Mostly short one shots covering Bucky Barnes in different situations and AUs, from the 1940s to the present. Some will be soft, some dark, and some hopefully humorous.
Previously published on Tumblr. All MCU characters are the intellectual prope...
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Content warning: Contains reference to previous sexual assault and alcohol abuse.
It had been two days since I brought the woman and her daughter, victims of domestic abuse by her mobster husband, to the safe house. Two days since I was ordered to keep going while the Avengers confronted his posse of men who were tracking us. Two days since I last wondered how I ended up as an agent with the Avengers. It certainly wasn't something I set out to do when I answered a cryptic ad that persistently showed up on my cell phone, asking only three questions.
DO YOU LIKE YOUR JOB? IS IT FULFILLING? DO YOU WISH YOU WERE DOING SOMETHING MEANINGFUL? IF YOU ANSWERED NO, NO, AND YES, YOU MAY BE THE PERSON WE NEED!
CLICK HERE IF YOU WISH TO KNOW MORE.
Yeah, stupid drunk me clicked on the hyperlink and two days later (is there something about two days that just follows me?) Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes showed up at my door. Even that wasn't technically true, as I was outside my apartment, had just put the key into the lock and opened the door when I realized that something wasn't right. As a single woman I was pretty aware of my surroundings, so the sight of a pair of black, scuffed combat boots and a pair of pull-on work boots lined up neatly on the mat inside my door led me to believe I wasn't alone. I didn't feel like I was in danger, because honestly, what thief or murderer would take his footwear off and put it on the mat? But, living alone, I also knew not to take any chances, so I reached inside the closet to get my aluminum baseball bat so that I had a weapon handy, except, it wasn't there.
"I have your bat," said a man's voice, coloured by a Brooklyn accent. "We're not here to hurt you but we also don't want you to hurt us."
I stayed in the doorway, not answering and definitely not moving.
"Told you we should have called first," said another voice, also male, but warmer in tone, with a hint of the south in his accent. "You have to admit that breaking into the apartment of a single woman sets off all sorts of warning bells."
"So, sue me," answered the first man. "I want to know how she reacts to a strange situation. Will she threaten us with calling the police without assessing the scene first? Or will she walk in, prepared to react if she must, and find out why two strange men have broken into her apartment, taken their boots off and left them on the mat inside her door?"
"What if she's armed?" asked the second man. "I know you can dodge the bullets."
"You brought the shield, so you're safe, too," said the first. "If she shoots first and asks questions later then she hasn't passed the test. You have to change things up, Sam. This isn't a typical job interview."
Shield? Sam? Job interview? What the actual ...? I stepped out of the doorway to at least see who was talking.
