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

21.

John was true to his word. They didn't get up anytime soon.

But after a round or two, maybe five, of some not-family-friendly shenanigans, the Scotsman finally let Theresa get up, although she was more worn-out now. Actually wanting to stay in bed instead.

"Come on, Flower.." He teased her. One of his newest favourite things to do, right after what they had just done. "You were so adamant on getting up earlier."

He pulled the sheets away, the cold air making Theresa shiver and instinctively cross her legs and cover her face to shield herself from it, making Johnny click his tongue at her.

"If you don't get up now, I won't let you shower and you'll have to walk around all day with me dripping down your legs." He said, knowing exactly what buttons to press to get under her skin - in a loving way.

"You're an asshole, y'know that?" She responded, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink, hiding it under her hands, before rolling over on the bed to get out of it.

"Your asshole now, Lass." His accent heavy, especially with the teasing tone added to it. "Like it or not, your stuck with me." He said, winking at her.

"I can bench you, y'know." 

He laughed as she walked to the bathroom, laughing even harder when he saw her middle finger coming through the doorframe as he followed her in, because - in his words - 'a gentleman helps a lady shower after he rails the ever-loving shit out of her' and because it saves water.

And a gentleman he was, because he washed Theresa's hair for her, washed her body, rinsed her - the works, and didn't even think about pushing her against the wall of the shower again like he had last night.

He is the standard. At least, to Theresa he was. She remembered her friends ranting to her about how their boyfriends didn't care enough to do anything after sex, just go to sleep or get ready for work, but that was nowhere near the case here. John didn't think once about himself, only caring about making sure his girl was alright.

That was one of Theresa's literally-any-other-name-but-her-own names he had in his head. Soap wasn't one of those 'Love' or 'Sweetheart' pet name kind of guys, but he liked having some for her. Not to say he wouldn't use them, he loved seeing the red look on her face every time he called her some sort of endearing name.

After about an hour or so, the pair had finally emerged from the barracks, making their way towards the mess hall, their pinkies sneakily intertwined with each other's. They both grabbed a tray, filling it with whatever smelled and looked the nicest, and made their way to Ghost, who had a cup of tea in front of him as he did his best to figure out a way to drink it without having to either pull his mask off or drink it through the thing.

"Mornin' Sir. Sleep well?" Soap said, plopping down at the table.

"Not as good as you two did, that's for sure." He responded, smirking at the two of them as they did their infamous averting-of-the-gazes. Seemingly, torturing the two sergeants had become an amusing pass time to the Lieutenant, especially when he had nothing better to do in Mexico.

"Enjoying the continental over the cooked food then, Sir?" Theresa asked, swiftly changing the subject to the piece of toast in their superior's hand, looking for a similiar way to be consumed like his tea was.

"No full English." He responded, a gruff sigh leaving his lips. "Can't do without a full English."

"Fuckin' Brits." Soap said, shaking his head with a laugh, lifting some what he could only assume was a tapa into his mouth with his fork.