You're Gonna Go Far
Pairing: FoundFather!Bucky x Daughter!Reader
@livramentosgirl this is for you! <3
WC: ~3k
Warnings: nothing much there's mostly fluff, bit of angst in the flashback
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This is normal conversation, babe
It’s all fine
Making quiet calculations where the fault lies
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You took a sip of your water and watched the other girls do some cool-down stretches. Practice had just finished and everyone was knackered. You were captain of the squad, and you had worked them hard today. World championships were just two weeks away.
You had competed in worlds four times since you were eleven, but you’d only won once. Now, you were seventeen, and this was one of your last chances to compete. You constantly rotated girls in and out of your squad – you'd been captain for almost three years now and you knew what kept the team running – but some girls had been there since the beginning.
You watched one of your best flyers perfecting a stunt with her two bases and a back spot. You intensely studied her form in her liberty. It was as close to perfection as you could get. At least, that’s what you thought. The girls trusted your judgement and knew you would never sugar-coat their quality to them. If something was wrong, you told them and you instructed them on how to fix it.
You nodded at the flyer as she walked off with her parents. You dismissed all the other girls and they all exited by their parents’ sides. You helped pack up the last of the equipment with your coaches. They thanked you for the assistance but told you to go home and get some rest.
You grabbed your gym bag from the changing rooms and pulled out your phone. 5:45. It was Thursday which also meant it was yours and Bucky’s turn to cook dinner. You quickly jogged out to the parking lot and into your car. You turned the radio to a station playing some slow indie songs and pulled out of the lot onto the street. The drive home was quiet and while you hummed along to the music you thought about everything you would need to go over in practice tomorrow.
You only had 8 practices plus one extra tumbling clinic for you and your fellow tumblers before you left for Los Angeles for the world competition. Everyone had the routine down cold; every step and skip, every jump and twist. Everything was choreographed and drilled to perfection. The thing was that every team would be like that. They would also have rehearsed and practiced for over a year on their unique routines, so yours had to stand out.
You could remember countless times you’d vented or brainstormed ideas with Bucky (more like you just rattled off cheer terms he probably never understood but nodded along anyway). You smiled thinking about all the competitions where your nerves had been settled instantly by finding Bucky’s loving eyes in the crowd. Bucky was the strongest support you had in this world. All the other girls relied on their parents to comfort them when they fell, or to ease their anxiety before performances. You didn’t have parents – you had something better.
Bucky.
You were wandering aimlessly around the city when he found you. Not Bucky, but Steve Rogers. It was just after the Chitauri attack. Your apartment building had collapsed and you had somehow survived.
You were only seven years old, and watched your parents get crushed by rubble right in front of your eyes. You were crying and sniffling with your arms tucked in front of your stomach, looking for someone who could help you. You heard some metal clashing and talking from around the corner so you took your chances.
You saw Captain America and Iron Man trying to clear the streets for civilians to get through. You remember the children being held in their parents’ arms and being held while they cried or slept. You turned your head and glanced back at your apartment building.
Your cries began to come louder and harder as you cried out for your mom. It didn’t take long for Steve’s super soldier hearing to pick up soft sobs and cries for help coming from a hundred feet away.
He turned and saw a meek, helpless girl on the street. He quickly ran over to you and knelt down in front of you.
“Hey, kid. Where are your parents?” He asked gently.
You merely turned back to the destroyed apartment complex. His lips dropped into a deep frown and he put his hand on your shoulder. “What can I do with her?” He thought to himself. Meanwhile, your tears were still flowing freely and you showed no signs of stopping.
Steve had no other option but to bring you back to the tower to make sure you had no medical problems and find a place for you to go. “Can I pick you up, sweetheart?” He inquired. You nodded quickly, desperate for someone to help you and hold you.
He scooped you up like you weighed nothing and carried you over to where Iron Man was now talking with Natasha Romanoff. Both immediately noticed the small girl in Steve’s arms and raised curious eyebrows.
“We need to help her. I can’t leave her here.”
Over the next few months they monitored you in the tower for injuries that didn’t really exist – they were just finding ways to extend your stay. Everyone quickly became attached to you, even if you didn’t speak much.
Bruce came with you to your parents’ funeral and held you while you cried that night. Natasha made you food and bought you clothes. Tony cracked dad jokes that made you smile – after a few weeks. Thor let you braid his hair when you couldn’t sleep.
They were your new family.
And when Bucky joined, he found what he longed for before the war. A kid. A daughter, specifically. You helped Bucky come out of his shell even if you didn’t realise it. Bucky cared for you and was so gentle with you, it felt like he was your own father.
Your father was probably a good man – you honestly didn’t know much as he never paid much attention to you. He was constantly busy with work and never had time to drive you to school or dance lessons.
Bucky did all that. He helped you find and nourish your passion for cheer. He got you to your squad meetings. He came to your competitions, starting from the local area, to citywide, to state level, all the way to worlds for the first time when you were eleven. He was always there to cheer you on and pick you up when you fell.
