Chapter Text
John “Soap” MacTavish: You decide to surprise John with a cute Scottish Fold cat for Christmas, due to his constant yearning and begging for one. Though, some cats are a little more feisty than others.
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❄︎
John sat on the couch impatiently, keeping his eyes closed at your request, but also unable to stay still at the excitement of what you got him.
You guys were playing a game of Secret Santa, it wasn’t a secret since it was just you two, but it was fun hiding your gifts for each other anyways. His gift— a new pair of expensive shoes that were highly sought after, telling you about how long he had to wait in line for them. He’d also gotten you some jewelry, a cute silver necklace paired with a ring, your names engraved into it.
Now it was your turn, retreating to your shared bedroom where you’d hidden the cat for the time being. She was curled up in the crate, in the same position from when you adopted her at the shelter, sleeping peacefully with her arms and tail tucked into herself.
You unlocked the crate and pulled her out, waking her up in the process before gently cradling her in your arms. She peered up at you with those big round eyes, like they held the world in them, making you coo at her before carrying her back to the living room.
Your footsteps were immediately detected by John, turning his head in your direction while his eyes were still squeezed shut. You could tell he was getting more restive, his hands tapping on his thighs as he tried to hold back his smile.
“Yer present betta be worth it,” He grumbled, feigning annoyance as his head followed your footsteps.
You scoffed, “Just, keep your eyes closed.”
“I ‘ave been, for the last thirty minutes,” He groaned.
“It hasn’t been thirty minutes,” You chuckled, “Such a drama queen.”
You stepped closer to him, and sensing your presence he sat up and straightened his posture.
“Move your hands.”
His brow raised, but obliged, moving his hands from his thighs down onto the cushion of the couch. You leaned over before placing the cat on his lap, her paws pressing against the fabric of his Christmas pants as she sat down.
You couldn’t control your own smile as you watched his reaction, first confusion due to the sudden weight on his lap, then curiosity as his hands traveled to touch her, feeling her soft fur and fat little body pawing his leg, then finally realization when he realized what was on his lap.
He immediately opened his eyes, laughing loudly before picking up the cat and bouncing around excitedly like a little kid.
“Ya got me a Lops?!” He looked at the cat, holding her up by her upper body as her long lower half hung in the air, “Wee bonnie thin’ ain’t she?”
You nodded, walking over to them as you pet her fur, “Yeah, you’ve been asking me for the longest, so when I saw her I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”
You looked between the cat and him, your heart full as you saw the pure joy in his eyes, the spark shining brighter than when you said yes to him asking you out on a date.
He maneuvered the cat into the crook of his arm, before using his free arm to slither around your waist, his strong hand pulling you closer to him.
He looked down at you, the multicolored lights from the Christmas tree painting his face in a beautiful display of neon hues. Every mark, scar, and gentle curve of his face was visible in the radiant light, making the eye contact feel all the more magical. You felt your face heat under his gaze, tilting your head as you looked up into his soft blue eyes, they always made you weak.
The cat meowed loudly, pulling you both out of your tense staring contest, her tail flicking as her tongue ran over her nose.
You could’ve sworn his cheeks were a tinge red, but just assumed it was the lights, “What are you gonna name her?”
He hummed, “I think I’ll name ‘er.. Skye.”
“Skye,” You repeated, “That’s a cute name.”
❄︎
After you both obsessed over Skye for an hour, you ran to the pet store to get some essentials for her. Food, bowls, collar, cat toys, treats, bed, all the things to help her settle in, you threw into your basket without hesitation. John had stayed home to keep her “company”, but you knew that was just an excuse to play with her all by himself for a while, you allowed it though.
You pushed the basket around the tiled floor, the wheels helping the metal cage glide as you walked to the front towards the checkout, except for that one wheel that was bent weird, that annoyed you a lot.
You were about to turn out of the aisle before a tiny green sweater caught your eye, Made specifically for cats! stitched on the label poking out the head. You stopped, stared at it for a moment, your eyes squinting as your heart and your budget went back and forth on whether or not to get it.
That sweater looked like the ones that you and John had gotten during a trip to the grocery store, the same overused Christmas tree with snowflakes on the front was also placed on the tiny sweater.
