Happy Tears

🥺🥺🥺 happy tears

Perfect Days

Summary: You and little Bumblebee are going to make sure Bucky has the best fathers day ever. It's what he deserves.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

WC: 2.3K

CW: None

AN: Part of the Bumblebee series. Unbetad.

Outside of this house, Bucky is a powerful man. Feared. Respected. People vie for his time and attention. He can command a room without effort. He's a brilliant businessman that has amassed more wealth in the past decade than his father ever did. An even better criminal, controlling the underworld in his territory with a vibranium fist. Cunning enough to turn a crumbling legacy into a formidable empire. 

Outside of this house, he has many titles. Pakhan. Friend. CEO. 

His most cherished titles are ones only a few have the privilege of knowing he possesses.

Your husband.

Her papa.

Inside this home, his reputation, status, and wealth don’t matter. It could all be taken away from him and he wouldn’t care as long as he had his girls.

Out of everything he has accomplished in his life, being your husband and her father are the ones he’s most proud of, the only ones that have meaning to him. You’ve smoothed his rough edges, molding him into a better version of himself. 

“Should we help her?” You yawn, resting your chin on his shoulder, voice thick and raspy from sleep. While Bucky was up the second the door handle jiggled, it took the door slamming shut three times to startle you awake.

Bucky reaches around, grabbing your hand in his, kissing your palm before resting it on his warm tattooed stomach. His bearded cheek lifts as a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Already offered,” he responds, shaking his head, amusement lacing his tone. “She said and I quote, I gots it, Papa. Thank you.” 

“Sound about right” you chuckle, pressing a kiss on his warm skin. "I don’t know who’s more stubborn, you or her.” 

Bucky isn’t sure either–he can’t deny that she inherited that stubborn trait from him, though. You both watch the door waver open again, a strand of light peeking through the crack. Bee grunts, mumbling dab it as she braces her small shoulder against the heavy wood. Mr. Tato pops through the space, rolling across the floor. 

She gets her leg inside next, sliding in sideways, the door pushing her chubby belly in. “Hi, Mommy. G’morning Papa,” She sings out as if she’s not trapped, you and Bucky exchanged bemused glances. This girl.

“Morning Bee. Oh careful –,” you reply, brows knitting when she stumbles through, falling on her knees. 

Bucky sits up, swinging his legs over the edgeof the bed, ready to go to her but she’s already on her feet, Mr. Tato in her hand. "You okay?"

“M’okay.” Her feet slap against the floor as she runs to the bed, launching herself at Bucky. “Happy Papa’s Day.” 

He catches her mid-air, her carefree giggles floating behind her as he falls back on the sheets, his head landing on the pillows. 

“You’re up early,” you remark, settling back, propping your chin on your palm. 

“Yeah–I was gonna waits for you to be done sleeping," she explains, shrugging, "but Mr. Tato was too excited for Papa’s day to waits anymore.”

Pushing away from him, she stands on his stomach, stretching her arms above her head, the dino dropping on the bed. Her pajama top rides up, exposing the corner of the jade-green construction paper she put under her shirt. 

“What are you hiding?” Bucky asks, smiling up at her.

"It's for you," she says, suddenly shy as she hands him the green construction paper. It's folded in two, slightly bent from her fight with the door.

There's an adorable drawing on the front, three stick figures in front of misshapen house, a large sun in one corner, a gren blog he assumes must be Mr. Tato in the other one. Happy Papa’s Day in your handwriting across the top.

His playful gaze finds yours, before he even opens his mouth you know what he’s about to do. “Did you make this for me? It’s gorgeous.” 

“Me papa,” Bee eagerly interjects. “I made it.” 

“I didn’t make it but whoever designed this must be a professional artist. Look at the lines, the use of color," you muse. Playing along, you take it from him, making a show of holding the card up.

This was her fifth attempt. She spent the better part of the morning yesterday in your studio, sitting at her little easel creating card after card until she had one she thought was perfect.

Bee’s gaze bounces between the two of you, her eyes widening. “Papa I mades it for you,” she repeats, plopping down on his stomach, waving her hand at him to get his attention. A smile brightens her face the second he turns to her. “You likes it?” 

Bucky grins warmly, pulling her in for a hug. “I love it Bumblebee, this is the best card anyone has ever given me. It’s going in my office.” 

“Tank you. And-and me and mommy gots you a ‘prise.” She says, glancing at you. “It’s a secret, right Mommy?” 

“Oh, what’s the secret?” Bucky asks, chuckling softly at your defeated sigh as Bee takes the bait. 

“We hid all your gifts, Papa. Everywhere. You has to find them.” She leans down, cupping her hands around her mouth, whispering, “if you wants, I can helps you.” 

You spend a few more minutes in bed, listening to Bee happily chatter away about her surprise Papa’s day plans, revealing every detail. Including the presents you bought him.

