You were the kind of student teachers loved to hold up as an example — perfect GPA, endless extracurriculars, captain of debate and track, a college application portfolio that was already fat with promise. You had a seat practically waiting for you at the Ivy League of your choosing, if you could just keep your record clean.
Soap, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. He was the kind of boy parents warned their kids about: ink-stained fingers from doodling in his notebooks, a reputation for cutting class and showing up smelling like smoke, the constant soundtrack of his laughter echoing through the halls as he clashed with authority. He never studied, and yet somehow never quite failed. People either adored him or wrote him off entirely.
You never had a reason to talk to him until fate — or maybe the guidance counselor — threw you together.
They needed tutors, and you were the school’s shining example. Soap had slipped below the line one too many times, and tutoring was his last shot at keeping himself from summer school. And to your utter disbelief, they paired him with you.
The first session was a disaster. He strolled in late, grinning like he’d won something, hair messy, twirling a pen between his fingers.
“So, you’re my babysitter, aye? Gonna make me a genius, lass?” His accent rolled over the words like a tease.
You bit back a sigh. “I’m here to make sure you don’t flunk out of senior year. The rest is up to you.”
And somehow, session after session, he kept showing up. He leaned back in his chair, smirked when you grew impatient, called you “professor” just to see you frown. But he listened, even if he pretended he didn’t. You caught him studying your lips when you explained formulas, eyes softening in ways you didn’t expect from someone with his reputation.
It was dangerous, the way he made you laugh when you weren’t supposed to, the way you found yourself wondering if he was really as careless as he let on. He smelled like smoke and peppermint gum, but sometimes, when he forgot to play the clown, you glimpsed something sharper — a boy who was smarter than he let the world believe, hiding behind jokes and haze.
And maybe, just maybe, he was exactly the kind of chaos you’d been too disciplined to admit you wanted.
Two fine lads down some ale and go straight for it 😳
fr though I love it when boys are being boys. Price and Ghost are cringing hard, too tired to tell them to shut it. And yeah, they got so tipsy they took off their coats ‘cause it’s “warm enough” (uh-huh, as if)
Werewolf! Soap is a people pleaser, but that's why he's such a good boy for his handler.
He'll do anything just to be called a good boy, no matter how humiliating it may be. Anything to hear those two words slip from your mouth.
"Good boy."
His tail will wag, he grunts like a bitch in heat but most of all, it's reassurance that he's not just a wild beast that runs around killing people and others.
Oh no, no, no. He wouldn't live with himself if that's all he is.
This man is so cute! I try to make his structure accurate, this thicker lips, butt chin, ect but it was so worth it heheheh (。^。^。) ♥️ ♥️ and like I said in my last post ima focus on OG! Modern warfare art here and there!
Summary: Johnny shows up out of the blue and gets to meet Aunt Rue. Cue the impromptu come-to-Jesus meeting.
Warnings/Tags: Angst - obviously, Profanity, Sex is mentioned but nothing explicit, Soap's POV, Rue's POV, Reader is taking a moment, Aunt Rue's a good mum, No use of Y/N
(Notes: Again, no smut. We're not there yet, folks. Wanted to get Johnny's side of the story out there, along with Aunt Rue's thoughts on the matter. Just a warning. Edited this to Kickstart My Heart on loop, so if there's a shit-ton of mistakes... my bad. 🤷♀️)
Word Count: 2K
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Johnny felt like the wind had been knocked out of him when he heard your voice behind the counter, but when you suddenly popped into view, it almost brought him to his knees. The only thing that kept him from reaching for you was that horrible, devastated expression on your face. Tucking his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking, he took a hesitant step towards the counter, as if approaching a cornered, wild animal.
"I'm no' here t'cause ye grief, hen," he murmured, trying to make eye contact. "I jus' wanted t'see ya."
You blinked up at him, huffing a breath out of your open mouth. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again," you confessed, sounding dazed. "How did you…?"
Johnny scratched the back of his neck, feeling like a bit of a creeper. "I, uh… I saw ye on the news. Some sort o' festival 'r somethin'."
"The May Day celebration," you mumbled, remembering the news cameraman panning his camera along the row of booths on the boardwalk. "Bloody hell. So… you saw me and just decided to stop by for a visit? After six months?"
Johnny's look turned sour. "It was no' like I knew where the hell ye'd gone off to, now was it? Ye jus' took off without sayin' a bloody word," he replied, his tone low and accusing.
You scoffed, your own expression growing dark. "And how could I have told you, Johnny? It's not like you ever bothered to give me your number, remember?" you fired back.
