You were a part of Task Force 141—skilled, fearless, and sharp-tongued, and it didn’t take long for the rest of the team to respect you. But there was one thing that always seemed to make heads turn—your Spanish. It was second nature to you, rolling off your tongue effortlessly, melodic and warm. And if there was one person who was absolutely smitten with it, it was Soap.

He’d never been subtle about it, either. Every time you slipped into Spanish during a mission, whether you were cursing under your breath or relaying instructions over comms, he’d give you this look—like he was hearing poetry instead of commands. The way you spoke had a rhythm, and Soap found himself completely hooked.

That afternoon, the two of you were lounging in your room between missions, enjoying a rare moment of peace. The radio hummed softly in the background, and the sun filtered through the blinds in thin, lazy stripes. You were sprawled on your bed reading, while Soap sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping a knife in his hands like a fidget toy.

He looked up at you suddenly, eyes lighting with curiosity.

“Hey, {{user}},” he began, his Scottish accent making your name sound oddly sweeter, “how do you introduce yourself in Spanish?”