You can’t be too upset, she did keep everything a secret for an entire day.

It’s a new record for her and you’re proud of her growth.

Although at one point, you whisper to Bucky that he’s going to have to teach her what a secret is before she inherits his empire or at least make sure she knows all the countries with no extradition agreements. His resounding laughter echoed in the room, an oblivious Bee joining in. 

Bucky carries her back to her room to get her ready for the day. You take a quick shower, putting on one of Bucky’s favorite sundresses, the deep blue stunning against your complexion.

You’re strolling through her brightly lit room, stepping over the toys scattered across the carpet, pausing when you see her standing on the bathroom counter, Bucky behind her, attempting to smooth her hair down with his hands.

“I needs two buns Papa,” she requests, dancing in front of the mirror. She pats the sides of her head. “One here and here.”  

“I think I can do that,” he says, his face furrowed in concentration, carefully parting her hair.

Pulling out your phone, your heart kick starts into a wild rhythm in your chest as you see your mobster carefully do her hair. There’s a tender adoration in the way he treats her. He’s constantly reminding you why he’s such a great father. Your heart swells in your chest the longer you watch them, you continue to record, planning on sending it to Bunica and Tatiae later. 

Bucky glances over his shoulder, grinning at you as he finishes one slightly lopsided bun. “What do you think?” 

“I loves it,” Bee chimes in, beaming at her reflection. “So pwetty.” 

His brow raises expectantly, waiting for you opinion. “Perfect,” you softly murmur, your gaze on his face. “I love it too.”

The day goes by entirely too fast. The rest of the world ceases to exist. It’s only you, Bucky, and little Bee today. 

More moments captured on your phone.

Neither you nor Bee will forget the way his face lit up when you revealed you learned how to make his grandmother's Zacusca for his Father’s Day breakfast. The hours you spent on the phone with Bunica perfecting her recipe were worth it just to see his reaction. 

You’re glad you decided to hide his gifts around the house instead of giving them to him outright. This is more fun. Bee on his shoulders, guiding him from room to room, giggling uncontrollably as he pretends to not see the colorfully wrapped boxes, making a game of looking everywhere but where she's pointing.

 The sounds of her little voice—Papa it’s there, no no lookit, Papa. No, you has to look, wait, wrong way. That a shoe Papa, Mr. Tato didn’t eat your gifts, it’s not in his belly, no it's not, its right there. Mommy helps him pwease— fill the house. 

Bucky has just about everything, so you and Bee had to get creative. 

Cufflinks engraved with little bees were in the closet. Vintage Martell cognac and a set of decanters in his study. A special edition of the hobbit is in the library. Tickets to an upcoming classic car show for him and the guys hidden in one of his jackets. A set of custom-made knives on his office desk, next to a new Polaroid camera–that one was more for you than him and judging by the sly smirk he slid your way, he knows it as well. 

The warm summer air sweeps across your arms, your dress fluttering around your legs as you take another glance at his last surprise. It was Bee’s idea to watch a movie in the backyard and you figured this would be the perfect place for his last gifts.

You study the large canopy tent by your flowerbed, eyes roaming over strands of fairy lights wind around the poles, illuminating the inside. The last gift-wrapped box sits in the middle of the plush blanket, next to the open picnic basket. The bronze oranges and hazy pinks streaking through the soft blue sky illuminate the back of the movie projector. 

The patio doors slide open and you turn to see Bucky and Bee walking towards you. 

“Keep your eyes closed pwease.”Bee instructs, her hand clutching his ring adorned finger. Only a few people can tell the mobster what to do; his baby is at the top of that list. His lips twitch as he subtly peeks as she pulls him over to the front of the tent, smoothly avoiding a few obstacles the focused toddler doesn’t notice.

You sit in front of the basket, holding the last present. Bucky joins you, his shoulder touching yours, his arm coming around your side,  the clean scent of his cologne surrounding you. Bee climbs on his lap, her ballet shoes swaying back and forth. “Weady for one more ‘prise Papa?”

Bucky would have been happy to simply spend time with you and his daughter, however, her excitement is contagious. “I sure am, Bee.” 

“You’re going to love this,” you tell him, nudging him with your shoulder. You hand Bee the box and she opens it, revealing a photo album with the Barnes family crest etched on the smooth leather cover. 

You're right.

 He reverently picks it up, flipping through the pages. It starts with his grandparents and parents, his childhood pictures side by side with Bee’s baby pictures, wedding photos including the night you eloped, and the official ceremony.

The last one is from this Easter, he’s holding you, his hands on your waist, chin resting on your head while little Bee stands in front of you, arms raised as she flashes a toothy grin at the camera, her sweet, bubbly personality jumping off the page.

You plan on adding more memories to the pages until the photo album is bursting at the seams.

