Blackdontcrack

Bucky Barnes wasn’t known for many things. He was the guy who glared at children and made baristas flinch just by ordering a coffee. He had a resting scowl that could rival storm clouds, and he wore sarcasm like a second skin.

But somehow, inexplicably, he’d fallen head over combat boots for the human equivalent of a summer day.

You.

You, who complimented strangers on their nail polish.

You, who brought cookies to team meetings even though Tony never ate carbs.

You, who danced around the compound kitchen in fuzzy socks and sang ABBA or performed a whole musical into a spatula like it was the goddamn Grammy stage.

You made Bucky Barnes smile. Actual, verifiable smiles. Steve called it a miracle. Sam called it blackmail material. But, Bucky didn’t care. Not when you looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. Not when you looked at him as if he was the sun that lit up your life.

So when it happened—when someone had the audacity to insult you—he was seconds from forgetting he was reformed.

It happened at a gala, of all places. You were glowing in a soft yellow dress, hair curled just the way Bucky liked it, smile bright as always. You were laughing with a few people, your hand on Bucky’s arm like it belonged there (it did), when a woman from one of the investor tables tilted her head and said, “You’re just… a bit much, aren’t you?”

The group laughed like it was a joke. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But Bucky saw how your smile dimmed just a little, how your fingers tightened on his arm, how your laughter caught in your throat like it didn’t quite fit anymore.

You played it off. Of course you did. Made some self-deprecating joke, chuckled like it didn’t matter and excused yourself, muttering something about getting some fresh air.

Bucky (as hard as it was for him) decided that instead of berating that woman that had the nerve to even breathe in the same air as you, would rather just come after you and pull you out of the room and spend the night showing you how perfect you were.

So, he took off without any explanation towards the people at the table, and ran after you.

When you thought no one was looking, Bucky saw you staring down at yourself, smoothing over your dress like you were trying to make yourself smaller.

That was all it took.

He marched back into the room, found the woman sipping champagne like she hadn’t just tried to crush the sun, and leveled her with a look that could freeze hell.

“Next time you think about opening your mouth to dim someone else’s light, don’t,” he said, voice low, deadly calm. “Especially not hers.”

She stammered something about it being a joke, but Bucky had already turned. You were all that mattered now.

He found you again outside, sitting on the steps, hands clasped in your lap.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, too quickly. “Of course. I mean, maybe I am a bit much sometimes. Not everyone likes.. sunshine nor a loud personality.”

His jaw tightened. He sat beside you and pulled you into his arms without asking.

“Doll, listen to me,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “You are everything. You’re warmth and joy and hope all wrapped into one stubborn little package, and I don’t ever want you to change. Not for them. Not even for me.”

You blinked, eyes wide. “Even when I sing ABBA at 7am?”

“Even then.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Especially then. No one—and I mean no one—gets to dim your light. Not even you.”

You exhaled shakily, then leaned into his chest, heart pounding against his like it finally found home.

And Bucky, the former Winter Soldier, the grumpiest grump to ever grump, pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered,

"Shine on, darling. The world needs more of you."

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Heyy! So, this is my first time to ever publish - or even wrote, something. I am absolutely in love with the Bucky fics i've read over here, and I thought.. why not give it a try?