The bitterness in your tone cooled his anger instantly. "I…" He huffed out a breath, shoulders slumping. "Yer right. Tha's on me." His contrite expression returned. "It was jus' a shock, comin' back an' findin' ya gone, yer flat empty. I was no' expectin' it. Not after…" He blew out a breath, running his hand over his mohawk. "I dinnae ken wha' t'think."
You crossed your arms over your chest, lips trembling. "I'm surprised you thought of me at all. Why did you even go back to my flat? Things not work out with your other bird?"
"Other bird?" he repeated, scowling, looking utterly confused.
Before you could clarify, your aunt pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Whatever she was about to say died on her lips as her eyes darted between you and Johnny. "Everything alright, love?" she asked you.
"Everything's fine." You dragged your eyes away from him to address your aunt, your tone softening. "I'm sorry 'bout your tea. The box was empty, and then he showed up, and…" You sighed, closing your eyes, shoulders dropping in defeat. "I— I need to go back to the stockroom. Maybe there's another box of oolong back there."
Picking up on the obvious tension and your need to escape the young man, Aunt Rue patted your arm affectionately. "'Course, love. Go ahead. I'll see t'him."
You gave a slight nod, eyes slanting towards Johnny for only a second, but then your chin gave a wobble, and you rushed through the swinging door. He called after you, taking an unconscious step forward, hand reaching out, but you didn't stop. A pained expression crossed his face before he turned and paced a few steps away, raising both hands to rub over his head, holding them there as he blew out a frustrated breath.
Rue pursed her lips, studying him before her eyes cut back to the kitchen door. "So, I take it ya know one another," she drawled.
Johnny turned back around, dropping his arms to his sides. He looked like a whipped pup. "Yes, ma'am. We were… She was my…" A myriad of emotions played over his face before he sighed, remorse evident in his eyes. "Aye. We know each other."
Rue smirked, brows lifting. "I see." She turned to the hot water urns and grabbed a couple of to-go cups. "Tea or coffee, lad?"
Johnny blew out a frustrated sigh. "Dinnae bother, ma'am. I should prob'ly jus' go. Sorry t'have bothered—"
Rue snorted, amused. "Ya ain't gettin' off that easy, lad. Been dealin' with that heartbroken lass for six months. I've got questions, an' you're just the one to answer 'em. So. Tea or coffee?"
Johnny opened his mouth to refuse but didn't have it in him to argue. "Coffee, please. Black with sugar," he mumbled.
Rue hummed in acknowledgment, making them both a strong cup, forgetting about the oolong. She needed all cylinders firing for this one. As she worked, Red finally showed, cheerful as always. He gave Johnny a friendly nod, opening his mouth to greet Rue, but she cut him off.
"No time for chit-chat this mornin', Red," she told him, throwing a couple of rolls into a bag and handing them over. She reached beneath the counter and grabbed his favorite jam packets, then rounded the counter to hand them to him. "On the house, yeah?" she said, ignoring his shocked expression. "Off ya go, then. See ya tomorrow."
Red could do little more than nod as Rue herded him out the door, casting a flummoxed look back as she shut the door and locked it behind him. Reaching for the cups she left sitting on the counter, she handed one to Johnny.
"C'mon, lad. Let's go out back an' have ourselves a wee chinwag."
She led the way to the back exit, checking to be sure you were still inside before motioning him out the door. Walking over to a pair of metal folding chairs leaned against the wall, she grabbed one, nodding for Johnny to take the other, then sat down with a tired sigh. Once, they were both seated, she crossed her legs and looked him over with a critical eye.
"Alright, then. First things first, lad. I'm Rue, her aunt, and you are…"
"John, ma'am. John MacTavish, but ye can call me Johnny."
She nodded, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "Well, it's nice t'meet ya, Johnny." She took a quick sip of coffee and smacked her lips. "Now, let's get down t'brass tacks, shall we?" She sat back and crossed her arms over her lap. "I'm goin' to take a wild guess an' say you're the reason why my girl came runnin' home with her tail between her legs. Not seen her in that bad a shape since her da dumped her on my doorstep, so it must have been serious. How long were ya together?"
Taken aback, it took a moment for Johnny to answer. "I been seein' her fer almost two years, but we were no'… I mean, it wasnae…" He huffed a frustrated breath and scrubbed his hand over his 'hawk. "It's— It's complicated."
Rue rolled her eyes, making a scoffing noise. "Bloody hell, this generation, I swear…" She shook her head. "Just say ya were fuckin', lad. Jesus." She scoffed again. "Complicated, he says…" she muttered.
