#soap cod mw3

[druap]

xP

[phantasm-ae]

omg anon im so gladd uu like it RAAHHHHH 😩😩😩--

-- but likee in terms of first meet.... hmmm.... i was thinking likee it probably went smth like this --

cw: just fluff, afab reader x soap

HEADCANON: How did Johnny and milkmaid reader meet? We have Mama MacTavish to thank for that

PAIRING: John Soap MacTavish x reader

Our reader was always close with the MacTavishes. Well, sweet and gentle Mama MacTavish mostly.

The honeyed and mellow lady who saw you move in from day one. Hauling boxes by yourself. Sweaty. Frustrated and swearing. Cursing your moving service driver under your breath as you tried to maneuver your mattress up the front steps like a tragic one-woman circus act.

She had spotted you. Tiny, wry, and reverent little you. Huffing and puffing little hen with the prettiest eyes she's ever seen.

Arms full of box. Hair stuck to your forehead. Shoes kicked off at the bottom step like you’d already given up on dignity that day.

Cursing the heat. Cursing gravity. Cursing the delivery guy who “just forgot the bed frame” with the kind of poetic fury that had her stifling a laugh into her apron.

Peeking out between her laundry line and the rose bushes, a glass of iced tea in one hand and a knowing glint in her eye.

Didn’t say a word at first. Just disappeared from view like a curtain twitching shut.

You’d barely gotten one end of the mattress wedged through the doorframe when she reappeared.

Determined and cheery old lady marching across the lawn in sturdy slippers. Smock still dusted with flour. Tea swapped for a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of something that looked suspiciously like still-warm shortbread.

“Love,” she said, smiling like you were already family, “either let me help or let me feed you. I won’t take no for an answer.”

That was it. That was the beginning.

Before you knew it, she was your go-to for sugar, advice, the juiciest neighborhood gossip, and the occasional “just a wee Sunday dinner” that turned into three courses and a bottle of wine.

She told you all about her garden, her cats, her least favorite neighbors (whispered with scandalous glee), and -- eventually -- her Johnny. Her good kind and gentlemanly son. Her only boy. Her pride.

Always said his name with a soft sort of awe and a sigh. “Not home much. Work keeps him away. But oh, when he is -- you’ll know aye? Big, loud thing, stomps around like he’s still in boots. Heart of gold under all that noise.”

You figured you’d cross that bridge if and when.

But then, she started leaving those subtle hints. And sure, she didn’t see a ring on your finger, and well -- she wasn’t getting any younger too.

"Nice to have a scant of little bairns again you know? Just lovely tae have somethin' to take care of. a bit more noise around the table"

You smirked, playing along, “Oh, sure, I can already picture it -- little feet under the table, crumbs everywhere, and me pretending to know what I’m doing while I trip over the toys.”

Mama MacTavish’s eyes gleamed with a knowing sparkle, her smile widening. At that exact moment, she knew -- you’d be perfect for Johnny. Whether you both knew it or not.

Slowly, she started dropping little cues.

You’d be chatting over a cup of tea, gardening or darning together and she’d slip in a remark or two --

“Oh yer sink’s broken? Johnny’s really good with all that, ye know.”

“Living room’s all barren, hen. Johnny could fix that up -- he’s got a good eye for space.”

“Fridge makin’ that funny noise again? Johnny sorted ours in a flash, bless him.”

“Ye don’t like ladders, do ye? Good thing Johnny’s not scared of heights.”

“That shelf’s still sittin’ on the floor? I’ll send Johnny round with his drill when he gets back”

“Cold this week, aye? Johnny’s great at sealing windows. Kept the whole house toasty last winter.”

“Plant dyin’? Johnny’s got a green thumb too, believe it or not.”

And then, with that same gleam in her eye: “Bit lonely sometimes, love? …Johnny’s got a nice laugh on him.”

You’d chuckle, play along, nodding as if it was all just friendly banter. Letting her have her fun. Feeding into it with a teasing little grin, not realizing she was ever dead serious at that. Just too enchanted by her syrupy stories and sweet affection to see the trap being set.

