writings: ZeusTheFucker
Currently what fits my fancy:
CoD
DC
Secret Third Option
About Me:
You can call me A, or Artemis, but I would rather prefer A
19 years old
I don't have a specific gender or sexual identity, I pretty much respond to anything!
I like writing and making art and sometimes I combine those two interests and I make my own journals so I might share some of those maybe
Writing:
My asks button is open and I am always willing to answer anybody who sends something in, but fair warning, responses may take a little while!
I am not likely to take requests but that's mainly because it takes me forever for my ideas to really solidify. Anyone is welcome to send stuff in though!
My AO3: ArtemisTheMooner
Masterlists:
COD
TF141
TF141 with an author
TF141 Valentines Day
TF141 Reader yells at Price
Referring to the TF141 as your boyfriend for the first time
TF141 with a reader who doesn't know love very well
First Kisses with the 141: Simon and Johnny, Kyle and Price
141 as cat dads
Price
John Price tickling imagine
John Price late night author reader thoughts
John Price as a physical therapist angsty thing
John Price as a tow truck driver
Making out with John Price
Time Traveling Reader, part 2, part 3
John Price hates being hurt
Johnny
Left Behind - Fae!Johnny x Reader
Underestimated - Johnny x Pool Shark!Reader
Museum Imagine
Historical AU Johnny
Cuddling with Soap and Teasing, part 2 adjacent
Johnny stealing your phone
Johnny after the tbi
Gaz
All He Needs - Boxer!Kyle x Reader
The Language of Flowers - Fae!Kyle x Reader
University Suitemate Imagine
Reader is sick Kyle takes care of them
Kyle surprises the reader at their university
Kyle as a bookworm
Reader is obsessed with Kyle and his hat
Ghost
The Wrong Number - Simon Riley x Reader Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10
Simon Riley sleeping imagine
Simon Riley cuddling in his hoodie fluff
Simon Riley editing your manuscript unwanted thoughts, longer version
Simon Valentines
Simon volunteering at an animal shelter
Simon Riley loves old movies (and you)
Simon getting lost in a grocery store, same universe but Simon POV
Simon Riley has long fucking legs
DC Comics
Jason Todd
Jason Todd cooking imagine
Jason Todd book notes imagine, part 2
Jason Todd reunion imagine
Richard Grayson
Basically if Dick Grayson was the lead in a hallmark film
The Day Dick Grayson Met His Match
Moodboards:
Fae AU
Playlists:
While everything is written by me and the moodboards are made by me, any playlist I put on here likely won't be, aside from maybe a few. I love music but I'm not great at playlists.
But I would like to give credit where credit is due, so the person who made the playlist will be tagged accordingly!!
Okay was imagining a reader who for some reason is obsessed with Kyle’s hat and what if Kyle catches you
The first time you saw Kyle, he was wearing it. Faded blue, with the emblem of the Union Jack printed front and center. It looked like it had seen some things, so you supposed it fit him.
Initially, you didn’t really care, because it was a hat. Just a hat. It was nice but other than that, there really wasn’t anything special about it. It wasn’t what drew you to him. He did that just by being himself.
Over time however, the longer you were with him, the more you started to gain an appreciation for the old thing. Which later turned into curiosity. You couldn’t help but want to know what about it made it so special for him.
So, one day, while he was taking a nap, you happen to see the hat sitting on the hook by the front door and your curiosity took ahold before you could stop it.
By the time you realized what had happened, you were already in the mirror with Kyle’s hat placed firmly on your head.
Alright, you could see the appeal. It’s comfortable and worn around the edges and smells exactly like Kyle does. You kind of want one just like it, to keep around when he isn’t home.
“Gorgeous,” two toned arms wrap around you, making you jump, “what’re you doing?” Kyle eyes you up and down in the mirror, his head resting in the crook of your shoulder.
“Nothing.” You try.
He snorts and rolls his eyes, “That why you’re wearing my hat then? Nothing?”
“Yep. Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t believe you.
You push against his arms, suddenly desperate to get away from him, “I should go make some tea. You want some?”
“I’m good.” He turns you to face him, “Why’re you wearing my hat?”
“Kyle-“
“C'mon,” He prods, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Tell me.”
You hate how perceptive he is.
"I just wanted to see what it felt like." You admit quietly, half under your breath and more to yourself than to him.
“And what,” He smiles, all charm and faux innocence, “does it feel like?”
You think about it for a second, then smile back, “Like home.”
You delight in the way his eyes widen, then shift to avoid looking at you completely. He clucks his tongue at you, “You’re too much, gorgeous.”
“That’s not what you said last night.” You shoot back, your smile turning into a grin as you twine your arms around his neck, enjoying teasing him possibly more than you really should.