Johnny gaped at her, surprised by her blunt words. His brows furrowed, an embarrassed look on his reddening face. "It was no' jus' fuckin'," he muttered, sounding defensive. "I cared 'bout her— do care 'bout her."
"Uh-huh. So, what happened, then? What would send my girl runnin' back to the one place she worked so hard to escape, hm?"
His lips parted, but he didn't have an answer. Eyes darting back and forth, he searched for an explanation, a reason why you would just up and leave him without saying anything. He thought it might have been another bloke, but after that last night together, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. So, why? Why did you leave? He had been searching for that answer for the last six months. Finally, he settled for repeating your confusing words from earlier. "She said somethin' 'bout another bird," he said glumly. "Dunno wha' the hell she's talkin' 'bout."
Rue's brows ticked up. "Sure about that? You're a handsome lad. Doubt ya have trouble pullin' the birds."
"No!" he snapped. "I'd never che—." He cut himself off, gritting his teeth in frustration. "There was no other bird," he grumbled out.
His hand clenched into a fist, the other warping the to-go cup, some of the hot brew spilling over his knuckles. Cursing under his breath, he set it on the ground, slinging the hot liquid off his hand. He glared at the back of his hand, then huffed a tired breath, his expression softening. "I dinnae want anyone else. Jus' her." He shook his head, looking lost.
Rue studied him, her head tilting to the side. "She never mentioned you, ya know? Never once spoke your name. I knew she was hurtin'— obviously, but there was somethin' about the way she looked when I'd try to bring it up, like she was... ashamed. 'Course, we've all been fools for love, so I figured some bloke had filled her head with a bunch of pretty words, promisin' her the moon an' stars, then broke her heart, but…" Her eyes narrowed. "Explain to me what 'complicated' means."
A look akin to the shamed face you would always give her now came over his. He started picking at one of his cuticles, studying it with keen interest, his bottom lip jutting out a little.
"When we first started hookin' up, it wasnae a big deal. We'd run into each other at the pub an' end up back at her place." He shrugged but then paused, his eyes growing solemn. "But then, somethin' changed. I'd catch m'self thinkin' 'bout her, like all the bloody time, while I was deployed. Then I'd come home an' find m'self goin' back t'tha' same damn pub, hopin' t'see her, gettin' pissed when she was no' there." He sighed, shook his head. "I finally gave up pretendin' it was jus' a hook up, an' started goin' over t'her place when I was on leave."
"So, you're a soldier, then," Rue said softly.
A grim look pulled the corners of his mouth down. "Aye. A sergeant in the Army. Special forces." He frowned, an inner struggle going on inside his head. "I ken 's no' the best job t'have, no' when ya got a lass waitin' fer ya at home. 'S hard t'make it work, bein' gone so much. Most birds canna hack it, end up callin' it quits. Figured I'd come home one day an' she'd be shacked up wi' some other bloke. Thought that might'a been wha' happened, but... I had t'see fer m'self." A sad expression made his eyes look luminous in the morning sun. "Tol' m'self I should leave her be, let 'er go, but I canna do it."
He sighed, leaned back in his chair and scrubbed at the scruff on his cheek. "I never tol' her how I felt, dinnae think it was fair puttin' tha' on her. Tried no' t'crowd her, dinnae hang about her place, makin' a nuisance o' m'self. Thought I was protectin' her, but it was jus' as much fer me, I guess. Dinnae help."
Rue's heart went out to the poor lad, despite how bloody stupid he was. "Could ya not tell that she loved ya, lad?"
Johnny's brows shot up, his mouth falling open. "She… She loves me?"
Rue sniffed a laugh. "Bloody hell, you really are an eejit, aren't ya?" She shook her head, amazed at how clueless he was. "'Course she loves ya, ya daft numpty." Her eyes grew shrewd as she watched him process the revelation, saw the hope bloom in his eyes.
"So, tell me, Johnny boy. What are ya willin' to do to get her back?"
Summary: You've made a clean break and gone back to your roots.
Warnings/Tags: No major warnings, slight angsty thoughts/feelings, reader is coping, very light allusions to sex but nothing explicit, no use of Y/N
(Notes: No smut this chapter. Main focus is setting up the rest of the story and introducing Aunt Rue. I love Aunt Rue.
Short and inner-angsty, but with self-comfort? Anyway, she's dealing with it. Think of this chapter as the bridge between what happened before and what's going to happen next. And Kilroy is a fictional seaside village that I made up.)
Word Count: 1.3
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The sound of the ocean had always been soothing to you. Given the chance, you would start every day this way, listening to the waves and the squawk of sea birds, the crunch of gravel beneath your feet.