“Happy Father’s Day Bucky. Our sweet Bumblebee has had the best childhood because of you.” Shifting on your knees so you can cup his face in your hands.

“Sometimes I don’t think you realize how amazing you are. It’s not just the fact that you spent weeks learning how to do her hair, it’s the way you’re so patient with her." Stopping to collect your thoughts, you reflect on everything he's done.

"You'll stop whatever you’re doing whenever she needs you. It’s the way you talk to her, never raising your voice or speaking harshly. It’s the way you let her climb all over you,” you pause to smile down at Bee. “Even when she’s covered in sprinkles and you’re on your way to a meeting.” 

You lean in closer, resting your forehead on his. There’s so much more you want to say to him. His eyes are drawn to your face. You’re looking up at him with such love, that his breath hitches, his chest aches. 

“And its the way you always catch her when she runs towards him and that she doesn’t have a single doubt that you’ll let her hit the ground. Because she never has. I know you will make each day of her life better than the last. Because that’s what you’ve done with me. You’ve made our lives incredible. Thank you for being an amazing father to our little girl. Thank you for your unconditional love and support.”

Bucky’s speechless, a minuscule part of him never thought he’d deserve this, that he’d be like his father, that maybe a man like him wouldn’t make a good father. He’s not surprised that you knew exactly what to say to him, you've been perfect since the day he met you.

He doesn’t think there are enough words to express how much he loves the two of you, how much he needs you both.  

He has a lifetime to discover them.

For now, he's going to kiss you and give his daughter another hug.

As the movie starts and you move back to his side, right where you belong.

Bucky can't help but think about how before the two of you came into his life, Bucky could count the number of perfect days he had on one hand, but now, his life is full of them.

And for him, this has been a perfect day. 

Later

On your way inside the house, a soft smile tugs at your lips, you shrug off Bucky’s questioning look because unlike your baby you can keep a secret. In your bedroom, there’s one more gift, a small box on his pillow. He doesn’t know yet but whats inside is everything he has ever wanted.

Things are about to get interesting in the Barnes household.

Massive fuck you to everyone who is talking about Palestinians as if we’re already all dead and sharing more solidarity with our corpses than us living. “We will never forget the beautiful Palestinian people-“ how about you stop “making peace” with Palestinian extermination. My people are not going to be forgotten because we are going to live. Palestinians have already survived one genocide and have been surviving one ever since.

Do not ever let the idea that all Palestinians are going to die exist in your mind. Mourn the dead, fight like hell for the living.

in losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time)

BUCKY BARNES X FEM!READER

summary: when the avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of hydra was destroyed. one unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but bucky knows it. he could recognize those eyes anywhere.

warnings: heavy angst, one sided enemies-to-lovers-ish, hydra!assassin!reader, hurt/comfort, happy ending, brainwashing, trauma, guns & knives, fighting, implied kidnapping of reader when young, all the feels, misunderstandings, poor attempt at writing action

wc: 4.7k

a/n: sorry it’s been forever but i hope my fellow buckyluvrs are still here <3 i actually wrote this a long time ago but never got around to editing until recently so i guess you can say this is (from the vault) ? inspired by the idea: what-if there was another winter soldier and bucky finds himself in steve’s position this time trying to get you back to him. anyways, i hope you enjoy this one :)

Bucky’s life was a never ending montage of gunfire and bloodshed. It didn’t matter if he was under the clutches of someone else, he still lived through the wars—the lingering smell of smoke and tang of metallic forever ingrained in his senses.

And just when he thought it was finally over—a glimmer of peace at last—it comes and steals that dream away from him.

Like deja-vu, he’s looking at faces that were once responsible for his pain.

On the screen, three Hydra officers stare back at him. All faces identified by Tony’s system. Alive. Last seen in the outskirts of some small country in Europe. Irrelevant low ranking officials that had managed to survive the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D and have been hiding and secretly continuing Hydra’s mission underground ever since. Low officials or not, it was one too many.

Bucky freezes in his spot when Tony swipes the screen. The billionaire goes on a rant saying this particular face cannot be identified, which was according to Tony, bullshit because his face recognition system is the best in the world. The rest of the team is arguing and flipping through countless files and internet archives. But Bucky knows. He knows that face and those haunting eyes that he still sees in his dreams.

“Buck,” a voice calls out. “You know her, don’t you?”

He looks up at Steve from his spot, his best friend's face worried and all knowing.

One thing about Hydra was that they were always prepared. They had backups and multiple plans ready, or else how would two heads take its place when one was cut off? Unfortunately for the world, Hydra managed to make another deadly assassin, one whose work was so discreet and nimble that even intelligence didn't know they existed.

You were a ghost story that lived in the shadows of the Winter Soldier. You were another one of Hydra’s prize possessions—less known, but just as deadly.