“Apparently, I wasn’t in my right mind last night.” He rolls his eyes, dragging you in to steal a kiss. When he pulls away, his gaze tracks up your face and to the hat. He smiles a little, fondly, like he’s come to a decision that’s been a long time coming for him, although you’re not sure what it is. Finally, he taps the brim and looks back down at you, “Keep the hat. It looks good on you.” He slips away and starts for the kitchen.
“But— Kyle—“ You go after him, sputtering, all of your teasing bravado gone, “It’s your hat!”
“Exactly. It’s my hat. I can do what I want with it, and I want to give it to you.” He shrugs, grabbing your matching mugs from the sink while you start the stovetop for tea.
You huff, not satisfied and ready to complain, “Kyle—“
He drags you over to the countertop and sets you up on the cool marble. His large hands settle on your thighs, gliding to your hips, “Don’t ‘Kyle’ me, gorgeous. I said what I said and you don’t get to throw a fit.” He snorts at his own joke and kisses you, “Don't get up. I'll make some tea.” He murmurs against your lips, then turns.
“You’re the worst.” You grumble, ignoring how your heart fluttered traitorously.
“You love it.”
You roll your eyes, “Whatever.”
You watch as he effortlessly moves around the kitchen, your legs kicking against the lower cabinets. Slowly, you pull the hat off, resting it in your lap and running your thumbs over the faded flag. It's been stitched and restitched on, more than once by the looks of it. A small smile fights its way onto your face at the thought of him sitting down and fixing it himself. That's something you adore about him; his determination to make things right, no matter how small.
You study his profile in the late afternoon sunlight as he pours the freshly boiled water. The golden rays highlight every sharp contour and soft edges of his face. They highlight him. Every imperfection and flaw.
He was right.
You did love it. You love this. You love everything about him. You love his old hat and his annoying stubbornness and his complete inability to let things go, even if it's for the best.
Simon is actually the one who brings home the cat in the first place.
He was on a mission, camped out on a high ridge, when he suddenly feels a very light weight sitting on his back. There's a deep, sort of hiccupping, rumbling noise that turns out to be the cat's purr. It's really taking advantage of the fact that he can't move without revealing his position to the enemies.
Afterwards, the cat refuses to leave him alone and no one else will take it, so he ends up with it.
Only, once he gets it home, the cat decides it actually prefers your company over his. He would be more annoyed about it if you weren't so enamored with the little beast.
It does everything with you. Sleeping, eating, even bathing. No matter what, it decides it has to be wherever you are at all times.
"Traitor." He mutters to it one day when it curls itself in his spot on your lap.
Meanwhile, he was pretty much just chopped liver in its eyes. At best, a food source, but that was it. It could literally not care less about him.
And he wonders why you named it "Simon"...
Captain John Price
John doesn't want a cat. He doesn't even want a dog. He's the kind of guy that thinks all pets are dirty and far too much work for him. You knew this coming in.
That's why he really cannot believe his eyes at what he's seeing.
"What," John stares at the small, rather wiggly, bundle of blankets in your arms. A tiny pair of bright green eyes is staring at him. All he can do is blink back, "is that."
You glance down at the tiny kitten in your arms, "It's a cat."
He pinches the bridge of his nose, "I know what it is. I want to know why you have it."
"He was just sitting on the stoop!" You hold the kitten up to your face, "C'mon, John, it's destiny!" You gently wiggle the little creature back and forth.
The kitten mews loudly. That alone is daring him to say no.
Unfortunately, when it comes to you, he is a very weak man.
"Fine," He sighs, "But you're the one who cleans up after it."
"Thank you, thank you!" You kiss his cheek and rush off, tiny kitten still in your arms.
Despite his complete refusal to have anything to do with the kitten, you still find him later, snoozing in his favorite chair with the cat curled up around his neck. Doesn't want a cat...yeah, right.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Kyle likes your cat well enough, but doesn't really care too much about how they feel about him. He kind of sees them like a tiny roommate who cannot care for themself, but that's it.
Then, to your cat, he is essentially just another human to do its bidding.
Kyle is in your kitchen, preparing coffee for the two of you. Your cat is sitting on the counter beside him, watching.
He feels a small tapping on his forearm and looks over to find the creature's paw outstretched and resting on his arm. Their eyes are intently staring at him.
"Whatsit, huh?" He scratches under their chin, "You...thirsty?"
It squawks in response, which tells him nothing. He's pretty sure that's a negative though.
"Hungry?"
Another squawk, leaning more into a mrow. He decides to take that as him getting closer to the root of the problem.
"...D'ya want a treat?"
This time, he gets a loud meow.
"Okay, okay, I'm working on it." He opens the fridge and tugs out the little bag of cat treats you keep around, "Demanding little thing."
Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish
Johnny loves your cat so much, it is actually ridiculous.
From the beginning of your relationship with Johnny, your cat is his little buddy. His bestest friend. There is no separating them.
What makes it even funnier?
Your cat loves him just as much, maybe even more.
Johnny steps foot in your home and the very first thing you hear is a questioning "Meow?" from a distant corner, out of sight.
He grins at you and whistles shortly.
There is the sound of small paws sprinting in your direction as your cat responds, only a blur of color as it latches onto the leg of his pants and tears its way up into his arms, making little noises of curiosity and excitement the entire time. As soon as it reaches his shoulders, it settles down with a satisfied meow, pushing its face into his.
Johnny's smile gets brighter and you only roll your eyes and snatch your cat off his shoulders, hugging them to your chest as you stalk off towards the kitchen. You willfully ignore the loud protesting meow your cat lets out.
Johnny, however, doesn't. He pads behind you, "Aw, c'mon, bonnie! It's not his fault he likes me more!"
"Don't start." You roll your eyes. Your cat wiggles in your arms, trying to get to escape and get back to his favorite human.
"Ah'm jus' saying! Ye shouldnae be jealous tha' Ah'm his favourite!"
"[name]" my beloved mother, having just finished brushing her teeth, turns to me (who is sitting on the toilet behind her, waiting to talk to her), desperate to know, "what is pegging?"
From the moment you open your eyes, you know you aren't where you belong.
You aren’t sure how you ended up where you are, or how you know it isn't where you're supposed to be, but you know for sure that you’re going to find out, even if you aren't sure you want to know.
You rack through your mind, trying to draw out your most recent memories.
The last thing you remember…That you aren’t totally sure of. It’s all such a blur. You’re pretty sure you were going to meet...someone. A face flashes in your memory. It was only for a second, but long enough that you know the color of their eyes. Blue.
It would be nice if you could remember who they were.
Hell, it’d be even nicer if you could remember your own name.
Maybe, you think, there’s something in the room that will jog your memories.
You sit up to look and find yourself in the most lavish room you think you’ve ever seen. The bed itself is draped in dark curtains and matching throws of soft fabric. Massive windows, big enough to let in large rays of light that stretch across the carpets and hardwood floors, line three of the four walls in pairs of twos. You can see trees swaying in the wind outside.
You toss the blankets off and get up. You think you'll look around some more and get a small lay of the land.
Only, as soon as you put any weight on your legs, they give out from underneath you and you meet the hard wood of the floor with a groan.
First Kisses with the 141 - Kyle and Price Edition
(Simon and Johnny edition here)
Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
Kyle first kisses you as a result of a dare from Soap.
The Scotman had apparently long noticed how often Kyle stared at you and decided he was going to do something about it.
The next time he sees Kyle gazing at you longingly, he nudges him in the side with his elbow, "Oi. Dare ye tae should kiss them."
Kyle's head whips around to look at him. "What?" He hisses, glancing back over his shoulder at you as you sit on the couch, making sure you haven't heard anything of what Soap said. He would be ruined if you did.
Luckily for him, it didn't seem like you had.
He lets out a soft sigh of relief then smacks Soap in the shoulder, "Are you insane?"
"Possibly." Johnny shrugs, "They may not see ye staring at them, but Ah do. Ye should kiss them. Jus' smack one on 'em." He smacks his fists together for emphasis.
Kyle scoffs, his gaze lingering on you again.
Johnny takes the opportunity as it presents itself, "They stare at ye too, ye'ken."
Kyle shakes his head, "Yeah, right."
He rolls his eyes, "They do! Why would Ah lie about that?"
There's a moment where Kyle says nothing. His shoulders drop with a sigh and he groans, "You wouldn't."
"Exactly! So ye should kiss them!"
"I can't!"
"Ye can and ye will! Ah dared ye which means ye have tae."
"Oh, fuck you."
"Fuck them for me and we'll be even." Johnny shoves him in your direction, sending Kyle stumbling.
He shoots him a small glare over his shoulder but steps into your space anyway, not really interested in completing the dare.
At the sound of his steps, you turn around. At the sight of him, you smile, "Hey! Come sit down, I wanna show you something!" You pat the seat next to you on the couch.
"What’s it?" He hums as he takes your direction. He plops himself down and tosses his arm over your shoulder, leaning in. He's done this plenty of times before with plenty of hookups. The difference this time is that he's not sure his heart has ever pounded so fast. You're different, in all the best possible ways.
You lean into him like you belong there, under his arm and pressed against his chest. Maybe you do actually feel the same…
That thought spurs him on. There’s something about the sight of you cuddling up to him that makes him actually go through with Johnny’s dare, no matter how annoying and stupid it is.
