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raspberryandechinacea · 15 hours ago

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: ̗̀➛ father johnny 'soap' mactavish - 02

cw : angst, comfort, can be read in the same universe as this.

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The house was quiet.

It was a rare moment of peace in the Mactavish home. Seven kids, it hadn’t been easy, but there was nothing Johnny would change about his life. He loved the noise, the mess, the laughter, the tears… all of it. If anything, he would’ve had even more kids. But that hadn’t been possible.

The last pregnancy had taken a heavy toll on you. After six deliveries, anyone would’ve thought your body was used to it. And with modern medicine, it should’ve gone smoothly.

But it didn’t.

You lost a dangerous amount of blood. The baby had nearly died, choking on his umbilical cord.

It had been a nightmare, for you, and for Johnny. It changed everything. Any desire for another child vanished overnight. He went as far as getting a vasectomy. He wasn’t going back to condoms, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to put you through any contraception that might mess with your body.

So, a vasectomy it was.

Now Johnny was enjoying a cigarette, sitting with a cup of tea in the middle of his kitchen. The night was winding down. His babies were safe in their beds, his wife sound asleep, warm, soft, waiting for him.

Only one was missing.

Callum had gone to a party tonight. He was due back in ten minutes, so Johnny waited. He always waited. He needed to know where all his bairns were before he could close his eyes. That nagging feeling never went away when one of them was out for the night—sleepovers, school trips, didn’t matter.

He couldn’t help it. It was just in him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of keys in the front door, right on time. He’d raised them well, his babies.

Johnny smiled softly, but the smile vanished the second his fifteen-year-old son stepped into the kitchen. Callum looked devastated, tired and scared. Johnny’s heart cracked at the sight.

He stood up quickly, hurrying over to him, eyes scanning from head to toe, searching for anything, an injury, a burn, a scratch, anything that might explain why his boy looked like that. His hands landed gently on Callum’s shoulders as he met his son’s tear-filled blue eyes.

It happened in an instant, Callum burst into tears and threw himself into his father’s arms.

If there was one thing Johnny had always been good at, aside from demolition, it was being a dad. He never raised his voice, never laid a hand on his bairns. He hugged them, kissed them, made sure they knew they were loved. Even his teenage boys weren’t ashamed to ask for a hug now and then. That’s how Johnny knew he was doing something right. His was his kids' safe place.

He held Callum tight, steady and strong, the way he always had.

“What’s going on?” Johnny whispered, anxiety chewing through him like acid. He’d take a bullet to the head a second time if it meant keeping his babies safe. “Are ye hurt, baby?”

Callum shook his head between sobs, his whole body trembling. He clung to Johnny like a drowning boy clutching a lifeboat, desperate and terrified. Johnny could feel the panic radiating off him, could hear it in every broken breath.

Something had happened. Something bad. And Johnny’s gut twisted with a fear he hadn’t felt since his days on the battlefield.

That’s how they stayed for a few minutes, standing in the kitchen, the clock ticking toward midnight, while the youngest cried heavy, aching tears into his father’s shirt.

It was a sight Johnny never wanted to see, one of his grown bairns breaking like that, crying their heart out. To him, they were sacred. Precious. Pure souls who shouldn't have to carry pain of any kind.

Not his kids. Not ever.

“Tell me what happened,” Johnny asked gently, his voice low and steady. “Ye ken you can tell me anything.” He whispered again, softer this time, trying to soothe his boy.

One hand moved slowly up and down Callum’s back, the other gently stroking his hair, reassurance in every touch.

“It’s Ethan…” came the answer, barely louder than a breath. If Johnny hadn’t been listening so closely, he might’ve missed it.

Ethan. Simon’s son. Callum’s best friend.

“Is he hurt?” It was the first thought that hit Johnny like a punch to the chest.

Those boys were tied together like true brothers. He couldn’t imagine Ethan ever doing anything to harm Callum. And he couldn’t imagine Callum breaking like this unless something serious had happened.

Johnny trusted Simon, he knew the kind of father he was. A bit more stern than Johnny himself, maybe, but firm in love and always ready to listen. Their sons had grown up in that shared foundation.

If something had happened to Ethan, Johnny needed to know. He had to.

“No,” Callum whimpered, barely above a whisper, looking up at his father.

There was something in his eyes. Something Johnny hadn’t expected. Fear.

Johnny’s chest tightened. It wasn’t fear for something, it was fear of him. And that shattered him.

For a moment, he just stared, eyebrows furrowed deep, trying to understand. Hadn’t he always been gentle? Hadn’t he held them through every scrape and heartbreak, never raising his voice, never judging? Hadn’t he proven, time and again, that he would protect them from anything?

How could his boy—his boy—be afraid of him?

“Tell me, baby,” Johnny whispered, his voice thick as he pulled Callum’s head back against his chest. He wasn’t ready for his son to see the tears gathering in his own eyes. That look, that fear,had cut deeper than anything else ever had. “Ye dinnae have to be scared, Cal. Not with me. Never.”

