You Don't Know Me

You Don't Know Me

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 -> Bucky Barnes x NB Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Nat’s charity auction doesn’t quite go off without a hitch – but luckily, Buck is on hand to help out, reluctant as he may be. Until he meets you, that is.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 1507

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (T) Language

𝐀/𝐍 -> I have no idea. Random fluffy oneshot goodness. Utter candyfloss Bucky, sweetly understanding reader.

Prompts fulfilled; ‘Himbo’ and ‘Bachelor Auction– @buckybarnesevents (Build-a-Bucky Bingo); “I Understood Most of That.” – @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition); ‘We Can’t Even Compromise or Not Needing to be Told’ – @julybreakbingo (Pre-July Flash); ‘Social Media’ – @fandombingo; ‘Coming out’, “My pronouns are they/them.” and ‘Queer’ – @lgbtqbingo; ‘I Can’t Believe I Ate The Whole Thing’ – @multifandom-flash Thanksgiving Flash (7026); ‘Awkwardness’ – Gen Prompt Bingo (Here on Dreamwidth) Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Stagbug sticker used in cards from here.

“Not a fucking chance.”

Nat turned her emerald eyes on Bucky’s, wide and pleading. “C’mon, James! Steve got called away at the last minute- we promised an Avenger! It’s all over social media, and it’s packed out there. Can’t we compromise?”

“What about Clint?” he grunted, and she fluttered her eyelashes, sidling closer.

“He’s not as popular as you...” she purred, resting her head on his shoulder to gaze up at him adoringly, earning a laugh from the soldier.

“You don’t want to hand over your boyfriend, more like,” he snorted, shaking his head, and letting out a heavy sigh when she simply continued to stare, a fond smile curving the bow of his lip. “Fine, fine... What do I have to do?”

Her face split wide in a broad grin, and she clasped her hands together, shifting excitedly. “Nothing! Just stand there and look pretty.”

He flexed and stretched pointedly, a companionable arm draping over her shoulders as he wondered what he’d gotten himself into. “Fortunately, that comes naturally to me.”

All of Bucky’s bravado faded as he stood awkwardly on the stage, spotlights shining down on his uncertain grin as his eyes scanned the audience, absently listening to Nat wax lyrical about his many positive attributes (and carefully not mentioning that he was most known in the Tower for his intense nightmares that woke up anyone within three floors). Bucky simply hooked a thumb in the pocket of his jeans, leaning back on his heels, flashing a cocky smirk, his heart pounding a little harder at the sighs and sounds of delight from those in the crowd. He was an attractive man, and he knew it – but that made this process all the more daunting. Since he’d joined the team, the only people he’d managed to date were either chasing the fame, or just interested in one thing.

It seemed that anyone he spent time with had their own expectations of who he was; the problem was, he wasn’t that person. Perhaps he had been, once upon a time, but he’d lived a long life, and times had taught him that just because people found him attractive didn’t mean he had to bed everyone he could.

The unfortunate reality was that nobody seemed to stop and ask; nobody took the time to get to know him, to learn about him and how he worked. Not that he minded, especially – pleasure was pleasure, and if he truly didn’t want to, he made it clear. He simply longed for someone to care.

And yet, here he stood, with dozens of eyes assessing him. It was nice, but…

“Sold! Now, remember the rules, folks. This is a charity auction; keep it clean, or the contract is null and void. Come and collect your prize!” Nat added, gesturing into the blur of faces.

And that’s when his eyes met yours at last, pale blue meeting deep brown, and his smile widened, just a little, as you blushed.

You stood beside him uncertainly, head ducked and fingers knotted together, and he grinned down at you politely. “So… You won me for the evening, huh? Congratulations. It was a pretty fierce competition.” You nodded, cheeks growing darker, and he bit back a chuckle at your shyness. “What did you have planned?”

“I thought you might like dinner,” you whispered tentatively, and his eyebrows raised.

“I- I mean, I can try, I suppose. I’m not much of a cook, but-”

You cut off his stammering with a quick shake of your head, looking up at last. “No! No, I wouldn’t- I meant that… I’d like to take you for dinner. I imagine you don’t get to just… Have a nice meal and some relaxed company very often, so…” You shrugged, toe scuffing the ground, and his eyes lightened as he smiled.