“Oh, Johnny does love a good Sunday roast,” she’d sigh one day, dreamily. “Still asks for extra gravy like he’s ten years old.”

Then there was the time she murmured -- almost too lightly -- “He’s got such a soft spot for animals, oor Johnny. Always lookin’ efter his mate’s dug. Just a big softie underneath he is"

You humoured her, of course. Nodded, smiled, said things like, “That’s sweet,” and “Sounds like he’s got a good heart.” Didn’t register the shift in tone when she followed it with a quiet:

“Wouldn’t it be nice tae hae someone who’d look efter ye like that, hen?”

You didn’t think much of it then. Shrugged, teased, “I suppose", you started as you gave her your usual warm and homey smile. "Someone to share a Sunday roast with. Maybe a dog. And definitely extra gravy.”

She beamed then and there. A knowing grin that you dulled on and overlooked. Lips curling with a playful gleam like you already handed her a grandchild on a platter.

After that though, the comments came paired with a wistful sigh or a long look at your left hand. “Ah, I do hope Johnny finds someone who’ll appreciate aw o’ him… he’s such a catch, ken?”

And when you’d laugh or just smile knowingly, she’d give the tiniest, most satisfied nod. Checking all her lists at this point. That same glint in her eye only growing.

Already picking the dress among her mental catalogues and listing down addresses and numbers to book the chapel.

You never really thought she was fixed and ramrod earnest about it. Always chalking it up to idle talk. Sweet, silly old-lady musings that sounded like daydreams but didn’t mean anything. After all, Johnny MacTavish was more myth than man to you. A photo on the fireplace. A pair of muddy boots by the door. A son who was always “just away for a bit aye?”

You had no idea what to expect when he finally came home though.

All 6'1 and massive hulking muscle. Weighty and tank heavy. Eyes electric blue with a shy and surprised look in his eyes. Standing there like a tall buck caught in headlights. Frozen mid-motion. Elbows-deep into some grimy mess of liquid and woodwork in the backyard. Right where you and Mama MacTavish usually had tea

The crickety old swing? --

-- Apparently fixed now....

A mallet in one hand, a smudge of oil on his neck, looking like he’d just stepped out of a construction site and straight into your heart. He looked at you like you were the last thing he expected to see -- and maybe you were.

You blinked. He blinked.

And then, the world seemed to slow down.

That was until Johnny dropped the mallet right onto his foot and cursed with a dirty word so filthy, Mama MacTavish gasped from the hallway. “Language, John! We have guests!”

You barely kept it together, biting back a stifled laugh. He, on the other hand, was clearly struggling to hold himself together.

“Aye right, uh, sorry ‘boot that,” Johnny mumbled, looking mortified as he tried to shake the pain out of his foot.

You smiled and, for some reason, that simple, awkward moment felt like the universe had pressed play again on something you didn’t even know was meant to happen.

But that’s when it all shifted. Mama MacTavish swooped in, all warmth and triumph, apron fluttering behind her like a battle standard.

“Ah, perfect timing, lass! Ye’ve met ma Johnny, aye?” she chirped, like this entire scene hadn’t unfolded with the cinematic chaos of a rom-com meet-cute gone slightly sideways.

You opened your mouth to answer -- yes? no? not like this? -- but she barreled on, plopping a tray of lemon squares onto the garden table as if she hadn’t just set a trap and sprung it with flawless precision. Leaving no other room for you two to even utter out another word.

“Johnny, lad, why nae show oor bonnie neighbour the shelves ye fixed up in the sunroom, aye? She’s been bletherin’ aboot needin’ some storage.”

“I have?” you asked faintly, already being gently nudged forward by a flour-dusted hand at your back.

“Oh, ye will,” Mama said, grinning like a cat with cream.

And just like that, you were being ushered into a future you two hadn’t exactly planned for --

— one that smelled like sawdust, lemon bars, and cucumber.

Sounded like dusting and worn boots on old wooden and rickety floors.

And looked an awful lot like Johnny MacTavish:

— red-eared. Bashful. Gone for. Keen and enamored at the sight of you.