With Steve’s comment, all eyes are now on Bucky. A pregnant pause fills the air and he gulps before he confesses, “I wasn’t the only one.”

The room becomes tense. The war that they thought was over suddenly looms over like an unpredicted oncoming storm. “Jesus Christ, Barnes. You couldn’t have informed us about her earlier?” says Tony.

“I thought,” he says, shifting his eyes onto the ground, “I thought she fell with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Bucky couldn’t find you anywhere after he escaped their grasp. After he joined the Avengers, he tried once again secretly using Tony’s technology but it was to no avail—it always ended up being a dead end. And for that, he assumed Hydra had put you out of your misery the day they were caught.

But the face on the screen says otherwise. And suddenly, Bucky feels very guilty.

Steve clears his throat, “Well, they were picked up not too long ago heading north. If we leave now, we might be able to find them and stop them once and for all.”

Everyone looks at each other, debating on his proposal. “What the Captain said. Everybody, suit up. Quinjet leaves in ten,” says Tony.

On the jet, Bucky stares off into space but countless questions run through his mind.

Steve walks over and sits beside him. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks, voice quiet.

Bucky sighs, “I just… I thought she was gone.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

He looks up, wondering if he should tell Steve the truth. That he’s not brooding about the fact that he concealed you to them. After a moment, Bucky speaks up. “When we get there, let me handle her. Please.”

Steve didn’t know what kind of history Bucky had with you. But judging from the look his best-friend is giving, it’s more than what Steve could understand or even comprehend but he trusts Bucky and so, he gives him a nod. “She’s all yours.”

After scouting the area and tracing the location to a very hidden underground warehouse in the middle of nowhere, they split up. The warehouse was dark and dusty, surely abandoned, but Bucky knew better—it was their facade behind the most sinister of activities. Through the comms, Natasha announces that she has already taken care of all the troops in the West wing. Moments later, Sam reports that he has eliminated one of the Hydra officers. They wouldn’t last long. Hydra didn’t have much resources or time to rebuild—their current empire was weak, they were no match for the Avengers this time.

The only person Bucky’s truly worried about is you. The fact that he trained you, made you into what you were today already gave him the chills. He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore, but he was certain that you were still in that killer mindset that Hydra forced upon you.

Step by step, Bucky walks through the quiet hallway, the echoes of his footsteps the only noise. It’s cold here, he notices, which gives him flashbacks to those days in his dirty cell and the cryostasis chamber. Down a hallway to the next, round a corner and another, there wasn’t a single soul in the eerily Eastern wing.

But he spoke too soon, because seconds later, a garrote wire was around his neck. The swift invisible steps and the perfect pressure that was being used to quickly cut off his air supply was all too familiar. He knows this move, he taught this move. You’re here, and you’re dragging him backwards.

Before all oxygen gets cut off to his brain, he jabs his elbow backwards and hits you hard on the rib which releases the hold you have on him and sends you stumbling back. Bucky takes a moment to regain his breath but you’re on your feet again. He looks at you and for a moment he freezes, then you let out a sinister grin. “Nice to see you again, Soldat,” you taunt, before running towards him.

Bucky’s deflecting your punches one after another. Maybe he’s glad he was the one who taught you everything you know because your moves were predictable—if it were another person, there is no doubt they would’ve been on the ground with multiple concussions bleeding out already. You’re ruthless when you do a triple roundhouse kick on him. On the fourth one, he manages to catch your leg and twists it, sending you to the ground with a groan.

How familiar this scene was, Bucky thinks.

Some forty-years ago, Hydra brought a woman into the training room. There was no further instruction than to train you and that’s what he did. He could tell you were well trained already—compliant and pliable. You were good. And you were just like him, injected with a serum that made you a hundred times more efficient and stronger. In just under a year, Hydra would start sending you on missions. Sometimes with him, sometimes alone.

During training, the both of you would spar for hours, leaving each other bloody and bruised, but it didn’t matter to the overlookers, the both of you would heal in a few hours anyways.

Once you pick yourself back up, he pulls a gun out on you. “Stop this,” he commands.

You smirk, “You going to shoot me, Soldat? I want to see you try.”

He clenches his jaw. You continue to look at him, a dark look on your face that shows no sign of true recognition.

His thoughts are disrupted when you tackle him onto the ground. You kick his gun away and pin his arms down as you straddle him. “I’m going to kill you,” you declare, “I’m going to put a bullet through your head.”

When he looks up at you, your eyes are full of rage. Bucky doesn’t know whether that’s the brainwashed version of you talking or the actual you talking—maybe both.

“What are you going to do after you kill me?” he says, irritated. C’mon, please recognize me. “This is all that remains of Hydra. Half the troops are already dead. One of your new leaders is dead. In a few hours, Hydra will be no more. What will you do after that? What are you going to do after you kill me?”