So of course, the heart always wins, leaving your basket before crouching down and taking the sweater off the shelf. You analyzed it, the size seemed to be a good fit and the material didn’t seem too itchy or uncomfortable, into the basket it went.
After an hour or two of shopping you were back at the apartment, using your feet to close the door as you carried the bags inside.
John was still in the living room with Skye, sitting on the carpeted floor as he used his hands as toys. She was laid on her back, her hands propped over her head as his hands were held steady in the air, before attacking her stomach and earning a few kicks and some biting from her.
You tiptoed slowly down the hall, not wanting to ruin their little moment as his small chuckles echoed throughout the apartment. You maneuvered into the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter, slowly slipping them off your arm to minimize the crinkling sound.
“I can hear ya, lass.” He looked over his shoulder towards you, peeking over the counter at him.
“Sorry, I was trying to let you guys bond.” You rolled your eyes and started digging in the bags.
He got up from the floor with a small grunt and strolled over to the kitchen, Skye trailing right behind him like a clingy toddler. He peered over your shoulder into the bags, his body almost pressed against yours as the warmth from his body enveloped you.
“What ya got there?” He questioned.
You dug a little deeper until you found it and swiftly pulled it out, the tiny sweater for Skye that you’d found at the store. You turned around and held it up proudly, his hand traveling up to the fabric before gently pulling it from your hold.
He cackled at the sweater, making you scrunch your eyebrows as you looked at him, “What? You don’t like it?”
He looked at your expression and shook his head, “I love it, actually. Ya got it because it matches ours dinnae ya?”
“…I did,” You smirked.
He chuckled and looked down at Skye, crouching down and picking her up before walking back over to the couch.
You followed them back, watching as he sat down and pulled the tag off the sweater with ease, looking over at her. She seemed to know what was in store for her, backing away from him before attempting to jump off the couch. John was quicker though, reaching and grabbing her before she could jump.
You sat down next to him and observed quietly as he placed her in his lap, grabbing the sweater and stretching the head hole before fitting it over her head.
The thing about animals, particularly cats, is that they don’t like having things on them. They generally communicate this by running off, maneuvering away to prevent it from being put on, or prying it off with their paws.
Though— it seemed Skye liked to communicate with her claws.
In a flash she goes from a calm cooperative cat, to a demon spawned from the very depths of hell, meowing in distress as her head became trapped within the sweater.
John, not having a pet before therefore not knowing how to react in such a situation, tries to grab her to calm her down. This only makes her more panicked, causing her to unsheath her claws and desperately try to claw her way out of the sweater.
His arms and hands get caught in the crossfire, her sharp claws digging into his skin as her struggle for freedom continued. He pulled back immediately, and ironically, hissed in pain as Skye fell off his lap and onto the floor, dislodging herself from the sweater before swiftly retreating under the couch.
A moment of silence passed, you looking at John, John looking at Skye, Skye looking at the discarded sweater, and all three of you wondering what the hell just happened.
“…Are you okay?” Your voice was quiet, barely breaking the silence.
He looked over at you, then down at his arms, “…I think so?”
His arms were covered in scratch marks, the skin around them becoming increasingly red due to the elevated blood flow, but no actual blood seemed to be present. You grabbed his arms and checked for any signs of major injuries and confirmed that he was fine, at least nothing that he couldn’t handle.
A deep sigh pushed out from your throat, before a quick inhale, then a sudden burst of laughter.
His head snapped over to you, his eyebrows furrowed with discontent as you laughed like him being assaulted by a cat was the funniest thing you’d ever seen. He glared at you, but that only fueled your fit of laughter, your hand holding your stomach as you fell back on the couch.
“Not tha’ funny,” He grumbled.
“I’m so- I’m-”
You tried to respond but your body rejected it, your chest rumbling as the wheezing phase started, sounding like a kettle on the stove before taking a necessary deep breath and continuing your parade of cackling and chuckling.
He had to admit, you looked good while practically making fun of him, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners and the way your cheeks bubbled up from smiling so hard. He’ll let it slide this time, letting a smile crack as he watched you, even as his new scars throbbed.