As you picked your way along the pebbled shore, a bit of sea glass caught your eye and you stopped, toeing away the other rocks and detritus around it. It was a mottled Prussian blue, about a centimeter in diameter, the edges smooth with no chips or cracks. You held it up to the sun, huffing out a soft laugh at the effect. Bringing it back to your chest, you wiped away the grit that still clung to it with your thumb as you studied it. It was the right shade and size. You pocketed it and continued on your way.
You had become accustomed to taking these walks along the shore since moving back to Kilroy, a small village near Brighton. After things went tits up in Hereford, you had done what any heartbroken lass would do, you ran home. Home for you was your Aunt Rue's crumbling old cottage in Kilroy. It was where you spent your teenage years before going off to uni, working part time in her bakery while dreaming of a glamorous life in London.
That had been your goal back then, to live in the big city as a successful, independent career woman. That naive young woman would have been mortified to know that she would one day return to Kilroy, but you weren't that idealistic girl anymore.
Hereford was a far cry from London, yet you had barely scraped by on your own while living there; London would have eaten you alive. At least here, you knew people, felt a sense of community and familiarity. It had been so lonely living on your own, feeling isolated and forgotten. Perhaps that was why you had clung so desperately to Johnny, glad to receive what little attention he offered you, though what you received were mere scraps, really.
You sighed and shook your head, cutting off the thought before it had time to take root. It had been over six months, and you were finally in a decent headspace again. Getting over Johnny truly was like kicking an addiction; one misstep and you would be spiraling again. You sometimes wondered if you would ever be able to completely get him out of your system.
Even now, he still had an effect on your life, making you wary of the men who tried to chat you up. You just assumed they were out to get a leg over, so you often came off as cold and reserved, and in some cases, right down defensive. The thought of letting another man into your bed, letting another man touch you, use you, made you a little nauseous, to be honest. At this point, you would equate your love life with a frozen tundra— cold, bleak and depressing.
Meanwhile, Aunt Rue was still picking up blokes at the pub and bringing them home to spend the night. That had taken some getting used to. Before, when you were still a teenager, she had kept her love life lowkey, but since your return, she had no such qualms about it. It was nothing, now, to come downstairs in the morning and find some strange bloke sipping tea in one of her kimono robes at the kitchen table. Except for that one in nothing but his boxers. That had been a bridge too far.
Still, living and working with Aunt Rue had changed your perspective about a lot of things. Men and relationships, for one, living your best life, for another. You had come to realize that Aunt Rue was the role model you should have been fashioning yourself after this whole time.
She lived her life by her own rules, unapologetically and without regret. She didn't need a man around to take care of her, but she still enjoyed their company and sought it out without shame or guilt. She had carved out her own little niche in the world and was comfortable living in her own skin. Those were the goals you were striving for, now.
You checked the time on your phone, then made your way back towards the stairs leading up to the boardwalk. It was almost time to open the bakery, and Rue would be in full baking mode by now, and in need of your help.
The walk through the village was a pleasant one, the chill winds of spring giving way to the warmer climes of the approaching summer. There were still signs of the May Day celebration lingering about, artificial flower wreaths and arrangements kept on display in the shops.
That had been a fun day, you and your aunt setting up a booth on the boardwalk with the other businesses and vendors, selling summer-inspired treats as you watched the light-hearted chaos of the holiday unfold. There had even been a news crew from Brighton in attendance recording the festivities for a local television station.
As you neared the bakery, you couldn't help but smile at the lavender and white striped awning with the name of the shop printed across it: 'Rue the Day Bakery'. Taking out your keys, you let yourself in, tossing a hand up in greeting to one of the neighboring shop owners who was setting up a folding chalkboard sign outside their store.
"That you, love?" Rue called from the back, alerted by the bell above the door.
"Yeah. Just in from my walk," you called back, removing your jacket.
You walked to the back to leave your jacket and bag in the office, then entered the kitchen, the smell of fresh baked bread the most prevalent today. You could always tell what day it was just by the smell of the bakery. Rue had just turned from an open oven, a tray of hot loaf pans clasped between her mitted hands. The rounded brown tops of bread gave off a mouthwatering aroma.
"Well, you're lookin' bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this mornin'," she greeted you, setting the tray on one of the metal tables against the wall. "Come help me turn these out, before ya get started on the front."
You grabbed a pair of spare oven mitts and set to work beside her, tipping out the loaves and placing them on a large cooling rack. "These turned out lovely, Aunt Rue. Save us a loaf for dinner. I'll make those open-faced sandwiches you like."
