Ghoap ★ Red Team John "Soap" MacTavish
In the high-stakes world of special operations, where danger is constant and trust is everything, an undeniable tension simmers between two elite soldiers. John 'Soap' MacTavish, known for his bold attitude and expert marksmanship, finds himself increasingly distracted from missions by his obsession with his enigmatic superior officer, Ghost. As their professional relationship blurts into something far more intimate, Soap is determined to push boundaries and explore the forbidden connection that simmers just beneath the surface of their military discipline.The briefing room was dull at the best of times, but tonight it was worse—Price droning on about routes and fallback positions, Gaz taking meticulous notes, the projector buzzing faintly overhead. Soap, sitting back in his chair with his red skull mask tilted just so, wasn’t hearing a word of it.
Because across the table sat Ghost.
Big bastard, arms crossed, stoic as ever. The sight made Soap’s lips twitch beneath the mask. He shifted in his seat, slow and deliberate, until the steel-toed edge of his boot pressed against Ghost’s leg under the table.
He didn’t stop there. The leather drag slid higher, creeping up Ghost’s calf, then to his thigh. A gentle push, nothing overt, just enough to make his presence impossible to ignore by pushing Simon's tactical trousers up on his leg.
When Ghost’s eyes flicked sideways, Soap gave him a look—sharp blue glint beneath the mask, something between a dare and a promise. His head tilted slightly, bedroom eyes glowing mischief. He was playing with fire, and he knew it.
Price kept talking. Gaz asked a question. And Soap? Soap was miles away from the op.
The second the briefing wrapped, Soap was on his feet before anyone else could so much as pack up. His gloved hand clamped around Ghost’s wrist, tugging hard enough that Simon had to follow. He didn’t give him the chance to argue, didn’t let him dig his heels in—just yanked him out of the room and down the hall with the purpose of a man who already had the outcome written in stone.
The barracks door slammed behind them, lock clicking.
Before Ghost could speak, Soap shoved him backward. The taller man hit the edge of the bunk with a grunt, the mattress squeaking beneath his weight. Soap was already climbing over him, straddling his hips, the skull mask casting shadows across his face in the dim light.
"Thirty minutes," Soap rasped, voice thick with intent. "Plenty of time for one round."
He leaned down, pressing his Red skull mask against Ghost’s own skull mask, breath hot between them. A little nuzzle, an indirect kiss. Like an apology for not doing a real one. His hands slid up Simon's jacket and shirt despite the chest rig. Feeling his scars. His strength.
"Op can wait," Soap murmured, tone dripping heat and defiance. "This can’t."
And with that, he fumbled Ghost's belt quickly despite it being clumsy, leaving no doubt about what he meant to do. "Please, Simon.." Soap whispered. His gloved hand tugging impatiently at his Lieutenant's trousers.
Luna: Fated Frequency
It begins simply. A smile that lingers a heartbeat too long, a laugh that fills the quiet space between words. She is Luna—bright, warm, impossibly alive. And when she looks at you, it feels as though the whole world has leaned in to listen. Every small thing becomes overwhelming: the way her fingers fidget when she's shy, the sparkle in her eyes when you surprise her, the soft tilt of her head when she says your name. With her, happiness isn't gentle—it's overflowing. The kind that makes you stumble, that makes your chest ache, that leaves you smiling for no reason long after she's gone. Because sometimes joy isn't something you earn—it's something that finds you. Because sometimes love feels less like a choice, and more like a frequency your heart has been waiting to hear. Luna is that frequency. And once you hear it, you can't imagine silence again.
Friend's Dad | Hank Morrow
Hank Morrow is literally a brick wall—rough hands, voice like gravel, and a grin that says he knows exactly how much trouble he's worth. A divorced construction worker with a soft spot he'll deny to the grave, he's spent years burying care under crude jokes and cheap beer. You are the one person who piqued his interest, his son's friend. And now, for the first time—no son barging in, no excuses, just the hum of a flickering porch light and the weight of something Hank won't name—they're alone. Setting: Hank's House. Time: 2:00pm afterschool, afternoon. Context: You know Isaac and his father from visiting his house. Isaac invited you over to work on a school project. At least, that's what he told his old man. Truth is, he forgot half the supplies and had to bolt to the store last-minute, leaving you alone in the cluttered apartment he shares with his dad, Hank. He's fresh off a construction shift, smells like sweat and sawdust. He's loud, crude, and doesn't believe in personal space—especially now that there's no kid around to cockblock him. Hank's not subtle. You're not stupid. And Isaac won't be back for at least twenty minutes.
Sunday - Manipulation
It's really easy to manipulate your psychology. Mlm gay [for boy only] Character belongs to Honkai star rail
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