Heavily inspired by the song "That Way" by Tate McRae, this story is a Soap x Female Reader ( with heavy involvement from the other members of TF141 ) that I promise has lots of feels and pain involved. I have a full plot established but I am still...
Two days later and the lingering effects of every place Soap so delicately caressed you with his mouth still whispers across your skin. You repress a delightful shudder at the memory of it, the way he took whatever frustration he'd been holding back and channeled it into making you plead mercilessly for his touch. No amount of shame could be found in doing so either. Begging for him was never an embarrassment for you, but a reward - especially when you were blessed with witnessing how it unravels him to the core.
Someone clears their throat and your focus snaps to the present, pink tinging your cheeks. Right. You are in a meeting, a very important one. Now is not the time to fall into hot, sexy Soap flashbacks.
A quick assessment of the Captain's office, where you and the rest of TF141 are squared away, tells you that almost all the others are still listening to Price intently. Ghost, who has manspread himself across the only couch in the room, gives you a tiny shake of his head. Was your drifting off that obvious? You offer Ghost a rather obscene gesture in response, who lets out a strangled laugh at the sight of it.
"I have come up with another form of recon that I believe will greatly aid us in our path for information, but I do not think any of you will like it." Price's words have every head swiveling in his direction, eyes landing on the rather pinched expression on his normally guarded face. "Soap has covered a lot of groundwork in getting us the basic in and outs of what we believe is a rather large and dangerous cartel operation. However, we are hitting a wall. Their leader is a very tightly guarded man."
No one moves or says a word, the only sound in the room is the tense breathing coming from each of you.
"I want to send [Y/N] in...alone." The second your name leaves his lips, the sound of rapid movement follows. Soap and Ghost are both now on their feet, tension tightly coiling their bodies while Gaz gapes at the Captain like he's lost his damn mind.
"Absolutely fuckin' not!" Soap growls, throwing his hands in the air, "Did ye not listen tae a word I said about these guys? They are filth! Complete depraved assholes who take what they want without remorse."
"Sit. Down." Price snarls, ever the strong hand of this team and one of the only people these hot heads listen to. Soap swaps glares with him briefly before lowering himself back into his chair.
"Explain." Ghost demands softly, his body till tense as he looms before Price's desk.
"She goes in under the guise of being a defector. These guys want the authorities out of their business badly enough that if [Y/N] offers them valuable information about how to achieve that, they will jump at the opportunity." Price's gaze swings to you, anxiety riddled eyes softening. "If we had another choice, you know I would take it."
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gaz shift forward in his seat. "This is a bad idea, sir. We-"
"I'll do it." You say firmly, cutting off Gaz's objection. The exasperated faces of your teammates are now pointed at you. "Whatever you need me to do, I will do it."
A heavy sigh releases from Price's nostrils and he slides a thick manila folder to the edge of the oak desk. "They hold a formal event annually. A rather macabre type of party, if you will, where they lure in new players and clients. People come, they sample the products, and things get out of hand. They then find themselves indebted to the cartel. It's an easy way to collect expendable hands." A thick finger points to a grainy, unsettling photo of an intimidating looking man who is painted with tattoos. "This is the only time their leader makes a public appearance and our only shot to gain his trust."
"Why her? Why not one of us?" Ghost presses, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
"He has a type." Price deadpans with a slight cock of his head. "If he were into scary masked men or Scottish magazine models then I'd happily send one of you muppets."
You sneak a look at Soap, who is so tense that the veins in his neck start to bulge, the muscles in his jaw prominent with how tightly he is clamping his mouth shut. You desperately want to reach for him, reassure him with your gentle touch and the very fact that you can't has a lump growing in your throat.
"You won't be totally alone." Price continues, sifting through a stack of documents on his desk before handing over what appears to be a detailed map with blood red notes scribbled across the surface. "We will have eyes on you at all times. For appearances sake you must go in solo, but we will be there in case anything goes wrong."
Though the reassurance of their having back-up makes you breathe a little easier, it doesn't cease the nerves overtaking your body. You aren't a bad solider. In fact, you hold up your own as well as anyone else in 141 does, but that has always been cut and dry military matters. Infiltrating the cartel through espionage? That's a different task in itself.
You can feel the multiple pairs of eyes boring into as you turn over the information in your head. You would do whatever is asked of you and they all know it, even if they fight you every step of the way.
"Okay. When is this party?" You ask. Beside you, Soap scoffs under his breath and if you'd been watching him closely, you'd probably catch him rolling his eyes.
"Soon. We will debrief again before the time comes so everyone knows the plan from start to finish. For now, prepare for the trip to Mexico. We will need to do more ground recon before we send you in. I don't want any surprises."
Mumbles of agreement roll through the room and Price dismisses you all with a wave of his hand, muttering something about needing a drink as he launches back into his busywork.
As you file into the hallway, Soap lingers by your side, his face set in an unreadable mask that sets your nerves on edge. He says nothing to you, though before he stalks off, he flexes out the hand at his side so his fingertips just barely brush against yours. The tender gesture causes your eyes to flutter closed, your heart constricting in your chest.
When you open them again, he is gone. You're left standing there with Ghost, Gaz also nowhere to be found, who is looking in the direction Soap disappeared.
"You're worse than alcoholic, you know." He leans a shoulder against the wall, sighing heavily behind the fabric of the mask. "You haven't even gotten on the wagon and you've already fallen off of it."
You repeat the same vulgar gesture from earlier and the sound of his genuine laughter follows you as you walk away to your room to violently scream your heart out into your pillows.
—— reference of how i imagine this lil moment going
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