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The tower came into view, and you pulled into the underground garage, exhaustion finally beginning to settle into your bones. You killed the engine and sat there for a second, hands resting on the steering wheel while the song on the radio faded into another.
You were tired. Not just physically, but emotionally too.
Worlds always did this to you. It consumed your life for months straight until every thought in your brain was counts and choreography and deductions and timing. You loved cheer more than anything, but sometimes the pressure of it all felt suffocating.
Still, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because cheer gave you purpose. And Bucky gave you the strength to keep chasing it.
You grabbed your bag and headed upstairs. The second the elevator doors opened, the smell of garlic and onions hit your nose.
“Smells burnt,” you called out as you walked into the kitchen.
“I resent that,” Bucky replied immediately.
You grinned. He stood by the stove in a black t-shirt and grey sweats, wooden spoon in hand while Sam leaned against the counter eating shredded cheese directly from the packet.
“You’re supposed to be helping,” Bucky muttered.
“I am helping,” Sam argued. “Moral support.”
“You’re eating the ingredients.”
You dropped your bag beside the couch and laughed quietly to yourself. Some things never changed. Bucky looked over his shoulder the second he heard you fully enter the room, and his entire expression softened immediately. It always did around you.
“How was practice?” he asked.
“Good.”
“That means terrible.”
You sighed dramatically and wandered over to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. “We’re good, Buck. I’m just being picky.”
“You’re always picky.”
“Because I have to be.”
He hummed knowingly at that.
Bucky understood you better than anyone else ever could. He knew the difference between your “I’m fine” and your actually being fine. He knew when you needed advice and when you just needed someone to listen.
“You eat enough today?” he asked casually.
You rolled your eyes. “Yes, dad.”
Sam snorted loudly.
Bucky pointed the spoon at him. “Don’t start.”
“You literally sound like a suburban father.”
“I am a suburban father.”
Your chest warmed instantly at that.
Neither of you ever really talked about it outright. Bucky had never officially adopted you, but he didn’t need to. Everyone knew. The team knew. The Avengers knew. The coaches knew.
Bucky Barnes was your dad in every way that mattered. And you were his kid. The thought alone made something ache softly in your chest. Because this season was ending.
And with it, a huge part of your life.
—
The next two weeks flew by in a blur of training. Practice after practice after practice.
Your muscles constantly ached and your wrists were permanently wrapped in athletic tape. Every day after school you drove straight to the gym and didn’t leave until almost six. Then weekends became full eight-hour training days where everyone survived entirely on caffeine and protein bars.
But somehow, your team kept improving. The routine got cleaner. Sharper. More confident. And for the first time all season, you started believing you could actually win this thing.
By the time you arrived in Los Angeles, your nerves were practically vibrating beneath your skin.
The convention centre was packed wall-to-wall with athletes and coaches and screaming fans. Music echoed through every hallway while teams rushed around in matching warmups.
The second your team walked into the practice arena, all the younger girls nearby stared at you in awe.
You tried not to notice it. But your teammates did.
“Oh my God,” one whispered. “They know who we are.”
“They’re staring at you specifically,” another teased.
You scoffed. “No they are not.”
A tiny girl in a sparkly practice uniform suddenly approached you nervously. She couldn’t have been older than nine.
“Excuse me?” she squeaked.
You turned immediately. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Her eyes widened at the nickname. “Can… can I have a picture with you?”
Your entire team collectively melted.
“Of course you can.”
The girl beamed so hard you thought she might explode. Her mom quickly took the picture while the kid rambled excitedly about how she’d watched videos of your team online for years.
“I wanna fly like you someday,” she said shyly.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
You crouched slightly to her height. “You will.”
And you meant it. Because suddenly you saw yourself in her.
Small. Nervous. Hopeful. Desperate to belong somewhere.
Bucky always told you that people needed someone to look up to. Someone who made impossible things seem possible.
Maybe that was you now.
The realization sat heavily in your chest the entire day.
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Finals night arrived quicker than you wanted it to.
You stood backstage in full uniform while adrenaline coursed violently through your veins. The arena beyond the curtain roared with noise.
Your teammates stretched beside you while coaches gave last-minute corrections nobody would actually remember.
You flexed your fingers repeatedly.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Then panic started creeping in anyway.
What if you fell? What if someone got hurt? What if all your years of competing ended with failure?
Your stomach twisted painfully.
“Hey.”
You looked up instantly. Bucky stood near the entrance to backstage with an event wristband around his wrist and concern written all over his face. He’d probably bribed someone to get back here.
You practically collided into him the second you reached him. His arms wrapped around you automatically. Safe. Warm. Home.
“You okay?” he murmured.
You nodded against his chest even though it was a lie. “Just nervous.”
“That’s normal.”
“What if we mess up?”
Bucky pulled back enough to look at you properly. “Then you mess up.”
You frowned immediately. “Great pep talk.”
