the bucky barnes’ secret wife trope (ex-avenger!reader)
my first time (sort of) writing for bucky ♡ 1957 words
"Doll?" Bucky calls out once he steps into the house. It comes out gruff.
Clearing his throat, he makes a strong attempt at softening his voice. He wants to sound sweeter for you, like you always try to be with him.
He takes his wedding ring from the table — where he left it in the morning — and slips it onto his ring finger. The vibranium of his hand immediately connects with the ring. "Thank you, Shuri," you hum sometimes when you trace the shape of it in bed.
“In here!” you call back from the kitchen. Despite the new situation he’s found himself in, he relaxes at the sound of your voice.
All the tension from the afternoon slowly dissipates from his body when he sees you with your hair up and a bit of flour on your apron.
“What are you doing home so early?” You look up when he rounds the corner, frowning when you spot the dirt covering his clothes. “I thought you were working all day, baby.”
“I was… long story,” he says casually before pointing at your chopping board. “You’re cooking? What are you making?”
His voice is suddenly a little too light, you recognise it immediately. It’s the voice he uses to put you at ease before he tells you some news that won’t make you very happy. You see right through him but you play along anyway.
“Apple pie,” you say, matching his tone as you tilt your head suspiciously.
“Really?” he says before making his way behind you. He dips his finger into the jar of honey in front of you, bringing it to his lips and humming at the taste.
“James, that’s disgusting,” you scold, swatting at his hand. He grins.
You eye him cautiously when he draws nearer. The soft sound of metal whirring fills your ear as he wraps his arms around your from behind. He works at the knot of your apron until it's untied. He pulls it off over your head before smoothening the shirt you're wearing underneath.
He brushes your hair to the side and places a gentle kiss to the side of your neck, then he mumbles against your skin.
“Have I mentioned how much I love you?”
A smile sneaks its way onto your face but you settle your lips into a thin line before he can see. You huff out an incredulous laugh.
“Have I mentioned how bad you are at buttering me up?”
He isn’t surprised that you've figured him out. Perks of being married to an ex-spy, he supposes. Though, it may just be a wife thing.
He simply chuckles, tucking his head into your shoulder.
“I think I’m pretty good at it,” he murmurs low in your ear. To his credit, you do almost melt. Almost.
You frown, putting down the knife and turning to face him.
“Do you remember talking about missing fighting last night?” he says, bringing a hand up to your face.
You grab it and push it away, not letting him distract you.
“No? We were in bed and I was using my metal—”
“James,” you warn, he purses his lips.
“Don’t honey me and spit it out,” you narrow your eyes.
He opens his mouth, about to charm you or soothe your potential anger a little more, before sighing.
“Will you come with me?” He tilts his head to the other room. You nod, letting him guide you.
“If you got another cat without telling me, I’m going to…”
The end of your sentence dwindles off when you spot four battered (and slightly bloody) soldiers sitting on your couch.
One of whom is John Walker.
You tense immediately. Your first instinct is to wring his neck, your hand clenches by your side.
You turn to see your husband standing next to you with a tired — but unsurprised — look on his face.
“James?” you mumble in a daze, keeping your eyes locked on the strangers in your living room. “What is this?”
James? John mouths with a deep frown to a brunette girl next to him, she hits him hard on the arm without even looking at him. You decide at the very least that you like her, for now.
“Meet the — what did you call yourselves again?” Bucky says, closing his eyes and punching the bridge of his nose. Nursing an oncoming migraine, probably.
You take his flesh hand in yours, placing pressure on the Hegu point in an attempt to relieve some of his pain. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the soldiers, an older man’s eyes widen as he nudges a blonde woman not very subtly.
“We’re not, like, a team or anything—” John starts before being cut off by the older man.
“We are the Thunderbolts!” he says proudly when no one else is willing to supply a name. He even pumps his fist in the air to punctuate it, narrowly missing the Blonde woman's head. You suppress a snort. Cute, they're like a soccer team.
“No, Alexei, we are not called—”
“Meet the Thunderbolts,” Bucky says, turning to you, very much resembling a tired dad. Under different, less confusing, circumstances, you’d tease him for it.
John cuts him off, your old superhero alias slipping from his lips. It sounds a little too condescending coming from him. He — like most of the world — seems to know who you are. Well, were.
The name makes you feel uneasy. It takes you right back to some darker times. You furrow your brows, body tensing. You hate that your body reacts like this still, like an obedient soldier at everyone’s beck and call.
Bucky catches your change in mood and squeezes your hand. He glares at John.
“Yeah, well, we know who she is,” John says then he shuffles to face you. “What are you doing here? Is this some sort of retired Avengers safe house or something?”