Softly, he calls your name. When you look up at him with curiosity in your eyes, he leans in and presses his lips into yours, tilting your chin up for the best angle possible.
At first you only blink and he has to wonder if maybe Johnny and him both misread your intentions somehow.
But then, you smile into his lips, mumbling something that distinctly sounds like finally as you press yourself closer to him, deepening the kiss for yourself.
Captain John Price
John and you have your first kiss because of a mission.
It's not unusual for the team to go undercover, but it's also not the most common thing for you to do either. There were more things just being covert could do for an op than going undercover could.
That didn't mean it isn't handy though.
You and John were sent to infiltrate the gala of a foreign prince and get on the prince's good side. In this case, that meant getting the young man plastered. It was a well known fact that this specific prince was a blabbing type of drunk. You and John were going to take advantage of that fact and get the prince to spill some state secrets.
That was supposed to be the mission anyway.
But, unfortunately, what neither of you had accounted for was recognition.
Specifically, the prince was the one to recognize you. You had no clue how he knew of you or John, but he practically begged you to take him away from the kingdom. He had no interest in ruling his people and he was tired of being taken advantage of.
Against John's better judgement and all of his training, he allowed you to convince him to steal the prince away. You were thankful for that. You couldn't imagine leaving a young man like the prince in a situation like that.
Somehow, the two of you actually managed to get away with it too, for the most part.
Then the mission starts to get a little sticky.
The three of you are running from the king's security. You're almost to the helicopter.
A gunshot rings out and you feel a distinct thud in your back, though you aren't sure where. There's pain radiating all the way up your back. As you're running, you reach back to where it hurts the most. When you bring it back, your hand is covered in red sticky blood. That's when the realization hits you. You've been shot.
Things are a bit hazy from there. You don't know the whole of it, but you do know that John refuses to leave you behind. Even when you beg him to leave you behind, he is adamant. The last thing you remember is being picked up and hoisted into the helicopter, his voice echoing in your ear, "Don't worry, sweetheart, 'm not gonna let you die just yet.. Not when I still have so much to tell you."
Somehow, you believe him.
After that you black out.
When you come to, you're in a hospital bed with a weight sitting across your legs and stomach. You find that it is John, sleeping with your hip as his pillow and your stomach as his arm rest. You smile at the sight, gently pressing your hand into his hair.
He jerks at the contact and looks around for a second before his gaze finally settles back on you. Immediately, his shoulders drop and he lets out a sigh of relief, "Hey, sweetheart."
"Hi, John." You smile in return, your voice gruff from lack of use.
He smiles back, "You had me worried there for a sec. Didn't think you'd come back to us."
You slip your hand into his, "You had something to tell me. I didn't want to miss it." You mumble. You almost shrugged but the pain radiating up your back is a bit much for that.
For a brief moment, he stares at you and you wonder if maybe you heard him wrong in the helicopter. It wouldn't be the first time. Those things are loud.
Then he sighs and nods, "I do, but it can wait."
"John." You glare at him, "Tell me."
He shakes his head and grumbles something about how stubborn you are, then leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. It doesn't last more than a second, but the way he does it makes that one second feel like an eternity.
There are two things John Price hates most in the world. Two things he would rather die than experience.
1) Being idle. He always has to be doing something, even if it's just shifting side to side on his feet. If he can manage it, he's staying active.
2) Being injured. No matter if it was an accident or not, it makes him feel weak and useless.
That's what makes it so annoying for him when he breaks his foot and has to be put on medical leave. What makes it even worse is that he's told he should avoid moving as much as possible because he shouldn't be putting unnecessary stress on his foot. When he does have to move, he has to use crutches. Doctors orders.
Unfortunately for the doctors, he thinks those orders are fucking stupid. He refuses to listen to them. He continues to do everything he can to keep moving, keep being useful.
He honestly doubts the medical team on base really cares either way. The only reason they might care is if he reinjured himself and they had to fix him again. Since he is also trying to avoid that, a lot of what he's doing is going along the lines of what his doctors want. Sort of. Most of the time.
Unfortunately for him and and unfortunately for his doctors, he does just that. He hurts himself again. It may or may not have been caused by him trying to move a table by himself. Even he admits he went a little too far with that one.
This time around, the consequences of his actions are worse. His time in the blasted boot encasing his foot is extended by another month and a 'caretaker' is assigned to him against his will. By caretaker, he is sure they really mean 'babysitter', one of which he is absolutely sure he doesn't need. He is sure he can do anything and everything by himself, no help needed.
But then you, his so called caretaker, walks in and all of that changes.
