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Friendship is another word for love - unknown
In which Clint Barton is an idiot and happens to make a friend.
Those two things may or may not be related. -
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There was a time when Clint Barton was one of SHEILD's best operatives, but those days are over. For the last six years he's been working abroad, not exactly eager to return to New York or D.C. - let alone SHIELD HQ.
But when agents and allies start turning up dead - with an MO that is far too familiar - Clint's assigned to finding out who and why. Fury wants results fast, so he calls in a favor.
Enter reformed Winter Soldier, James "Bucky" Barnes.
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Ghost is back on base with the rest of the 141, ready to fall into his usual routine. Someone else, however, is itching to be a part of it and wants to peel back the curtain concealing him more than he already has, whether Ghost likes it or not.
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Bookmarked by cremisius (r0mantic)
07 Jul 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
"Not a fan of coffee, Lt.?"
Ghost looked back up to Soap's face, noting his small smile. "I'll have an Irish coffee. Don't much care for it black, though."
"You’d drink an Irish coffee?"
"Would rather just have the whiskey without the cream or coffee. Too many steps to dress it up."
"But ya don't like black tea?"
"Or coffee."
Soap hummed an acknowledgement. “Bit surprised you’d drink it at all. Thought you only ate nails and drank blood ‘n bourbon.”
“Sometimes the taste of metal gets annoying. Nice to have a treat every now ‘n again.”
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Ghost didn't trust Soap, couldn't know for certain what a year and a half of forced fighting in the pits did to something as volatile as a Wolf. But Price insisted that the man may have valuable intel, might be enough to finally bring down the Fighting Ring where they'd found him.
So Ghost watched and waited as the others let themselves be fooled by the charming stranger.
Ghost wouldn't be so easily swayed.
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Soulmate AU: In a world where having a soulmark is a rare and forgotten phenomenon, finding your other half can be more a curse than a blessing.
Soap joined the military intent on escaping the stigma of the mark, adamant he'd never find his soulmate.
When Soap’s lies begin to unravel, he must contend with his awakened soulmark, and a sicaria drug lord hell-bent on watching him burn.
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Bookmarked by cremisius (r0mantic)
04 Jul 2025
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Bookmarker's Notes
There was a pause, and then-
“Graves doesn’t know.” Ghost said abruptly.
“What?”
“You’re a surprisingly canny liar, Johnny. I was almost impressed. But I know your tells.” He lifted his hand slightly, pointing steadily at Soap’s left where it rested at his side.
A bolt of fear struck him. Does he know?
Then, his hand twitched as if on cue.
No, he means my traitorous fucking hand.
Ghost folded his arms, and tilted his head at him. “Well?”
Right. Straight into it then.
Stomach churning, and exhaustion weighing heavily on him, Soap considered ripping the damned gloves off and presenting the mark, just to be done with it all.
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Ghost was a werewolf shifter of Task Force 1-4-1, and Johnny MacTavish was the man brought on board to hold his leash.
There were never any bindings placed on him. Never ropes, nor sedatives needed. No shock collars or cattle prods. It was just Soap.
Just Johnny and the way he had Simon, even as a towering monster with gnashing teeth and flexing claws, wrapped around his little finger.
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Bookmarked by cremisius (r0mantic)
04 Jul 2025
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Bookmarker's Notes
Where Ghost was typically peppered with bullets by terrified enemy soldiers before he could get to them with gnashing teeth and claws, Soap dropped anyone brave enough to attempt to fight the monster. He knew full well Ghost could heal nearly instantly if he was counter attacked, but that didn't seem to matter to the insane Sergeant. It was like he took every shot aimed at Ghost personally and returned it right back. He moved like it had always been the two of them against the lot, like Ghost had never been fighting alone from the start.
Then, when the building was cleared and the job done, he’d turned and looked up at Ghost's glowing eyes, straight at the blood spattered skull that was patterned in white fur across his muzzle. Soap's own face was a mess of blood and viscera, but he was beaming a grin that was all teeth.
“Fuckin' beautiful, sir!”
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When he had woken, it was to a skull swimming in and out of his vision, and for a second he figured that the reaper had come to claim his wretched soul. It didn’t scare him much; after all, he had long since accepted his meeting with death would come early in this job. He would have liked to work in the 141 longer than he had, however. He liked his teammates, liked Captain Price and his funny moustache and strong leadership, liked Gaz and his like minded humour and youthful honesty. He liked the big, scary Ghost, even if he hadn’t delved as deeply into the mysteries of that man as he wanted to.
The skull was talking to him.“I’m not the grim reaper, you overdramatic wanker.”
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Soap falls in love during a war that doesn't have room for such feelings.