The Sergeant and His Flower 🌼 (Soap MacTavish × Reader)

22 (TW: SMUT)

"This is bullshit!"

Soap's voice rang through the halls of the base as he took another shot. The Vaqueros had found great pleasure in torturing the foreigners with unfamiliar language, but the barracks were a boring setting, so they moved their game to a makeshift bar, and made a drinking game of their suffering.

The rules were simple, Theresa and the Vaqueros gave Soap and Ghost - who clearly had no interest in the game - a word in Spanish, and if they got it right, they took a shot, but if they were wrong, the two of them did.

Unsurprisingly, Johnny got cocky and proudly declared his Spanish GCSE would get him through it, and because of that, everyone went out of their way to make sure he was wrong.

Alejandro opted out of the game early, not wanting to get too drunk as he still had paperwork to do, so he retreated to his office after a while.

The Vaqueros were practically sober, but Soap was starting to get slightly tipsy, making Ghost almost forget himself and laugh at his humiliation, but it'd take a bit more bourbon for that to happen.

After a while, Theresa got bored of the game, and took the liberty of moving to the corner of the room to gossip with her new best friend Isabella, letting the boys continue their game. Over a bottle of tequila, obviously.

"It gets so boring around here with no girls to talk to. Not that the boys are bad. It just feels nice to be able to talk about.. I dunno periods and girl stuff with an actual girl, y'know?" Isabella said, taking a rather large swig of tequila. "What do girls even gossip about, anyway?"

"From what I remember from my last leave.. Boys and how the other girls we know are bitches. Mostly boys." Theresa responded, laying back in the couch behind her, swirling the alcoholic liquid in her glass, before taking some into her mouth, her throat deliciously burning as it made its way into her stomach. "But I could be mistaken. We change their minds so much."

"Either way, I remember being shocked it was so like the movies..."

"Sounds about right. Okay. Boys... hmm. Mohawk boy. That's what we're calling him. What's up with you two? I've seen the way he looks at you."

Theresa let out a slight breath of air, glad she hadn't taken another drink, knowing she would've choked on it.

"Oof.. right to the point, huh? Well.. uhh.. hmm. 'Mohawk boy' and I.. we may have.. y'know, like a lot. Over the last 36 hours." She mumbled, looking to the side and downing the rest of her glass, quickly refilling it. She knew she may as well tell her. Isabella would have found out either way. Women always do. Somehow. Sometimes that 'somehow' may or may not involve the bending and breaking of certain laws.

"Oooooh! Yes! See, this is the shit we've been missing out on. Spill. Deets. How was it? How big is it? Did he make you-"

"I didn't bring a tape measure, Isa.." She said, quickly interrupting her friend's intrusive questions, almost choking on air. The two had, in womanly fashion, given the other a nickname, Theresa's being Essy, and Isabella's being Isa, since they had similiar sounding syllables.

"Chica, lo hubiera hecho..." (Girl, I would've...) 
"It was big. There, happy?"
"Sí."

As the two were continuing their chat, Mohawk Boy, which he had now been christened, was getting tired of being tortured, and was about to walk over to Theresa, when the sound of painfully stereotypical sound of spurs made their way into the room, causing the men to turn their heads to identify the noise.

Ghost rolled his eyes when he noticed the American in front of him, turning and taking another mouthful of whiskey.

The door was practically right next to the girls, so they were the first to be subjected to Philip Graves' Yanky charms.