From that moment on, he knows he's in trouble. He's whipped. In love. He's willing to do anything if it even has the possibility of pleasing you. Anything. You could ask him to cut his muttonchops off or stop drinking tea or give up smoking cigars or just stand still for five seconds and he would do it.
One moment, he was making breakfast in the kitchen of your tiny London flat and you were talking to him and all was right with his world. It's moments like those that he cherishes the most.
But then, you go completely silent. Just in the middle of one word to the next.
That certainly isn't unusual for you, but in a moment like this one, it is a little strange. You don't often cut yourself off mid-sentence.
By the time he turns around to see if you're okay, you've already disappeared. Somehow, he’s lost you again. He has no clue how. It makes no sense.
In that one single moment, he could feel his heart drop into his stomach. His mind is already beginning to race. He can't stop himself from coming up with images of the worst possible scenarios.
He calls your name. At first, there's no response.
Then you call back from down the hall, "In the bathroom, Si!"
He skids to a stop in the doorway and immediately drops to his knees in front of you.
You step into him and cradle his face in your hands, frowning, "Si, I told you where I was going. I said I was going to the bathroom to start the shower while you made brekky."
He says nothing, only buries himself in the fabric of your sleep shirt to hide his tears. Your hands gently rub across his head and shoulders, your fingers pressing and prodding into the muscles there.
First Kisses with the 141 - Simon and Johnny Edition
Kyle and Price edition
Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish
The first time you kiss Johnny, it is actually the result of an extremely fed up Kyle.
Particularly, he was fed up with the two of you dancing around your feelings. At first, it had been amusing, but now it was just annoying. He was done. He was going to get the two of you together even if it was the last thing he did.
So, he set forth a plan. It didn't work. He made another plan. That one didn't work either.
Eventually, he gave up and just shoved the two of you into the nearest storage closet and locked the door.
When you first found yourself in the dark with Johnny, the first thing you could think of was all the times you had seen this exact moment play out on TV. It always worked for them, so maybe it would work for you. You too were tired of dodging your feelings and never knowing what Johnny felt. You wanted something more and you were sure he wanted the same, but you didn't know how to tell him without completely ruining your friendship if you were wrong.
Johnny's rough voice broke through your thoughts with a grumble, "Och, Ah'm sorry. Kyle thinks he's funny, that bampot." You could just barely see him running his hand through his hair in the dim light of the hall shining through the crack in the door, "No clue what makes him think ye have any sort of feelings for me."
"It's fine." You mumble back, mystified by how he can both be so smart and so dense, "If it's any consolation...He's right." Somehow, you don't know how, you actually find it in you to get over your fears. Your heart is pounding.
When Johnny doesn't immediately respond, you worry for a moment that you've completely misread the situation.
Then you hear him let out a small breath and it sounds like he's smiling, "Really?"
You nod, "Yeah, really."
"Alright then." His hands slip over your neck and your breath catches at how warm he is. You feel his breath brush over your face, "Ah'm wont tae agree."
"That's..." You swallow, your hands hovering over where his shirt stretches across his chest. You're not sure where you want to put them, "That's good."
He chuckles softly, "Ah'm gonna kiss ye now...if tha's alright with ye?"
You melt a little, your hands finally fisting into the fabric of his shirt. You pull him closer, "Please."
"Fucking fantastic." His lips press into yours. He's smiling. You're smiling too.
Outside the door, Kyle too, is smiling.
Simon 'Ghost' Riley
Your first kiss with Simon is oddly enough because of an accident. Neither of you meant to kiss the other. It just happened.
And yet, you remember everything leading up to it.
For a while now, you have had the smallest tiniest little bit of a crush on your lieutenant. You still aren't sure exactly why, but something about him appeals to you, definitely against your better judgement. But you have always had better things to worry about so you never really paid any attention to those feelings. Besides, it didn't seem like he felt the same thing for you, so the point was moot anyway.
Then, one day, you're in the rec room making tea and the bags you need are all the way on the top shelf. The only one tall enough to reach them is Simon. You sigh and immediately clamber onto the counter, preparing to grab them.
As you're reopening the cabinet to get the tea bags, a dry voice calls your name, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get down from there."
You wave him off, "I'm fine. I'm just getting tea."
"And you're on the counter why?" His voice comes from directly behind you now. When you turn, you find yourself almost face to face with him. You're only a little taller than him now because of where you are.
"Well, someone" You give him a small but pointed huff, "put the tea bags I want on the tallest shelf. How else was I supposed to get them?"
"You ask someone, ya monkey." His hands rest on your hips, sending electric sparks jolting up your spine.
You actively ignore the feeling in favor of being stubborn. You continue to reach for the tea bags, but they're further back than you realize and you have to readjust how you're standing.
Before you even know what's happening, you've slipped backwards and you've landed right in Simon's arms.
