As my foot touches the ground upon exiting the helicopter, I grab my bag and suitcase, keeping my hand near my revolver, ready for any potential threats. Trusting others completely, or even partially, doesn't come easily to me. The moment I set foot in the base, I spot my partner.
He's shorter than average, or maybe it's just that I'm tall. He jogs up to me with enthusiasm, sporting a mohawk, army green pants, and a white tank top. He lightly punches my forearm, unable to reach any higher or not daring to try.
"Hey there, mate!" he exclaims cheerfully, with a wide grin. "My name's John MacTavish, but they call me Soap. I'll be showing you around the base and introducing you to everyone. I have a feeling I'll like you, you know? You can protect little old me, can't you?" he playfully teases with a chuckle, evoking an eye roll from me.
"Was zum Teufel habe ich mir da nur aufgehalst?" I grumble grumpily under my breath, my hands now tucked inside my vest, holding it tightly as if it were my lifeline.
He starts walking, and I follow suit. He points out various locations - the briefing room, Captain Price's office, the mess hall, and the training room, which I know I'll frequent. He shows me his quarters, assuring me of his availability if needed. Finally, he leads me to my own quarters, and I'm surprised by what I see. The doorway is spacious enough for me to pass through without hitting my head, designed specifically with my stature in mind. The room itself is vast and minimalistic, allowing me to have ample space. Unfortunately, I still have to use the base's shared shower facilities.
---
As my teeth grind together, Soap leads me to the briefing room. I find myself oddly enjoying his company, although I would never admit it. It certainly isn't as much as I enjoyed Charlee's presence, but Soap's boisterousness surpasses even Charlee's. His constant laughter can be grating, yet there is something strangely endearing about it.
For the first time in my life, I find myself searching for a different word to describe him. Instead of hateful, the word that comes to mind is... Adorable. Cute, even. Despite his incessant rambling, there is a certain sense of calm that washes over me when I listen to him. But, of course, I'll treat him like any other teammate - as if he's insignificant, because he is.
(I'm going to fucking cry right now. My fucking chick just died and I can't even, like the water is fucking building up in my eyes and it's blurry, I can barely see what I'm fucking writing. Anyway continuing.)
I had the opportunity to meet a distinguished individual by the name of Sergeant Kyle Garrick, commonly referred to as Gaz. I couldn't help but admire his hat, which gave him an air of authority and sophistication. However, it was his intimidating demeanor that caught my attention. Gaz, wearing a skull mask, stood before me with his chest puffed out, arms crossed, and a piercing glare that sought to assert his dominance. His presence was undeniable.
In contrast, I found solace in the company of a woman named Laswell. From the moment I met her, I felt a deep connection. I was quite taken by her charm and grace, to the point where I momentarily entertained the thought of she replacing my mother. But of course, my love for my mother surpasses any such notion. Perhaps, after this crucial mission, I will make a point to visit her, as well as my father, who unfortunately ignites a deep-seated anger within me. The idea of liberation through self-defense has crossed my mind on more than one occasion, especially when interacting with my father.
It is well known that discipline plays a pivotal role in the upbringing of every individual. In the presence of General Barkov, the embodiment of strict discipline, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of fear and admiration. His unwavering commitment to his cause resonated deeply within me, leaving an indelible impression.
Amidst this array of strong and influential individuals, I found myself grappling with my own identity. As a young recruit, I yearned to prove myself, to validate my existence within this complex network of comrades and superiors. However, doubt often crept into my mind, threatening to undermine my very purpose.
Yet, there was something exhilarating about facing the unknown, about embarking on dangerous missions alongside my fellow soldiers. I found solace in the camaraderie that permeated our ranks, knowing that each of us would willingly lay down our lives to ensure the safety and well-being of our country.
In the midst of this tumultuous world, Sergeant Kyle Garrick, Laswell, General Barkov, and the countless others I encountered served as a constant reminder of the stakes at hand. With determination and honor, I would continue to navigate this treacherous path, eager to make a lasting impact and leave an undeniable legacy.
As I felt the tension creep into my muscles, a subtle tightening that seemed to coil around my chest, I couldn't help but notice the faint chuckle that escaped Price's lips. It was a sound that both intrigued and unnerved me, a stark reminder of the unpredictability of our current situation. I found myself caught in a moment of introspection, contemplating the source of my unease as Soap continued to run his fingers through my unruly, chestnut-colored hair.
With each gentle tug and twist, I couldn't suppress the urge to grumble, my frustration bubbling to the surface like a simmering pot on the verge of boiling over. I knew I should say something, voice my discomfort, but the words remained lodged in my throat, trapped by the fear of causing unintentional harm. After all, I had learned the hard way that my sharp tongue could cut deeper than any physical blow, especially when directed towards those who wore their emotions on their sleeves, like Soap.
So instead, I opted for silence, allowing the weight of my thoughts to hang heavy in the air between us. It was a familiar dance, this delicate balance between honesty and self-preservation, one that I had grown accustomed to over time. And as Price's touch lingered, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of my internal turmoil, I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead for us, for me, in this tangled web of emotions and uncertainty.
(1099 word count and I'm going to punch my cat with my other cat if she keeps growling.)
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Silent Wings: An Unexpected Bond (SoapxM!reader)
FanfictionA Lieutenant Colonel, Y/N "Klaus" L/N , gets transferred to Taskforce 141, shortly after, meeting Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish. To say they were similar would be a lie. Krueger was closed off, distant, moderate, and quiet. Assholish, some said. So...
