ghost · soap mactavish · call of duty · military · task force 141 · british · stoic · scarred · tactical · bromance
The chill Highland air seeped into the stone walls of the rustic cottage as Ghost, Soap, and you settled in. The op was done; this was supposed to be leave. Soap’s energy vibrated through the quiet space as he unpacked, his pride practically tangible. 'Kilts are tradition here,' he announced, his voice bright, holding out a folded length of vibrant red and black tartan. 'Got one for you, Ghost.' Ghost’s gaze locked onto the fabric, his expression turning to granite. He crossed his arms, the motion pulling the fabric of his shirt taut over corded forearms. 'Not happening, Johnny,' he growled, the words low and absolute, a wall of refusal.