Multifandom Oneshots (II)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

The man the children call White Wolf lives alone. He never has visitors, and you feel he must be lonely, so you bring him dinner one evening.
He opens the door when you knock and puts on a polite but uninviting smile. "Hello."
You smile and offer the basket you'd put the food in. "Sergeant Barnes, yes?"
"Yes." He looks at the basket uncertainly.
"I thought I might make you dinner."
"That's... that's very kind. Thank you. Very much." He accepts the food with a warm smile. "Thank you. Would you care to join me...?"
"Y/N." You offer your hand to shake.
He takes it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. And please, call me Bucky."
You follow him inside, making meaningless small talk. You don't know the truth about him, but you've heard many rumors. They say he's an old American, some say he was from Romania. It was common knowledge he was in a war, but there was disagreement on which one. Some said he was an English spy, some said a French hit man, some said a German weapon. Nobody knows the truth, because few would be willing to ask the king, and none would be willing to ask the man himself. He avoided people, but even if he didn't, he gave off the air of somebody unapproachable, if not dangerous.
The two of you eat and talk about trivial matters. When talking about yourselves, he goes out of his way to get off of the topic of himself.
"Hey." He says as you're leaving.
"Yes?"
"Maybe you could come back? Sometime soon."
"I thought you said you liked being alone."
"I did, but I didn't mean it. It's just better that I be alone."
"I'd love to come back soon."
"Also bring cookies?"
You laugh. "Of course."
At first you come once a week, and gradually increase your visits until you're coming on a daily basis.
"Bucky?" You ask after a couple months.
"Yeah?" He asks, staring into a pot of water he's waiting to boil. He says it's his turn to cook and won't allow you to help.
"Perhaps you could tell me something about you?"
"I'll tell you everything, if you'll give me time." He says as casually as if he was talking of the weather. He doesn't even look up.
"That would be nice." You agree.
"I assume you meant tonight."
"Well, yes. But fear not; you don't have to share everything tonight."
He laughs. "I'll consider myself lucky." He turns around and leans against the counter, looking at you thoughtfully. "Well, what would you like to know?"
"Where are you from?"
"New York. I was born in 1917."
"Bucky, it's 2018, honey."
"Yes. It is." He smiles. "I have an explanation for that. But that's for another day."
"All right."
"Next?"
"Where did you come here from?"
"Long story short: Romania."
"Why here?"
"That's also a story for another day. It's better for everyone that I be here."
"Do you have family?"
"Not blood."
"What war were you in?"
"World War II."
"You've had a strange life."
"I have."
"Was it worth it? I mean... well, you know."
"I know. And I've had the pleasure of meeting you. I wish that I could've gone a different path, but I do think all things work together for good, so."
"I see."
He runs his hand through his hair. "I fell off a train and was captured by Nazis." He says, his voice still casual. "I was there for... about seventy years. I was—Well, I was a weapon. I escaped, but I... I can't trust myself. Wakanda's the safest place for me."
You nod, too afraid of saying the wrong thing to speak. He pours the pasta in a strainer over the sink. "You'll wanna run cold water while you drain it."
He obeys, not commenting about how you weren't supposed to help. He turns off the water and comes to sit at the table with you. "That being said, Y/N, I am dangerous. I, uh, I really care about you and I don't want to... I don't want anything to happen to you. So, you know, if anything goes... haywire, you run and get the king."
You consider telling him you're not afraid, but he looks so earnest you can't bear to. Instead, you nod. "Okay... I don't want anything to happen to you either, Bucky."
He closes his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. He speaks softly. "Thank you, Y/N. I'm sorry I dragged you into all this."
"It's okay." You risk reaching out and taking his hand. It's the metal hand, which is an even bigger risk, but you do it anyway. Instead of jerking away, he turns his hand to hold yours. "It's worth it."
"Thank you, Y/N." He repeats, bringing your hand to press it gently to his lips. "Thank you for all of this."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."