“What does it matter? You’re my mission. I’m going to finish it.”

He groans at your stubbornness that was identical to his Soldier persona.

He says your name slowly. “Get off. You can walk away from this.”

You frown, but he continues, “I know how you feel. You’re feeling helpless.” He clears his throat, “There’s someone behind this version of you. I want to talk to her.”

“What are you talking about?” you utter in annoyance. “Stop stalling.”

He says that name again, with calamity and care. You want to rip out his tongue.

“Let me talk to her. Please.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” you shout, grabbing for the gun that’s strapped onto your waist. “Stop talkin–”

“I was in the cell next to yours. You liked the colour green. You were wearing white when we first met. You always wanted to visit Bucharest. You hated the leaky cold showers in the Siberian facility,” he rambles, trying to remember every single thing about you in a desperate attempt to get your attention so this version of you won’t shoot him in the face.

And for a moment, it works because your hand freezes on the grip of your gun. He takes that moment to flip you over, so you’re under him now, hands pinned above your head. He takes your gun and throws it behind him.

You snarl at him while trying to escape his grasp. “I know you’re under there,” he says. “Please, come through. Please talk to me.”

Your face scrunches in pain, not from him—he would never hurt you—but from the mental warfare that’s currently going on in your mind. You close your eyes as he speaks again. “Listen to my voice, you know me, don’t you? мой милая.”

My darling.

For a moment, your entire body tenses up and then you let out a painful breath. When your eyelids start to flutter open, he finally sees the eyes he came to know and rely on—eyes he came to love.

The both of you are looking at each other unblinking. A scene neither of you expected but always dreamt about.

You break the silence with a whisper of, “James?”

Bucky slowly nods at your disbelief. Finally, he thinks. But such respite doesn’t last long, because seconds later, you hook your foot under his and flip him over and escape his grasp.

There's darkness in your eyes and he can tell that the Soldate is back and the fighting resumes.

You’re chasing him down the twisting hallway and when you catch up, you grab his shoulder and throw a punch to his jaw. He stumbles back and then a voice comes through the comms.

“Just took down the second one.” Steve. “Bucky, how are you holding up? You’ve been quiet ever since we split up.”

He’s trying his best to block your hand, which now has a damn pocket knife. Your quick movements are starting to tire him out. Maybe he taught you too well, he thinks.

“Buck? Bucky. Confirm your status, right now.”

Groaning in frustration, he taps his earpiece. “I’m fine,” he grunts. A second later, “Shit!” he huffs out as you nearly slice his face.

“You don’t sound fine. Is she with you? I’m sending back up.”

“No!” he says, “Don’t send anyone. I can handle her.”

In truth, he’s struggling right now—your stamina has always been better than his—but he’s worried that you’re going to accidentally get hurt and even more agitated when people appear. His main priority was keeping you safe. Fuck the mission statement they talked about back on the Quinjet.

You’re angry—no, you’re extremely angry at him. It doesn’t take a genius to tell. It’s a mixture of pure rage from both the brainwashed and actual you.

He supposed he deserved it. You should be angry. Because for the longest time, it was you and him.

Other than turning you into a ruthless assassin just like him, an unexpected companionship also formed during those hazy in-between moments when the two of you weren’t frozen or on the metal chair getting fried by those machines—during the times when he was just Bucky and you were just you, two unfortunate innocent souls that shared the same suffering.

They weren’t pleasant moments. It was dehumanising. It was getting shoved into draughty cells with nothing but a blanket until it was time to train or time to embark on a mission. Luckily, your cells were next to each other and it made the endless nights a little more bearable. He was a little off-putting at first, but when he yelled at you to stop crying because they would torture you even more for it, you knew he meant well.

During your shared time together, glimpses of your true selves would seldom come up and you would tell each other about the little bits and pieces of a life once known. And the both of you would hold onto each other's memories and stories in case the other forgets.

And whenever they prep the two of you for the chamber due to there being no current missions for the time being, the two of you would look at each other—a look of longing with the secret squeezing of each other's hand before going under.

Despite the absolute awful situation the two of you were in at the time, the both of you were hopeful for the next shared moments together. Because even when all hope was gone, you had each other. And that was good enough for the two of you.

He misses you. So damn much.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

He didn’t even realise he said it outloud. “Well, I do,” he admits, his back hitting a wall.

“You talk too much, Soldat,” you say, creeping up on him. “I ought to cut your throat.”

“I’m sorry I left you with them.”

You halt in your steps and your jaw ticks. In a second, you pounce on him, your knife against his throat. He’s gripping your hand to stop you from continuing your job.

He says your name again. You’re pushing but he’s pushing back just as hard. “I’m sorry…” he repeats, “I’m so sorry.”

The desperation in his voice… You glance up at him slowly and he sees the pink forming in your eyes and your trembling lips. “What are you doing? What are you doing to me?” you whisper.