There's a moment where all you can do is stare at him. He stares back and you swear his eyes are widened a fraction more than usual.
Then you blink and the moment's done.
You scramble out of his arms and as soon as your feet are firmly back onto the floor, you return to your tea. Beside you, he quietly busies himself with reaching into the cabinet.
He drops a teabag into your open cup and the two of you continue to move around each other in complete silence.
It kind of annoys you that neither of you are talking, especially about what just happened. You're glad that he was there to catch you and you want to talk about it with him.
So, while you're waiting for your tea to brew and he's waiting for something in the microwave beside you, you turn and look at him. For once, he's not wearing his mask. You aren't sure why, but you know he clams up if you bring it up, so you don't.
You study the strong set of his jaw and the pronounced bump on his nose. Something about the exposed skin in front of you makes you want to be bold. He's trusting you with his face and you want to do the same.
You suppose that's what gives you the courage to get closer to him and go on your tip toes, intending to kiss his cheek.
Only, that's not what happens.
Instead, at the very last moment, he turns his head to look at you and your lips smash right into his.
You jerk away from him, opening your mouth to apologize or plead for forgiveness or something, only nothing comes out. Your mouth just hangs open.
He blinks once. Then a second time. Then he dips closer to you. You don't know what's happening until his lips are covering yours and his hand is cradling the curve of your neck.
John was beginning to worry, merely for the fact that if you never woke up, the society that he never cared for would surely have his head.
Not to mention, your family. They were surely worried for you as well. You had to be someone’s kid. Someone’s sibling. Someone had to care for you.
At first, he thought something had to be wrong with you. Maybe the reason you weren’t waking up was because you had fallen and hit your head. He had seen too many people die that way. He hated to imagine that was what was going on with you.
But, when he brought the local doctor out, he shook his head. You were completely fine. He had no clue why you weren’t waking up and neither did John. The doctor said the best thing to do was to just wait.
So, in the meantime, John had spent most of the week holed up in his office, drafting letters to the neighboring estates and lands, asking if they knew of someone matching your description. He was sure one of them would know who you were. They had to.
And that is exactly what he was doing when a knock echoed on his door, followed by the voice of his family butler, “Sir? May I come in?”
“You may.” John huffed, dipping his quill into the ink pot beside him.
The butler slipped in and set a tray of tea on the side table, “There is news of the mysterious stranger you have lying in your bedroom, sir.”
John eyed the man carefully from behind his reading glasses, trying to discern what the news could be from his demeanor alone. Unfortunately for him, the man had been trained extremely well. He was revealing nothing.
John sighed and sat back, removing his glasses, “Good news, I hope?”
“It is better news than we were expecting at this point, sir.”
Okay, imagine a la a Kate and Leopold or Outlander situation where time travel is involved. Now imagine that with John Price. and imagine a reader who travels back in time and meets him..
John Price was on his way back to the countryside for the ton's off season when his carriage came to a very sudden stop and he was sent lurching. It was bad enough he got motion sick, but falling off the seat as well? To say he was livid was an understatement.
He pushed his way through the carriage door, letting it slam behind him as he jumped to the dusty road, "What is the meaning of this?" He bellowed, frustrated. Now that he was on solid ground, his stomach no longer threatened to roll, thankfully.
His driver jumped, "S-sir! I must apologise wholeheartedly for the sudden stop! I was trying to avoid running into this person here!" He gestures to the limp body lying in the middle of the road. You. John can't see your face, but he can see the strange clothes you're wearing. He's never seen anything quite like it.
Against perhaps any of his better judgement that you might be a highway robber intent on killing him and stealing all of his valuables, John strode over and knelt by your unconscious body. He gently nudged your lifeless form with his knuckles.
When you didn't respond, he tried again, a little harder. Still no response.
He sighed and ran a hand over his face in exasperation. He wasn't expecting to run across you, but it wasn't like he could just leave you there lying in the middle of the road. It wasn't in him to do something like that. His mother had raised him better than that.
Gently, being very careful not to jostle you, he picked you up and carried you back to the carriage. His driver trailed behind him, "Sir, what are you doing?"
"We shall take them back with us." He nodded to the door and the driver opened it. He ducked in and laid you across the seats. You still did not stir, making him frown. He sighed again and shut the door, "When they wake, we will figure out where they come from and return them. Until then, they can recover in one of my spare bedrooms." He climbed into the front of the carriage, behind the horses.
His driver scrambled into the seat beside him and took up the reins, snapping them to get the horses' attention, "Yes sir, very good sir." The young man nodded and snapped the reins again with a cluck of his tongue, driving the horses forward again, down the dirt road and towards John's ancestorial home, Price Hall.