He smiled softly. “Kid, listen to me.”
You did. Always.
“I watched you work for this your whole life.” His voice stayed calm and steady. “And not once have I ever been prouder of you than I am right now.”
Your eyes burned instantly.
“You already made it,” he continued quietly. “You survived things most people never could and still grew into someone kind. Someone strong. You care about your team. Those girls trust you.”
He squeezed your shoulder gently.
“You already won.”
Your chest physically hurt. Bucky had this horrible ability to say exactly the right thing every single time.
You swallowed thickly. “You’re gonna make me cry before I perform.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
You laughed shakily. Then the announcer called your team name. Your teammates immediately erupted into screams beside you.
It was time.
Bucky leaned down and pressed a kiss against your forehead. “Go show them who you are.”
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We’re overdue for a revival
Spent so long just getting by
That’s the thing about survival
Who the hell,
Who the hell likes living just to die?
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The lights were blinding when you stepped onto the mat.
Thousands of people filled the arena seats, but your eyes immediately searched for one person.
And found him.
Bucky sat front row beside Sam and Sarah and half the Avengers, all wearing shirts with your team name across the front.
Bucky noticed you instantly. Then he smiled. Your nerves disappeared. The music started.
Everything after that became instinct. Count after count after count. Sharp motions. Tight formations. Controlled breathing.
Your body moved automatically while adrenaline flooded your veins. The crowd screamed after every tumbling pass.
Then came the stunt sequence. The hardest part of the entire routine.
You climbed into your bases’ hands and rose into the air.
One. Two. Pull.
Perfect liberty.
The arena exploded.
You heard your coaches screaming somewhere in the distance. Then dismount. Transition. Pyramid.
Every single thing hit. No falls. No bobbles. No deductions. And by the final count, you knew.
You knew.
The music ended and your entire team froze in the ending pose before immediately collapsing into screaming chaos.
“Oh my God!”
“We hit zero!”
“We actually hit!”
You were laughing so hard you could barely breathe while girls tackled each other into hugs. One of your teammates was already sobbing hysterically.
You looked into the crowd instantly. Bucky was already standing. Clapping harder than anyone else in the arena. His eyes looked glassy even from a distance.
And suddenly your own vision blurred too.
—
Awards felt like torture.
Every team stood crowded together on the floor while nerves buzzed violently through the air. Girls held hands. Some prayed. Others cried before results were even announced.
You stood between your co-captains with your heart hammering painfully hard against your ribs.
Third place was announced.
Not you.
Second place.
Still not you.
Then—
“And your 2026 world champions are…”
The pause nearly killed everyone.
Your team grabbed onto each other violently.
“Phoenix Elite!”
The arena erupted and you genuinely blacked out for a second. Your teammates screamed so loudly your ears rang while everyone jumped and cried and collapsed into one giant hug.
You felt tears spill down your cheeks immediately.
World champions. Again. Your final season.
You did it.
Medals were placed around your neck while cameras flashed everywhere. Younger athletes stared at your team like you were superheroes.
And honestly? Maybe to them, you were.
You searched the crowd desperately until you found Bucky again. This time he looked openly emotional.
His hands covered his mouth briefly before he shook his head and laughed to himself like he couldn’t believe it.
The second athletes were dismissed from the floor, you sprinted toward him. He caught you effortlessly as you nearly launched yourself into his arms.
“We did it!” you cried.
Bucky laughed breathlessly while holding you impossibly tight. “Yeah, baby. You did.”
You buried your face into his shoulder. “I’m gonna miss this.”
His grip softened slightly.
Cheer had been your entire life for years. Long practices. Competitions. Road trips. Injuries. Victories.
And now it was ending. Bucky pulled back enough to look at you.
“You know something?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“You’re gonna go far.”
The words hit you harder than they should have. Because for so long, you’d been terrified of what came next. Life after cheer. Life after this version of yourself.
But Bucky looked at you with complete certainty. Like there had never been a doubt in his mind.
And maybe there hadn’t been.
“You think so?” you whispered.
“I know so.”
Your eyes burned all over again. Around you, the arena still buzzed with celebration and music and noise, but suddenly everything felt quiet.
Safe.
You thought about being seven years old and alone in the rubble. You thought about Steve carrying you to the tower. Natasha braiding your hair. Thor making you laugh. Bruce comforting you after nightmares.
And Bucky. Always Bucky.
The man who sat through every practice showcase. Every competition. Every breakdown in the kitchen after a bad routine. The man who learned cheer terminology just so he could understand you better. The man who loved you like you were his from the very beginning.
Maybe families didn’t always happen the normal way. Maybe sometimes they were built slowly. Carefully. From grief and healing and love.
Bucky brushed his thumb beneath your eye, wiping away tears that wouldn’t stop falling.
“So,” he said softly. “World champion. What now?”
You smiled through the tears.
“I don’t know.”
And for the first time in your life—
That didn’t scare you anymore.
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If you wanna go far,
Then you gotta go far.
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