He sees the internal war behind your eyes once again. Bucky gulps for a moment before letting go of your hand, trusting that you won’t do any actual harm, and moves his hands so he’s cupping your face, firm enough so you’re forced to look at him. You look into his eyes for a second, then a minute, and for a moment, everything stops. Your breath hitches, because those eyes… those arctic blues… you know them. You fell in love with them many years ago.

A realisation washes over your face, one that Bucky doesn’t miss. You’re back.

The first tear falls. Then the second. “Bucky.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers.

You let out a small cry before you press the blade harder against his neck, your grip a vice from his betrayal. He could feel the sharp cold metal pierce through his skin ever so slightly, but he doesn’t try and stop you.

“Give me a reason to not kill you right now,” you grit through tears. “You left me. You left me behind to rot alone. You promised me. You fucking promised,” you say, voice laced with venom and so much hurt.

Bucky’s heart breaks at the sadness of your voice. Because he did promise. There wasn’t much to do in the cells other than throw around false hope. But whenever he told you he was going to escape one day and that he was going to take you with him—it didn’t feel like false promises at all because it wasn’t, and you knew it too.

Until he broke that promise and left you all alone.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to leave you there with them.”

“I waited for you,” you cry. “Day and night I waited for you to come back. Even when they relocated, I waited for you because I knew you’d find me.”

You remember that day clearly. Everyone was in a frenzy when the death of Alexander Pierce broke out and that they could not locate the Soldat. For a moment, you could taste your own freedom because government officials would come anytime now and finally arrest all these criminals. But right when they came, a few Hydra officers managed to escape and took you with them, and when you woke up, you didn’t know where the hell you were. But even then you didn’t lose hope because James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, the name you committed to memory, was going to come for you just like he promised.

Until days, months, and eventually, a year came with no sign of him.

You were angry at first, but it slowly turned into worry because what if something bad had happened to him? But what do you know? You were stuck in this building and only went out whenever they spoke those trigger words to you. And you were always under their watchful eyes, giving you no chance to even attempt an escape. Surely he would never break his promise to you so something must’ve happened to him, you told yourself multiple times.

But he was standing here right in front of you. Alive. We’re under attack, your handler said to you moments ago, Kill the Soldat before he kills you.

“You’re a liar. You never cared about me,” you hiss.

Sometimes, it got too much. But whenever reality was a bit too hard to endure, Bucky was there, always reaching his hand out to you through the metal cage, which you took and held tight. And it meant the world to you, that someone cared.

“All those moments, did it even mean anything to you?”

He uses this opportunity to pull your arms down slightly, knife finally away from his neck and his eyes start to sting from his own tears. “They meant everything to me. I care about you.”

You look up at him with a defeated expression and Bucky never wanted to punch himself in the face more. “Then why? Why didn’t you come back for me?”

“I did,” he chokes out. “When I escaped, the first thing I did was go back for you, but the facility had already been raided and there was no one there. I checked every inch of the building.”

Bucky had never felt so scared, because what if the government took you too? They would never understand—framing you as a villain even though that was far from the truth. But there was no news of your capture, so with a breath of relief, Bucky continued to look through other known Hydra facilities.

“I tried my best looking for you, but I also had to be careful because I was a wanted man at the time. When months passed by and there were no clues, I thought that maybe you had escaped. I was in Bucharest waiting for you. Remember how you said you always wanted to go there? I knew that if you escaped, you’d find me there. Even when you didn’t show, I never gave up. Steve… I think I told you about him once—he found me, he helped me and cleared my name. After that, I still searched for you but it all ended up being dead ends. And…” he pauses for a moment, “and so I thought you were dead. I should’ve tried harder. I’m sorry.”

He had mourned you and blamed himself endlessly for it.

He knows he should’ve asked for help, but instead, he took this task upon himself until it got too much—because that was the one thing he struggled with the most, asking for help.

When his side of the story finally comes to light, you break into a sob. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says, “but please, drop the weapon and let me help you.”

You swallow hard at his confession. He never stopped looking for you. You didn’t even consider how hard it must’ve been for him after everything and yet you’re lashing out on him.

“How are you going to help me?” you say. “I’m a mess. All you have to do is say those words and I turn into a weapon.”

Twelve. Ember. Fragment. Nine. Academy. Order. Frigid. Yearning. Blue.

Those were your trigger words.

“I got you out of your trance, didn’t I?” he says with a gentle smile.

Hydra needed you to rebuild their empire and they relied on those nine words to do so. To them, those nine words were your greatest weakness but one of them, the last one, the one they liked to spit out in vexation, was also your greatest strength—your salvation.

Blue.

You think back, moments prior, when all he had to do was use his voice and all you had to do was look into the blues of his eyes. Hydra can repeat those words all they want, but Bucky would always be able to bring you back.