Still nursing a bruised toe but grinning enthusiastic and dumbstruck when you asked if he really did like that much gravy on a Sunday roast.

masterlist

[lovebeatriceplz]

Soap! Who wasn't really sure what to expect from the medic who was joining the team. However, he was more than happy to introduce himself.

Soap! Who found you quite pleasant to be around. You were sweet, gentle and good at your job. This place needed a little eye candy anyways.

Soap! Who couldn't help but feel even the movements of your fingers. Every graze, every trace of his skin. You were simply doing your job, patching him up but it had his stomach doing flips.

Soap! Who falls into a mini (deep) delusion. Surely he was special, right?. There was no way his teammates received the same treatment, that level of intimacy and softness was for him only. Atleast, that's what he told Simon.

Soap! Who finds himself visiting the medbay for the most irrelevant reasons. He twisted his ankle? Medbay, He got a scratch? Medbay, He's feeling peckish? Medbay. It's really all an excuse to blatantly flirt with you.

Soap! Who only becomes more confident when you put up with it. Making bolder moves, grabbing your wrists when you try to apply an ointment, or leaning way closer than necessary.

Soap! Who thinks about you on missions, the safety of an entire nation is a lot of pressure to carry, so he worries about you're safety instead.

Soap! Who secretly beams when the squad refers to you as "Johnny's little nurse". It was even better when you tried to laugh off your embarrassment, begging him to tell them not to call you that, he wonders what else you'll beg for.

Soap! Who ends up with his hands under your vest and his lips... everywhere after a long mission. The door was probably locked, he's not too sure.

Soap! Who will always come back to you, because you're "Johnny's little nurse". His nurse, his girl.

[bone-trash]

COD Headcanons #3

Old Man Hobbies

Johnny loves plants

When he had the tiny flat in Glasgow that he only kept for his leaves, he had a little window box for herbs

His quarters on base always featured a few succulents squeezed in on the desk amongst his notebooks

Even when it’s been rainy and his bad knee acts up (Simon got him a floral print knee rest and he silently cherishes the extra padding) he diligently trots out in his rubber clogs and tends their garden

He really enjoys nurturing the little shoots and sprouts and researches fertilizer types and soil airation and drainage and recommended pruning techniques

It feels good to use his hands. Hands, once soaked in war and blood and devastation; now only muddied with dark sweet earth of their home

Johnny’s yields aren’t much, certainly not enough to live on, but Simon always seems to have a recipe for whatever he can grow

…

Simon feeds the birds

He used to golf with Johnny’s Da but his arthritis really cranked up the last few years and he needs a hobby that requires less fine motor control

He sits on the porch, often a couple hours before Johnny’s awake, cuppa steaming and watches the day come alive over their garden

He starts with bread because he’s Manc as hell and has only dealt with the kind of streetwise pigeons that don’t even run away from people anymore

He learns online that songbirds love sunflower seeds and grains and he experiments with different blends, eventually hanging up a few feeders within view of the windows

Unfortunately this encourages squirrels, Simon hates the squirrels

Johnny is endlessly amused by this

——

Hey y’all! Another idea inspired by @bringinsexybackk69 maybe someday I’ll get my own ideas ✌️💀

[asteriasgarden]

has…has anyone made our boys in the sims yet

just for research purpose

[dizzydizz-e]

Slightly self indulgent Price sketches cuz I need him like water

[shad-art]

Even though Price may seem tough when you look at him, he is actually a "softie".

You don't understand it by looking at him, but by knowing him. He's especially so towards his guys and his friends.

He's not someone who demonstrates it with words, but with actions. He pays attention to his soldiers' attitudes and always knows where they are. He would take matters into his own hands and try to help however he could.

If anyone points it out to him (often Laswell), he will always say: "It's part of my job."

[bone-trash]

After Midnight Chapter 2 is live on AO3!!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Again for some of yall this is well tread territory story wise but I’d really appreciate it if yall let me know what yall think of changes or just general thoughts and critique.

And to all yall still with me, a lil kiss

✌️✌️