Bucky Barnes X Y/n Oneshots.

SWAPPED!?!

The Stark Tower gleamed in the night sky, its windows reflecting the soft glow of the city below.

 Inside, the party was in full swing, music reverberating through the spacious hall as Avengers and high-profile guests mingled.

 Y/n Stark—known to most as Y/N—rolled her eyes for the hundredth time that night as she excused herself from a tedious conversation about her father's latest tech project. 

All she wanted was fresh air and solitude, not forced smiles and idle chatter.

As she headed for the exit, she collided with someone—someone solid.

"Watch it, Stark," came Bucky Barnes' low growl, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he steadied himself.

Y/N folded her arms, her lips curling into a mocking smile. "Maybe try looking where you're going, grandpa. Or did the metal arm block your peripheral vision?"

Bucky stepped aside, his expression as cold as steel. "It's a miracle you've made it this far without tripping over your oversized ego."

She huffed, brushing past him as he joined Steve at the bar. 

Bucky grabbed a drink, muttering under his breath about "spoiled brats" and "Stark attitude," while Steve gave him a look that said let it go.

Little did they know that moment would change everything.

Bucky groaned as the shrill sound of an alarm jolted him awake. Reaching out, his fingers fumbled for his phone, only to find a sleek device that felt... wrong. His brows furrowed. This isn't my phone.

His surroundings didn't help either. The room was all muted tones, modern furniture, and too much sunlight—nothing like his own spartan apartment.

He swung his legs over the bed, only to pause when his bare feet touched a plush carpet. His gaze fell to his hands. Why do they look... delicate? Panic crept in as he instinctively raked a hand through his hair—hair that was too long. He stumbled toward the mirror, gripping the edges of the vanity as he stared in disbelief.

The reflection wasn't his.

It was Y/N's.

"What the—?!" His voice—no, her voice—escaped in a horrified whisper. He leaned closer, touching the face staring back at him. Soft skin. Bright eyes.

 Y/n Stark's unmistakable smirk—not so smirky now.

Meanwhile, Y/N groaned as she woke up, her head pounding.

 She reached out, only to feel the cold, hard surface of a wooden floor. 

She sat up, rubbing her face groggily, her eyes taking in her surroundings.

 A beat-up couch. An old TV. 

Weapons displayed on the wall.

"Where the hell am I?" she muttered, her voice sounding strange. 

She froze. 

That was not her voice.

Scrambling to her feet, she caught her reflection in the black screen of the TV. 

Her jaw dropped. 

The face staring back at her was rugged, with sharp cheekbones, stubble, and piercing steel blue eyes.

"Oh my God. No, no, no!" She let out a panicked scream, running a hand through her—his—hair.

Grabbing the phone on the table, she dialed her number.