CW: minor angst, minor suicidal thoughts (at the very end), traumatic brain injury (tbi)
John MacTavish used to be an artist.
Ever since he was a kid, he’s had a love for drawing. It’s something about the weight of a pencil resting in his hand, the sound of the graphite working against the paper, the flex of a new sketchbook as he breaks it in. Something about it just scratches the right spot in his head.
As he grows older, he begins to appreciate the beauty in painting. The way the paint flows beneath his brush, in any and all colors he wants, amazes him. Sketching will always be his first love, but painting is a close second.
It’s in the later teen years of his life that he gets really good. So good, he even wins a few awards. After that, he goes into the military. He doesn’t get as much time to spend on his art, but he still sketches and paints when he can.
Then he gets hurt. He’s shot in the head. He doesn’t even remember it happening.
But when he wakes up afterward, the doctors tell him, in a garbled language he barely understands, that while he’ll live, he was hit in the left side of the brain. They tell him that’s the part that processes language, math, and logic. It also controls the right side of the body.
Somewhere deep inside him, he understands all that, but he still needs them to explain it to him. And they do, in simpler terms, like he’s a child.
They tell him that his injury means he’ll likely have difficulty forming coherent thoughts, sentences, and reasoning. They tell him he might have trouble retaining any new memories. They tell him there’s a chance he might never move anything on his right side again.
He takes all of that as a special sort of challenge. He works hard in therapy. He works hard to be able to speak, move, and think properly again.
He succeeds, for the most part.
He’s able to speak now, no longer plagued by the slow stutter that affected him in the early days of the injury.
His thoughts definitely aren’t what they used to be, but he does puzzles and brain games, just like his therapist recommended. Those help a lot.
While he’s able to walk again, albeit with the help of a cane, he still has troubles when his right hand shakes. He’s lost most of the dexterity he used to have. He can barely hold a spoon, let alone a pen, pencil, or brush.
He still feels the desire to create something. That hasn’t changed. He doubt it ever will. That part of him wasn’t affected by the bullet.
There are days when all he can do is stare at the blank canvas and imagine what he wants there. He imagines things that he will never be able to make again. Those are the days when he wishes he never survived.
I imagine on the rare occasion Johnny can convince you to play video games with him, he very purposefully makes sure to choose the games you hate the most.
Why?
He likes to see you riled up.
He especially enjoys teasing you, all for the purpose of adding fuel to your fire. That’s when you’re your sweetest.
“I’m going to beat your ass, MacTavish.” You curse at him, shifting slightly in his lap.
He doesn’t even bother hiding his grin anymore, “Ye promise?”
You roll your eyes and shove your elbow into him, “You know I meant in the game.”
“Didnae sound like that tae me.” He shrugs, planting an obnoxiously wet kiss on your cheek.
“Johnny!” You groan but turn more towards him, straddling him and abandoning the game completely, “I hate you.” You huff, resting your head on his collarbone.
He snorts and plants another kiss to your face, “Nah, ye donnae.”
imagine Simon being taller than his partner, or at the very least having longer legs...now, specifically imagine them together in a crowded area, like an airport, or a shopping mall. There has to be some issues.
Simon walks faster than everyone around him. This is partially because he has longer legs, but mostly it's because he absolutely hates crowds. They make his skin itch and crawl. This causes you, his lovely partner, to have to practically sprint to keep up with him.
This has also led to you somehow losing him in the hoard of people, which both of you hates having happen.
Therefore, you, desperate to keep him in your sights, start to get into the habit of grabbing him by whatever piece of clothing is available at the time. His shirt, his belt loop, his duffle bag strap. Hell, you've even grabbed him by the mask before. You don't really care, just as long as you can keep track of him.
This has led to two things happening.
One, the very adorable, hand-holding.
Instead of telling you to stop grabbing him, he just snatches your hand in his and drags you along behind him. That works well at first, but good things never really last. Sure, you get to hold his hand, but after a while, his speedy pace means that you nearly dislocate your arm trying to keep up with him. You're usually panting and sweating by the time you're out of the crowd.
Which leads me to the second option. Fireman's carry.
Simon obviously notices the struggles you have with keeping up with him. It's hard for him not to and he hates that he's causing that. So, he comes up with a plan.
The next time you go to grab at him, he just whips around and you suddenly find yourself hanging upside down over his shoulder, bouncing with each one of his steps.
