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The scent of smoked ribs, wood fire, & freshly cut grass drifted through the MacTavish estate, tucked in the rolling green of the Scottish Highlands. Summer sun peeked between drifting clouds, casting golden rays over the long, sturdy picnic tables &a massive grill setup that rivalled military field kitchens. The laughter of children echoed across the garden, mingling with the low thrum of music from an old stereo.
Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish stood at the helm of it all, spatula in one hand & a beer in the other, his thick accent bouncing over the yard as he barked playfully at Ghost, who was trying to sneak a sausage when Soap wasn’t looking.
“You’re worse than the bairns, Ghost!”
“I’m not the one seasoning meat with hair gel,” Ghost muttered behind his skull mask, which for once, had been rolled halfway up so he could enjoy the food.
Laswell nursed a glass of cider, standing near Farah & Alex, who were chatting about the oddity of a peaceful gathering like this. It was a rare thing for all of them to be in one place, off-duty, not surrounded by chaos, but family instead.
Then came the moment everyone had been lowkey anticipating. The hum of a vehicle rolling up the gravel drive turned a few heads—including Soap’s.
“Finally,” he muttered, wiping his hands. “Old man Price’s showin’ up late to his own bloody introduction.”
Captain John Price stepped out of the vehicle in jeans, boots, &a crisp shirt rolled at the sleeves. He looked oddly domestic, a bottle of scotch under one arm… &your hand in the other.
You’d heard about the team in passing, through his gruff stories over dinner &early morning tea. But now you were finally meeting them. You felt his grip tighten slightly as he glanced down at you.
“You sure you’re ready for this, love?”
“They're your friends, not a firing squad,” you teased, & Price smirked.
“Well... the MacTavishes are a breed of their own. If one starts offering you whisky & a wrestling match, that’s just a hello.”
Soap all but stormed toward the both of you, eyes wide & grin wider.
“So, this is the mysterious bird you’ve been goin’ on about?” he said with all the force of a storm, sweeping you into a warm hug before Price could stop him. “Thought she was fictional, Cap. Like a unicorn or a day off.”
You laughed & introduced yourself properly. Soap pulled back, looking genuinely pleased.
“Lass, you’ve got your work cut out for you, dealin’ with him.”
“I’m surprisingly well-trained,” you winked.
“You’ll fit right in,” came a warm voice behind Soap—his oldest sister, Isla. She was tall, with the same blue eyes &laugh lines, holding a toddler on her hip. “I’m Isla, & this mess behind me is my clan. Come, meet the others!”
& just like that, you were swept into the fray.
The afternoon passed in warm bursts of laughter, the kids roping Ghost into a chaotic game of tag (much to everyone’s shock), Farah manning the grill for a bit while Soap showed off, &Laswell sitting with one of the MacTavish brothers-in-law, fiercely debating football teams.
You found yourself beside Price at times, then whisked away by his soon-to-be-mother-in-law types: Soap’s mum &aunties, who subtly interrogated you between compliments about your hair & jokes about Price’s beard trimming habits.
& Price? He looked completely at ease, beer in hand, watching you navigate the crowd like you'd always belonged.
Later, as the sun dipped low &the fire pit blazed, someone yelled, “Speech, MacTavish!”
Soap stood atop a bench, dramatically clearing his throat.
“To the best bunch of maniacs, I’ve ever served with! & to the one woman mad enough to keep our Captain in check—cheers!”
Everyone laughed &raised their glasses, & Price turned to you, his voice low & fond.
“You alright, love?”
You leaned your head on his shoulder, watching the flames flicker.
“More than alright. I finally get it now. This is your family.”
He pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling you closer.
“Aye. & now, so are you.”
Later that evening
The fire crackled as the stars started peppering the dusk sky. Warmth lingered not just from the flames but from full bellies &the comfort of being surrounded by people who felt more like family than friends.
You sat on a plaid blanket near the fire pit, a mug of hot cider in your hands as Soap’s youngest niece climbed into your lap, sticky from marshmallows &full of questions about your hair, your earrings, &why Uncle Johnny wore more hair gel than her dad.
Farah walked over with a paper plate piled high, examining it with practiced scrutiny.
"Soap," she said, raising a brow, "is this meat halal?"
Soap, flipping a few remaining skewers over the grill, turned with a casual, proud nod. “Aye. Everything’s halal. We made sure for you, hen. Mum double-checked the butcher & everything.”
Farah looked pleasantly surprised, her expression softening. “Well. Now I actually trust your hospitality,” she quipped, giving him a mock salute & taking a seat beside Laswell.
Alex called over, half-laughing. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to him.”
Soap tossed a piece of grilled onion at him. “Shut it, mate. I’m a gracious host.”
A little later, the nieces had started a fairy parade, & you barely had time to react before one of them tapped Price’s leg with a pink wand.
“Uncle John! We need more wings. She doesn’t have wings yet!” she pointed at you dramatically.