After those words, Johnny felt his son’s arms tighten around him, so tight it was almost suffocating. Callum clung to him like he was the last safe place in the world, and the tears didn’t stop. His sweet boy, always the pleaser, was trying to stifle his sobs, biting them back so he wouldn’t wake his siblings or his mum. Even in his own pain, he was thinking of others.

That only broke Johnny’s heart more.

“I’m scared to tell you, Dad,” Callum murmured into his father’s chest, his voice shaky and muffled. He still couldn’t bring himself to lift his head from the comfort Johnny gave him. “I don’t want you to think different of me.”

Johnny sighed softly, shaking his head against his son’s hair. “What are ye on about?” he whispered. “Ye could kill someone and ye'd still be my sweet son, Callum.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his boy’s head, slow and steady, hoping it would soothe him enough to speak.

“I need to ken, son,” he added quietly, not wanting to push, but aching for answers. “It’s killing me to see ye like this. Ye can tell me anything. Me and yer mum, we’re never gonna judge ye. Never.”

Callum took a deep breath, sniffing one last time before finally pulling back from the embrace. He looked up at his father, eyes wide and glassy, big tears threatening to spill down his flushed cheeks. His eyes were bloodshot, his nose red from all the crying and rubbing.

“Ethan, he…” he started, voice barely a murmur. Johnny could see how much it cost him to even begin. “Me and Ethan… we, um…”

Callum closed his eyes, gathering the last of his courage. His chest rose with another breath, this one deeper, shakier.

“I’m gay, Dad.”

The words slipped out in a whisper, hanging in the stillness of the kitchen like a secret finally set free. The clock ticked quietly past fifteen minutes past midnight.

After a few seconds of silence, Johnny let out a long, relieved sigh.

“That’s it?” he asked, brows lifting slightly.

“What?” Callum opened his eyes, blinking in confusion. “You’re… you’re not mad?”

Johnny frowned, but this time not out of confusion, this time, it hurt. Deeply. That his boy could think he’d be angry, or worse, disgusted just for loving someone. There was nothing his kids could say that would ever make him stop loving them. And certainly not who they loved.

“Baby,” Johnny murmured, shaking his head. He reached for Callum again and pulled him into his arms without hesitation.“I dinnae know what I did, or didnae do, that made ye think I’d be angry because ye like boys,” he said gently. “And I mean this in the kindest way, I truly dinnae care who ye love, Callum. As long as they’re good to ye, good people… that’s all that matters to me.”

He pressed another soft kiss to the top of his son’s head, holding him close like he had when Callum was little, like he always would.

“I was so scared, Dad,” Callum whispered, another heavy tear sliding down his cheek. “And Ethan said he didn’t want to hide anymore, but I didn’t know what to do… so he left, so angry. And he hasn’t been answering my texts…”

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Johnny cooed softly. “Everything’s going to be fine, Cal. If Ethan’s anything like his dad, he gets angry fast… but then the guilt eats him alive.”

Johnny chuckled, remembering all too well how Simon’s temper could flare.

“You really think so?” Callum looked up at his dad, eyes wide with hope and trust.

Johnny brushed a stray tear from his son’s cheek and nodded slowly, a soft smile spreading across his face. “I ken so.”

After a few seconds of silence, Johnny gently guided his son to sit at the kitchen table. He filled a small cup with the still-warm tea, adding just the right amount of milk and sugar—just how Callum liked it.

The moment the cup was set in front of him, Callum’s phone buzzed. Then again. And again.

Messages. From Ethan.

“Told ye,” Johnny smirked, pressing one last kiss to his boy’s head. “Don’t forget to turn the light off. I love ye.”

And with that, Johnny headed upstairs, feet quiet against the floor. He crept into bed, careful not to startle you as he slid in beside your warmth. Slipping an arm around your waist, he pulled you close, breathing you in. He had longed for this all evening, the comfort of your presence.

But even as he lay there, wrapped in everything he loved, one thought refused to leave him. Callum had been scared to tell them he was gay. And that, that would sit with Johnny for a long while.

“You alright?” you murmured against his neck, your hand slowly caressing his chest, feeling how damp it was with the remnants of your son's tears.

“I dinnae think so,” Johnny sighed, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “Callum was scared to tell me something… and it broke my heart a little.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his neck and tightened your hold around him.

“They’re kids, Johnny. They’ve got a whole world outside this house. So many voices in their heads, telling them horrible things. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Your voice was thick with sleep, but still steady, still sure. “Society’s just pure shit, my love.”

Your words made sense. Johnny could shelter them all he wanted, but the outside world would always be vicious. All he could truly do was be their safe place, their comfort, their reassurance. Just like tonight. That was what really mattered.

Because in the end, Callum had come to him. Scared, vulnerable, but trusting. He’d still sought out his father’s arms, his love, his words.

And that meant everything.

“Yeah… yeah,” Johnny whispered, his voice thick with sleep. “Ye're right, my darling.”

happy pride month !

#So sweet!

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