"Ooh! Ya got yourself a deal, love." She went back to her workstation and began to scrape the stuck dough off the surface with a pastry cutter, prepping it for the next round of baking. "Mind makin' me a cuppa? Think I'll take a break before starting on the rolls."
"Sure. Be right back." You went to the front, getting the hot water urns filled and switched on, glancing out the shop window to see Red, the postman, making his way down the shops, delivering the post. He was a regular, so you knew he would be in soon for his large to-go cuppa and buttered rolls with jam.
You stooped below the counter to grab your aunt's favorite oolong tea, but the box was empty. "Crap," you mumbled. "Should be another box back here somewhere…"
The bell above the door jingled, no doubt Red, you figured. "Be with ya in a tick," you called out, still rummaging about for the elusive oolong.
"Take yer time," was the reply, but it most definitely was not Red. This voice was deeper, a bit raspy and distinctly Scottish.
You shot to your feet, eyes wide, heart already breaking into a gallop as you gaped at the man standing before you. "What are you doing here?" you blurted out, shocked.
Johnny tilted his head, blue eyes flashing. "Hello, bonnie."
I'm going through the motions again. Here's a small vent fic I made. I deserve to dream too. This is purely angst, unless someone requests otherwise.
(John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader)
When someone loves you enough, they will chase you to the ends of the earth.
Clearly, no one had loved you as much you did.
You chased after the shadows of people you loved so dearly. Everyone saw a fool, you were chasing a dream, a figment of your imaginations, thinking they will run for you too. But that never happens, that never happens anymore. In this dating climate? Hell no.
People think getting asked out by someone as a prank was painful, that's only because they were asked out at least once. Others say it's rejection, but that is the risk of love, after all.
But to only dream of the lengths someone would go to profess their love to you. That was only a dream you could yearn for.
That is painful.
Because no one thinks you're worth loving enough.
===
"Sergeant Soap MacTavish, at your service."
Your delusional thoughts made you fall head over heels over him. Besides being one of the best soldiers, he was kind, outgoing and encouraging. So encouraging in fact, he makes you blush every time he compliments you.
Every word he says about you, every gift he'd drop by, every single time he took care of you.
Your blood rushes and pumps through every vein in artery in your body, heart pumping faster than the machine guns on the field.
When he pumps you up during sparring matches, when he hands you his food when you were out of rations, when he held your hand as the bullet was removed from your leg.
You though it was because he had an attraction towards you... at least a tiny bit of attraction. He's got you wrapped around his finger so easily, even though you had promised yourself a million times again to not fall in love with someone so quickly. But in this battlefield, this hell on earth, he was your shining light.
But of course.... He was too good to be true.
===
"Where'd you plan on going this break?" You asked curiously as he takes a swig of beer before wiping the corner of his lips with his sleeve.
"Going back to Scotland. Got a hen waiting for me at hame." He smiles, holding up a golden ring that hung behind his shirt. You blinked before smiling.
"Ah, that's nice.. Good for you." He quirks his brow at you before looking at you.
"'Bout you, mate? Got someone of ye own?" He asks curiously as you just shake your head with a small frown on your face.
"No... Got no one." He looks at you in shock as you just laugh bitterly, though, you were good at hiding your jealousy, so it comes off as cool.
"But it's fine. I still have the whole world for me, no?" You say optimistically, as he laughs and nods.
"Aye. Plenty o' fish in the sea. And for a bonnie like ye? 'T is not gonnae be that hard." He chuckles as he takes another swig.
"Maybe I can bring ye over fer supper with the rest. My hen's gonnae love you lot." He smiles while you nod, finishing up your drink before handing him the empty bottle.
"I should go, it's getting pretty late."
"But the party's just--."
"I'm pretty tired... Okay?" You stressed, raising your voice which Soap caught him off guard. He never hear you raise your voice before.
"Keep ye heid. Am sorry, alright? Shouldn't have pressed. Good night, then." He says before you sigh and walk away.
===
You could only stare at the ceiling, your room dimmed of any light as the victory party continued on loudly, outside the barracks. You could hear the cheer and laughter from the boys. As much as you want to immerse yourself in a distraction, you knew Soap would be there. You'd end up making a fool of yourself once again.
You could feel yourself slowly slip into unconsciousness as you stare at the bottle of alcohol you finished alone. With the sound of the loud party, your cries were muffled... Only that there were tears and barely a sound out of your throat.
Once again, you chased that shadow into a dark place, hoping to find someone who loves you... Hoping... Dreaming.
You chased those shadows, thinking that they'll love.
And dream as you will, you know that no one will ever see you, or love you enough to chase you across the world.
What can you say? You're a fool after all. Fools love to dream.