At that, your grip relaxes and the knife finally drops onto the floor, it’s noise ricocheting off the walls.

“There’s a place called Wakanda and I know someone there who can help you. Her name’s Ayo and she’s amazing. She helped me overcome my words.”

He brings his hands back up to cradle your face and you shutter at the familiar touch—at the calluses on his palms. “And I think you’ll like it there. It’s quiet and there’s so much… green.”

You let out a small laugh through your tears but doubt still fills your mind. “But… all the things I did,” you whimper, “I did such terrible unforgivable things. There’s… there’s so much blood on my hands.”

Sadness flares around his heart. It was all so familiar. He knows the feeling.

“It’s not going to be easy. God knows how long it took for me to believe that none of it was my fault. But let me be the first one to tell you,” he says, wiping your tears away with his thumb. “None of what you did was your fault. You were a victim.” He swallows a deep breath, “There are going to be days where it’ll be too much too bear and there are going to be nights where all those casualties will haunt you,” he admits. “But… but you’ll get there. Someday, you’ll learn to stop punishing yourself for something you didn’t do.”

And he vows that he’ll help you every step of the way.

You breathe out slowly, digesting all his words. “You can trust me,” he tells you, “I won’t let you down this time. I’ll be here.”

Blinking up at him, the small hesitant part of you so desperately wanted to say, “How can I trust you?” but his eyes were telling you everything you needed to know. Because it was filled with nothing but honour and truth.

He breaks away from you and reaches out his hand. An invitation. You stare at it for a while, then you slowly lift yours and brush your fingers amongst his before grabbing it tightly—a truce of sorts, a promise. He squeezes back in return, a loving smile on his face, just like all those nights many moonlights ago.

Your breath hitches when he pulls you into his embrace, your face burying perfectly into the valley of his chest. He wraps his arms around you in urgency, in fear, almost afraid you’ll slip out if he doesn’t.

“It’s over,” he mumbles into your hair.

Because two floors down an explosion erupts, finishing off the last remaining garrison of troops. Three hallways down, Natasha sets fire to a room that contained the other small red leather book that held those nine suffocating words written in Russian. Outside, the last Hydra officer attempting to flee falls to his knees from an arrow to the chest. And the only hope they had left to rebuild their regime was safely in Bucky’s arms.

He pulls away and uses his thumb to rub gently across your cheek, “It’s over. The war is finally over.”

Now that the worst is over, Bucky’s hopeful. There will be other conflicts to come, that was just how it worked, but this one, the one that held you and him underwater for years was finally over. War always took too much, but this time, it gave something back. Because among the ashes and ruins you came back to him, no more oceans in between.

“What do we do now?” you press nervously. You were taken at a young age and spent years in the Red Room before you were sold off to Hydra. Like Bucky, you’re in the wrong time period, there’s no one to go back to.

There’s so many things you could do, Bucky thinks. You can finally start living the life you deserved, the life that was taken from you too early. He’ll have to explain all this to his teammates but he knows they’ll understand. They treated him so well, there’s no doubt they’ll show the same kindness for you. Then, he’ll go with you to Wakanda, get rid of the words, maybe stay there for a while so you could heal—maybe show you the goats he took care of during his time there.

You’ll probably adjust to the 21st century better than him—you won’t need to start off with a flip phone, that’s for sure. He’ll make you listen to all the great records and watch all the movies you missed out on. There’s so many things he wanted to do with you. He knows you have no memories, no recollection. It didn’t matter, Bucky thinks, he would make new memories with you, ones worth cherishing and remembering. If you’ll have him, of course.

But first and most importantly, “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Then we can talk about it,” he says, rubbing the grime off your nose.

He grabs your hand and heads for the exit. But before he does, you pick up your knife from the floor and in one quick motion, you spin around and throw it. The knife embeds itself into the wall a few metres away, right next to a prying face. You stand in front of Bucky and stare at the intruder with a murderous gaze and Bucky’s heart races at the thought of you still wanting to protect him after everything.

The blond raises his arms up in surrender.

“Steve,” Bucky says from behind and you briefly recognize that name. You turn around to look at him and he meets your eyes, nodding. You relax your stance.

“Hi,” Steve says, voice slightly hoarse. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Bucky scoffs at him, as if he wasn’t eavesdropping the whole time.

Steve looks at the both of you, then a gentle smile adorns his face. “C’mon, the rest are waiting outside for you both.”

You step forward. This is it. Freedom. A new life. Bucky notices your hesitation as you suddenly stop in your tracks. Intertwining his fingers with yours, he squeezes with reassurance. You take a deep breath, then the two of you follow Steve to the exit, leaving behind the smoke and memories of your old life.

Outside, the sun comes up slowly but surely on the horizon, painting the awakening sky a gentle warm hue of oranges and pinks.