Somehow I think maybe just losing him in the crowd is better at this point
What if the 141 meets a reader who has never been loved before, at least not in the way the 141 want to love them? I’m thinking that the reader doesn’t quite know what romantic love looks like and so has almost no clue that the 141 is trying so very hard to date them but is simultaneously in love with the 141 but doesn’t want to tell them for fear of getting their heart broken
Johnny "Soap" MacTavish
if I'm being honest, he probably doesn’t know what to do so he just goes all in on everything. And by that, I mean he essentially tries to prove his love to you all the time. He buys flowers, takes you on dates, compliments you whenever he can, flirts his ass off…and yet you respond to none of it. So he tries harder and harder. He drapes himself over you at every moment, starts getting you small gifts, texts you every day, even going so far as to kiss you on the cheeks and head and hands. He’s pretty sure he could kiss you on the lips and you’d still think he was just being friendly. Eventually, there comes a point where he just breaks and tells you just how much he wants you because he just can’t do it anymore.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
I think he is genuinely sweet about it and genuinely takes your feelings into consideration. He knows he likes you and he knows you like him but he still takes it slow and easy, going at your pace and trying to let you figure it all out for yourself, even if it takes a while. He’s a patient man so he can handle a little bit of waiting. He lets the moments happen naturally over the course of time, one at a time, little by little, building up the connection. After a while though, he does start to try and make it obvious. He goes so far as to start referring to you as his partner and telling you that he loves you on a daily basis. That's what finally clues you into his interest in you.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
This man is unfortunately just like you in that he also has no clue what romantic love looks like. All he knows is that he feels this great burning in his chest whenever he looks at you and thinks about you and he just wants to be around you all the time, but he doesn’t want to freak you out by telling you because that’s obviously not normal. He also refuses to tell anyone about it because he doesn’t want anyone to know. So it’s just sort of this awkward dance of yearning between the both of you for a long time. It probably takes someone else urging the both of you on before any progress is actually made.
Captain John Price
He is just tired and straight to the point so he honestly decides the best course of action is to be direct with you and tell you exactly what it is he wants. He doesn’t like to or have the time to play games. The only reason he would even wait to tell you at all is because he's busy and doesn't have the time to corner you for more than a few seconds. Even then, the longest he might wait is a week. Know that, as soon as he gets the chance, he is immediately telling you everything he wants. He tells you that he is in love with you and that he wants to be in a relationship with you. End of story.
Imagine Kyle Garrick who is an avid reader...imagine he frequents a bookstore close to the base when he isn't off being deployed, first for the literature, but then for the owner, who he has a major crush on...now imagine that the owner of the bookstore is you...mmm
In his defense, when Kyle walks into your store, he's only looking for a book. But then he ends up finding something else entirely. You.
From the moment he laid his eyes on you for the first time, he is totally, completely, utterly, smitten. He can't help it. He was yours from the moment you stared at him, all wide-eyed and sweet, when he first walked into your shop. Then, when you went out of your way to order him the book he was looking for, offering to text him when it came in, he couldn't help but be hooked on you.
From that day on, he tries to go to your store, just for a few minutes, just so he can see you. Every time he goes, he finds out more about you and with each new piece of information he gains, he holds it close to his heart, falling deeper and deeper in love with you. He thinks you're falling for him too, or at least he hopes you are.
But then, he has to go out of the country on a mission and he doesn't have the time to tell you. He hates that he has to abandon you like that, even if you aren't actually dating yet. He hates it mostly because he misses you.
When he finally returns, he has a couple of messages from you, from the week after he left. A couple about the book and a couple asking when he would would be coming in next. He takes that as a sign that you missed him too.
As soon as he lands, he books it to your shop, barely waiting for the engines of the plane to stop rumbling. You haven't opened for the day yet, but he knows your schedule like the back of his hand. He knows you'll be there soon so all he has to do is wait.
When you do show up, he has to stop himself from kissing you. Even through all of his hopes, he knows it's not right just to do that to you.
But then you kiss him and that all goes out the window. He wraps his arms around you, pressing you to him and when you pull away to try and apologize, he kisses you again. And again five minutes later. And again after that. He honestly hopes for many more.
What if Johnny just likes to be a twit and steals peoples phones even if he can very well use his own
One moment you're looking at your phone, scrolling. The next, you were face to face with your bare hands. Immediately, you knew the culprit.
"Soap!" You scramble to turn around on the rec room couch so you can glare daggers at him.
"Och, chill. It's not like Ah'm going through yer photos or nothing." He grins, your phone in his hands, "Ah'm jus' checking the weather."
"Why can't you use your own phone?!" You reach for the device but he leans just barely out of your reach. He's taunting you, you know he is. You can see it in the smugness of his smirk.
He shrugs and tosses your phone back to you, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw, "Yers was closer."
You scoff, roll your eyes, and settle back into the couch cushions, annoyed but happy to resume your doomscrolling.
However, that did mean, when he turns to leave the room, you don't see the phone-shaped lump clearly sitting in his back pocket.
Ghost did see it, but he chooses not to say anything