“If it was, you wouldn't be welcome,” you say dryly, in no mood for pleasantries with this poor excuse of a man.
John scoffs, seemingly baffled by your clear one-sided hatred towards him.
“This is my house, she's my wife,” Bucky says simply and coldly. You blink at him in shock. So much for secrecy.
“You’re married?” the brunette woman says, eyes wide as a bug. It seems the only thing these four have in common right now is their surprise over the information.
You roll your eyes, not answering out of sheer pettiness, at the same time Bucky says, "August 23rd, 2024."
You look over at him in slight surprise, affection and warmth filling you at the pride that seeps through his cold voice. His eyes dart over to yours, softening as well.
“You've been married to her for three years?” John says incredulously, breaking the moment between you and Bucky. You turn back to him in annoyance. He's a little slow, it seems.
He points at you, you're about to bite his finger off. “Where the hell were you during the whole Flag Smashers thing, then?”
“There were bigger fish to fry. New York’s not the only city constantly under attack,” you snark. “Those other cities don’t have Sam and Bucky to save your ass, you’re lucky they were free to babysit you-”
You feel Bucky’s hand make its way to the small of your back, you sigh and stand down.
Before John can retort, you turn to your husband.
“What the hell is going on?”
“So much for retirement,” you huff, crossing your arms.
He’s just explained everything to you as quickly as possible and, frankly, you’re having trouble wrapping your head around it. All these names and new information circle around your head.
Familiar ones like Valentina and Yelena stay at the forefront. You remember quieter days in the old Avengers Tower where Natasha used to tell you stories about her life before the Red Room and her psuedo family. Your heart aches a little for Yelena at the reminder of the sister you both lost.
New ones like Sentry and Bob (?) fly over your head.
Still, by now, you’re used to having to think quickly. Especially in any business regarding assassins and super soldiers. Especially when said assassins and super soldiers are still in your living room while you hide out in your bedroom with your husband.
“You’re sure you want to risk so much to help them?” you murmur. You don’t just mean his new political career, this could very much derail his mental state and send him reeling again. You sigh inwardly. All this work to keep him out of war just for him to put himself right back on the frontlines.
That's your husband, you suppose. As much as he grumbles about it, he can't help but help people.
Whatever he decides, you have his back one hundred percent and he knows that. You just want to make sure he’s willing to risk this new, safe life the two of you were building, far away from all of this.
“It’s not just about saving them,” he says. “I can’t let Valentina get away with her corrupt bullshit.”
You smile a little, it’s times like these you remember who your husband is. Your smile falters a little when you hear arguing coming from the living room.
“How can you be so sure they’re… good?” you murmur.
He touches your face gently, eyes fixated on yours.
“Because Steve was right about us.”
The crease between your brows relax, your eyes full of knowing.
Maybe it's a terrible idea, one that could jeopardise everything. So much for trying out that "life" Steve and Tony talked about. It seems you’ll never escape what’s so deep in your bones, though.
You nod once and he lets out a breath of relief.
“Did you really have to bring them here?” you say in a hushed voice. He kisses your pouty lips, chaste and apologetic.
“I’m sorry, doll, I didn’t know anywhere else safe,” he replies honestly.
Your eyes soften. He’s right, this is a safe place. Maybe the only one in New York far away from aliens and terrorists. It's your home.
“You’re gonna have to help me reach my suit,” you gesture to the box tucked away at the very top of your wardrobe.
He grins and nods. You bring your hand to the dog tags around his neck.
“I guess we’re doing this again,” you murmur.
“Guess so,” he says, looking down at you.
You bring your hand up to the side of his face, your thumb gently rubbing the deep bags under his eyes.
“After this, we’re taking a real vacation,” you say. “No more Congressman Barnes, just the Bahamas and sleep.”
“Nope, no Bahamas,” he shakes his head. “I hate the beach.”
You furrow your brows. “What do you mean you hate the beach?”
“It’s too sunny and the sand gets everywhere,” he grumbles, you roll your eyes.
“You’re such an old man,” you say.
He turns his head away from you in annoyance and you laugh, tilting his head back to you.
“Fine, after this, we can take a nice, nowhere-near-the-beach, staycation,” you coax, interlocking your hands. One hand of yours touches his flesh and the other touches cold metal.
Your wedding rings clink together. You see it happen, the way he melts — his hands grasp yours, his look turns tender. You tiptoe and kiss the corner of his mouth. “Deal?”
He shifts his head slightly to kiss you properly.
When he pulls away, his eyes flicker between yours. The sound of arguing outside sounds distant with his deep blue eyes on yours.
sorry if he’s a little out of character… i haven’t written for him in a longgg time (we're talking quarantine times, before this blog — look at me going back to my marvel roots !!)