You expected Price to offer a polite refusal, but instead, he got up—grumbling affectionately—& returned moments later carrying a tiny set of sparkly silver wings.
“For her?” he asked, holding it up.
“No!” the girl huffed. “For you!”
The yard erupted in laughter as you choked on your drink, & Soap nearly dropped the kebabs.
“Go on, Cap,” Ghost deadpanned from his chair, arms crossed. “I dare you.”
Price gave you a long, tired look, as if considering whether he loved you enough to sacrifice his pride in this moment.
He did.
With exaggerated dignity, he bent slightly, letting the girls affix the wings with glittery ribbon straps.
You snapped a photo immediately.
"Don't you dare post that," he muttered to you.
"I won't," you smiled, saving it with three heart emojis. "Just for me."
“Oi!” Soap pointed, holding up a sausage. “To Fairy Captain Price!”
Everyone cheered as Price rolled his eyes &saluted with a skewer.
As the night wound down &stars blanketed the Highlands, Price pulled you aside beneath the soft golden glow of hanging lights strung between the trees.
“You sure you’re alright with this chaos?” he asked softly, hands brushing down your arms, thumbs tracing lazy circles into your sleeves.
“Are you kidding?” you whispered, leaning in close. “I’ve never felt more at home.”
He smiled—genuine, rare, & utterly yours.
“Then I think I owe Soap for throwing this party.”
Just Before the Fire Pit Photoshoot…
The sound of tires crunching gravel turned a few heads again. Soap looked up from wrestling skewers off the grill &shouted toward the driveway:
“Oi, late arrival! If you’re bringing dessert, you’re forgiven!”
Laswell rose from her bench, already smiling as the passenger door opened &out stepped a tall woman with soft curls, dressed in jeans, boots, &a leather jacket. Her presence was calm, grounding—like Laswell, but warmer around the edges. She walked over with a familiar grace, sunglasses perched atop her head &a box of baked goods in hand.
“You made it,” Kate greeted, eyes brightening.
“You think I’d miss the great Task Force 141 cookout ¬ show up with brownies?” her wife said, leaning in to press a brief but tender kiss to Laswell’s cheek.
Soap blinked in confusion. “Wait—that’s the wife?”
He elbowed Ghost. “She is real.”
The woman chuckled. “&you must be Johnny. Kate told me about the accent that gets worse with alcohol.”
“I—hey! It does not!”
Price grinned. “She’s good.”
Laswell’s wife moved through the crowd like she’d known them for years. She hugged Farah like an old friend, complimented your earrings within five seconds, & managed to have Ghost laughing—laughing—about something involving lasagna &mission rations.
Soon enough, she settled in beside Laswell with a cup of cider &a slice of her own brownie, her head resting gently on Kate’s shoulder.
“You’ve been holding out on us, Laswell,” Alex said, raising his drink. “She’s too cool for you.”
Kate smirked. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Then the Photos Began…
Right before the full group shot, Laswell gently tugged her wife to her side. They stood close, arms wrapped around each other. The kids clambered in front, Soap’s mum shouted to get everyone in frame, &you barely had time to stop Price from scooping up a toddler before the photo snapped.
Her addition to the picture changed something—completed it, really. There was no rank, no walls, no war stories.
Just people.
Partners.
Family.
📸 [Photo 5 Updated: "Family Chaos, Completed Edition"]
Everyone gathered. Ghost still lurking in the back. Soap posing like he’s running for local office. Alex mid-sneeze. Farah shielding her plate. You & Price snug at the centre.
Laswell &her wife standing shoulder to shoulder, Kate's arm around her waist &her wife flashing a peace sign at the camera.
Caption:
“Highlands BBQ 141. Family, food, fairy wings, &now—finally—all accounted for.”
That night, while scrolling through the photos under the warm tartan blanket, Price pointed at the group photo & said:
... this looks like the safest we’ve ever been.”
You kissed his cheek & whispered, “That’s because everyone we care about is in it.”
& for once, in this strange & wild life—you were all whole.
Bonus Scene: “No Peace for the Cuddly”
(Takes place after the family photo & before the quiet moment in the guest room)
The stars were just beginning to peek out behind drifting clouds, & the gentle crackle of the fire made the moment feel almost cinematic. You & Price had slipped away from the bustle, finding a quieter spot by the campfire, away from the noise & marshmallow chaos.
A thick tartan blanket was spread out over your legs, & Price had just tugged you close, his arm curling around your shoulders. The fire’s glow painted golden highlights into his beard, & his voice was low, soft.
“Think we’ve earned five bloody minutes alone?” he murmured, leaning in, nose brushing yours.
You grinned, whispering, “I think we earned a nap, a cuddle, & maybe—”
“UNCLE JOHN!!”
A shrill shout exploded from the bushes like an ambush. A tiny body launched itself at Price’s side, followed by another squealing giggle from behind you.
Within seconds, two MacTavish nieces & one extremely hyper nephew had tackled Price like he was an inflatable mattress, their tiny feet tangling in the blanket & one smacking you with a glow stick wand.