“That sounds really nice,” he assured you gently, reaching out to squeeze your bicep gently with strong metal fingers. “I’d like that…” He paused, head cocked, and you barked out a laugh.

“Oh. Yeah. Uh- Bug. You can call me Bug… My pronouns are they/them,” you added quickly, brow furrowing just a little. There was an edge of uncertainty to your voice, and you winced as you heard it, but he simply continued to smile, nodding once.

“Bug.”

“- and then that couples the neutral stimulus to the unconditioned stimulus to elicit a conditioned response. It’s pretty simple, really.”

Your eyes were bright as you explained the basic principles behind – yet another – training method from your work, quickly followed by your cheeks flushing pink and your eyes lowering. “I- Sorry. I could talk about this forever.”

“Feel free,” he replied, chuckling, his head cocked endearingly to one side as he took you in. “I understood… Most of that, and it’s nice to see some enthusiasm; I don’t get a lot of it in my line of work.” Your eyebrow raised in disbelief, and he laughed. “Well, I suppose that’s not quite true. They’re enthusiastic in some ways, but it’s not…” His hand cycled thoughtfully as he hummed. “… Passion, you know? It’s something they do because they kind of have to. They have these gifts, and, one way or another, they ended up in the team, and that’s… Just the way it is.” His brow furrowed a little, lips pursed, and you leant onto your elbows, considering him quietly.

“You said ‘they’. Like you don’t consider yourself one of them.”

Blinking in surprise, he paused for a moment before nodding slowly. “I suppose not. I am, I guess, but… The only one who really knows me is Steve. And even he doesn’t know everything,” he added with a rueful smile, shrugging a shoulder.

“He doesn’t?” you mused aloud, eyes still locked on his. Your focus was entirely on him – there was no glancing around, no checking to see who saw the two of you together. There was no discreet – or not-so-discreet – flicks of your gaze to the muscles of his chest or his exposed forearms. You were paying attention to him, as a person behind the persona, and he was enchanted.

“I’m not... Nobody- I-” He’d begun quickly, but paused as he faltered, blowing air up to clear the hair that was falling into his eyes as they flitted away uncertainly. “I… Guess not. Does anyone ever know anyone else, really?” he added cryptically, offering you a wry smile. “I can’t believe I finished the entire thing…” The redirect was clear as he nodded towards his empty plate, the heaping helping of carbonara having been eagerly eviscerated by his increased metabolism.

You simply watched him in silence for a moment, head cocked curiously, before offering him a reassuring smile of your own. “How about I tell you a little about me?” you prompted softly, hardly waiting for a nod of confirmation before continuing. “I’m non-binary. Folks don’t always understand that – what it means to be outside the societal expectations of male and female. But for me, it just feels… Like me, you know? Like neither of those labels quite fit right. I’m somewhere in between – or something else entirely, I suppose. It’s just who I am.” He nodded again, his brow furrowed slightly with curiosity, and your lips quirked higher. “I’m also bi… And I’m somewhere on the asexual spectrum – though I can never quite settle on where!” You chuckled slightly, resting a chin on your hand, mahogany eyes locked on his diverted pale ones. “Do you know much about asexuality? I’m happy to tell you more, if you like.”

“I’m familiar,” he replied quietly, still unable to meet your gaze,  and you reached out to squeeze his hand gently.

“I think I’d like to get to know you,” you murmured, smiling a little wider when he finally looked up, “if you’d let me, of course. I think we might have some things in common, huh?”

He hesitated for a moment, then frowned, eyes shifting to your hand on his. “You just want to know the Soldier… That’s what everyone wants. The fame. This,” he added, his tone free from ego as he gestured at himself with his free hand, and you quirked an eyebrow.

“While I’m sure you’re very irresistible to the allosexuals of the world – ace, remember? This,” - you mimicked his gesture playfully – “doesn’t do all that much for me. You’re a pretty man, sure. But… I’m most interested in why you do what you do. You risk your life on a daily basis for complete strangers; I’m curious about what makes someone quite so altruistic. I’m interested in you, James. You seem like a good guy, and I think you don’t have too many people in your life who want to hear about you without all the muscle and cameras.”

He could only stare in surprise, stunned into silence by your short speech, and leant forward, just a little. “I think I’m demisexual,” he blurted quickly, his cheeks colouring crimson at the words.

You simply smiled, fingers squeezing gently around his. “It’s nice to meet you, James.”