A new beginning awaits.

Disney Princesses and Dog Tags

OMG YESSS this is so cute

Bucky x single mom reader, Peter 

Warnings: Fluffy fluffy, smutty smutty, a little angst, misunderstandings, Bucky is the sweetest thing in the world. 

The ending is a little rushed cause I’ve been struggling to write but I hope you still enjoy reading! <3 

Keep reading

truly do not understand how people just slip into relationships and jobs and opportunities and friend groups and lifestyles. to me there are a million obstacles to navigate in a single basic conversation

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Found Waldo- B. Barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: does this suck?? help i fell asleep and i'm trying to post it again about: request!! bucky lookinf dor you in the crowd after a big win flirting and football

Bucky’s in the antenatal period of exhaustion, where adrenaline still thrums hard enough beneath his skin to forgo approaching aches and embrace the fresh scent of torn grass. Everything is glossy and idealized after a win; the air crisper, audience roar quieter but just as powerful.

He pants meters away from the goal, still reeling from the hum of the buzzer, the toe of his cleat still prickly warm from the ball. As has become routine, his focus moves from the game to the stands, eyebrows pulling as he searches a particular square of the stadium for his jacket wrapped around your shoulders.

It was a big game. It’s an even bigger win. He can already foresee how excited you’ll be.

His scouring is interrupted by his teammates’ noisy celebration, still far away but not for long. They’re louder than the audience but he can’t help but keep glancing back at the aisles, taken aback when he sees an empty space next to Wanda.

She catches his attention and points an emphatic arm down below to the lowest part of the stands, where you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet in the delighted dance you tend to do each time he scores. His chest hurts at the smile he can see from where he stands, the bright paint smeared across your cheeks wrinkling with them.

He raises a thumb to his nose, pushing into one side as nonchalantly as habit has allowed.

He’s far away and tiny but you catch the movement, eagerly mirroring his actions all the way from your place behind the railings, your movements far more frenetic than his. Your finger lingers, climbing down to your chest, pressing stoutly as a complement to the gesture. The distance does nothing to blur his beam, a leg shifting in your direction.

He doesn’t notice his teammates sprinting toward him in all directions like an overjoyed ambush. You can spot Steve tugging him by the shoulders and Pietro bouncing to his other side. Bucky blinks in shock but recovers quickly, accepting praise and joining celebration.

He’s as ecstatic as they are but his face never strays from your direction for too long, nodding along to something Sam says before glancing back at you.

When someone else turns to him, Bucky stops him as courteously as he can, squeezing his shoulder. “Can you give me a second?” he asks, already backing away. “Just a sec,” he promises.

You see him hold up a finger, his attention finally fully on Clint before he spins around and takes off toward you. You wonder if he’s insane as you realize what he’s doing, leaning over the metal bars to check how high up you are.

He has to look up to see you when he gets close enough, and he watches you drop to the floor and begin to force one of your arms out between the railings to touch him. “Bucky,” he hears you say. "Babe, that was—”

He doesn’t let you finish, taking ahold of a rail and pulling himself up. You pull your arm back in surprise, staring at him in bewilderment. “What are you doing?”

He winks at you from below, climbing until his hands can reach your face when you stand. His eyebrow quirks up, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “So, how’d I do?” he asks, cheeky.

You stare at him for a second, gaze thoughtful and brows creased. You don't try to mask it when you decide on your reaction, lips contorting into as restrained a smile as you could want to manage. "You were spectacular. I have never been more alert at a football game."

"I know," he says surrepticiously. "You called me babe," he whispers, eyes widening in theatric shock. "I've never heard you say it without disgust before, you must be really proud."

You roll your eyes through incredulous laughter, shaky fingers pulling stray hair away from his eyes. "I am," you profess gently, letting them trail all the way down to his ears, pulling him closer as gently as you can. "I can't believe you found me. I guess all those Find Waldo books your mom said you were obsessed with paid off, huh?" you tease, cocking your chin to flash the lined paint. "That's actually why I did stripes."

"Prettiest Waldo I've ever found," he tells you.

You wrinkle your nose and boo. "I would never forgive you for that if I wasn't so excited right now."

He laughs, dipping down to kiss you. "That wasn't too bad. I could do worse."

“Yeah, I know,” you tell him, chiding and sweet all at the same time when you press another to his lips.

He doesn’t let you pull away too fast. “One more,” he pleads, fingers aching to touch your skin but reluctant to stain it. He’s close enough to catch every little movement of your face, utterly grateful that he knows you well enough to recognize the way your face creases is to hide your lashes pinching in surrender. “Please?”

You cock your head at him in disbelief. “I’m not falling for it,” you tell him.

“I know,” he says.

“I’m not,” you insist, brushing your nose against his when you kiss him again.

You're not, you think. Weakly.