Price groaned as one kid climbed him like a jungle gym. “Bloody hell. It’s an ambush. We’re under siege.”
You laughed uncontrollably as one niece tried to wrap the blanket tighter around you, exclaiming, “It’s a cuddle party! Auntie said you were cuddling!”
“I—Auntie?! I’m not Auntie—” you began to protest, but it was far too late.
Soap’s sister Isla strolled over, sipping tea. “Sorry! I may have told them to come check on you two & bring you ‘fairy warmth.’ Looks like it backfired.”
“No regrets,” said Soap from a chair nearby, grinning devilishly. “Watching Captain John Price try to escape three sugar-fueled gremlins? Best part of the night.”
Price, who now had glow stick bracelets on both wrists & a niece wrapped around his neck, gave him a long-suffering look. “I swear to God, MacTavish…”
One of the kids suddenly gasped & yelled, “Make him do the fairy wings again!!”
Price’s eyes widened. “No.”
You burst out laughing as the other kids took up the chant. “Fairy! Fairy! Fairy!”
He looked at you with narrowed eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
You just kissed his cheek. “Thoroughly. This is payback for making me talk to your sniper masked friend about juice boxes earlier.”
He groaned & lay back, dramatically defeated as the kids piled on.
You rested your head on his shoulder as he muttered, “This is why I don’t do babysitting.”
From the fire pit, Laswell’s wife called out: “You do now, Fairy Captain!”
& that’s how cuddling turned into a 20-minute game of 'Campfire Royal Throne,’ where Price was declared King Sparklebeard of Blanketland, with you as his giggling co-ruler—until one of the kids fell asleep on your lap & another peed behind the hedges.
Family.
Chaos.
Perfection.
Another bonus Scene: “No Peace for the Cuddly – Now with Cats”
The stars were glowing brighter now, Highland air crisp & woodsmoke-sweet. You & Price had finally escaped the post-brownie sugar chaos, bundled beneath a thick tartan blanket by the flickering campfire. The warmth of his arm draped around you, the soft scratch of his beard against your temple—it was perfect.
“I’m starting to think,” he murmured, “this might be the quietest moment I’ve had in years.”
You smiled. “I can’t feel my feet, but I’ve never been more at peace.”
& just as Price leaned down for a well-earned kiss—
“UNCLE JOHN!!”
The shriek came with the force of a miniature tornado. Three MacTavish kids barrelled toward you from the bushes, launching themselves directly into Price’s side like an elite tactical cuddle strike.
“I swear,” he muttered, arms flailing as one child wrapped herself around his neck, “this is a coordinated assault.”
“I told you not to relax,” you teased, swatting at a glow stick now bouncing against your cheek.
Then—meow.
From behind one of the picnic benches, a ginger blur leapt up onto your lap, kneaded your thigh once with zero permission, & curled into a satisfied loaf.
“Is that a cat?” you blinked.
Soap, who was now crouching nearby holding a marshmallow like a field radio, grinned wide. “Aye, that’s Haggis. One of three.”
At that exact moment, a black & white fluffball you hadn’t seen before—wearing what looked like a red ribbon collar—stalked into the firelight, yowling dramatically.
“Oh god,” Price muttered. “There’s more.”
Soap gestured with the marshmallow stick like a proud father. “That’s Neeps. & the last one is Tattie. They go where the warm laps are.”
As if summoned, a fat grey tabby casually waddled into view & immediately climbed onto Price’s chest—right atop the blanket & the child already sitting there.
Tattie stared at him, blinked once, & plopped down with the authority of a cat who ruled this household.
“Now this is war,” Price said through gritted teeth.
You giggled uncontrollably as the kids declared, “You’re the Blanket King! & these are your royal cats!”
Soap nearly dropped his drink laughing. “Fairy King of Cats. You poor bastard.”
Ghost, from across the fire, deadpanned, “I’d salute you, Cap, but you’re completely immobilized.”
Laswell’s wife, now curled up beside Kate, smirked & snapped a picture. “He’s being held hostage by felines & toddlers. This is better than Netflix.”
Price glared at you, completely covered in one sleeping child, two cats, & a stray glow stick crown someone had dropped onto his head. “Help. Me.”
You kissed his cheek & whispered, “This is your kingdom now.”
📸 [Photo 6: “The Highland Throne”]
Price, flat on his back on the tartan blanket. One kid snoring on his stomach. A ginger cat on your lap. A fat grey tabby on his chest. A ribbon-wearing black-and-white cat mid-stretch on his boot. Glow stick crown slightly askew. You, beside him, glowing with joy.
Caption:
“King of the Cats. Master of the MacTavish Estate. Protector of the Blanket Realm. RIP, Captain John Price.”
& thus, the night ended—not with a quiet cuddle, but with cats, kids, chaos… & a man who swore he’d never look at a tartan blanket the same again.
End scene:3