luciidsoul
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"Close now. Remember the rules?" Ghost talks loud to be heard, but his voice rumbles low and deeper through him than the engines and their repetitive noise, an edge there that Soap can’t put his finger on, reminiscent of how he sounds when Price tightens their leash.
"There are no rules," he echoes their earlier conversation, but relents as Ghost narrows his eyes. "Forty-eight hours. I'm late, I fail. I'm caught, I fail. I die to some random animal attack or 'cause I break my ankle, I fail and ye won't come find me. That about it?"
Soap has some things to work out. Ghost is happy to help.
Neither is prepared for just how far they'll go.Bookmarked by luciidsoul
17 Jul 2026
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It’s been fifteen months since Makarov broke his arm into two distinct parts, right before shooting him in the shoulder, always the damn shoulder.
Fifteen months since the Russian bastard shot him in the head, too, for good measure, leaving him to bleed out on the concrete floor of the Tunnel, his only saving grace was his team’s quick actions and Laswell’s even quicker response to call in medevac.Fifteen months since the incident.
Just over a year since Soap lost a life, only for Simon to step in and offer him a new one. This time, together.or
John and Simon navigate a life in and out of the army, waiting, always waiting for the perfect time to take another step.
Series
- Part 2 of Veteran AU fics
Bookmarked by luciidsoul
22 Jun 2026
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An alternate first meeting, where Ghost and Soap meet each other in the field under infinitely worse circumstances than either of them would have liked:
Ghost wakes up in a pit under a building with a bomb attached to him, certain he's going to die. Soap, an EOD tech amongst his other specialties, is the only person available to at least try to save him. It should be fraught, and tense, and miserable all around, and it is; a whole lot of Ghost slowly losing his mind while Soap does everything he can to save his life. But it would probably be easier if Ghost wasn't a stress-flirter, and if Soap wasn't the kind of endlessly competent that he loved, and if, by virtue of their situation, they didn't keep ripping open each other's wounds and then patching each other back up again after.
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Bookmarked by luciidsoul
18 Jun 2026
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“Missed me,” Ghost crackles in his ear. Warm, teasing. A tone that Soap is almost certain is reserved for him.
Soap scoffs. "Prove it."
“Aw,” Ghost tuts. “Don’t trust me?”
No one I trust more, Sir. He doesn’t say it. Not that he isn’t sure Ghost already knows; if he’s even half as inhumanly perceptive as everyone gives him credit for, then he has to know, has to feel that tangible presence orbiting between them. (The direct acknowledgement of this entity feels too unshakably taboo. A point of no return that takes the shape of something gnarly; a feral elephant in the room that threatens to maul one or both of them down if addressed.)
“Bastard,” he grumbles instead. Wonders if his voice is as thick with affection over the com as it sounds spoken aloud. Would it matter, if it was?
//
[smut all the way down with a healthy dose of yearning]
Bookmarked by luciidsoul
16 Jun 2026
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Ricky becomes aware of two things in close succession. The first is he’s holding his breath. The second is they’re both hard.
Ricky and Chris have been chatting online for months. It's only after Ricky invites the band (Chris) to crash at his place after their show that he realises there might be more to the connection between them. Pre-band. Sort of.
Bookmarked by luciidsoul
20 May 2026