Bucky Barnes X Y/n Oneshots.

His Second Chance

The winter streets of Bucharest were cruel, cloaked in a biting chill that seeped into the bones. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, collecting on cobblestone streets and the roofs of modest homes. Bucky Barnes stumbled through the labyrinthine alleys, his breaths coming in sharp gasps. His mind was fragmented—memories shattered and scattered like broken glass.

He didn't know who he was, only what he'd been: a weapon, a shadow, a ghost.

Exhausted, his legs gave out, and he slumped against the cold, uneven steps of a small house. The light spilling from its windows was warm, a stark contrast to the freezing night. He fainted, his body going limp as darkness claimed him.

Y/N trudged home through the snow, her scarf pulled tightly around her neck. She had just closed her little bakery for the night, the scent of fresh bread still lingering on her coat. Owning a bakery at only twenty-five wasn't easy, but it gave her a sense of purpose she hadn't felt in years.

As she approached her small house, she stopped abruptly. There was a figure slumped on her front steps—a man, broad-shouldered and wearing a tattered jacket. Panic flared for a moment, but then she noticed his stillness.

She crouched down cautiously, her voice soft. "Sir? Are you alright?"

He didn't respond. His face was pale, and snowflakes dusted his dark hair. Y/N touched his forehead and felt the cold biting her skin.

"You're freezing," she murmured.

It was clear he couldn't stay out there. She bit her lip, her eyes darting to the neighboring houses. Soon, a few of her kind-hearted neighbors helped her lift him inside, laying him on the worn sofa in her modest living room.

Y/N fetched blankets, wrapping him snugly, and placed a hot water bottle by his side. As she sat in the armchair nearby, watching over him, her mind buzzed with questions. Who was he? Why was he out there in this weather? But most of all, she wondered if he would even survive the night.

The faint glow of dawn crept through the curtains as Bucky stirred. His body ached, but it was warm—too warm. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. Panic gripped him.

Where am I?

The faint sound of breathing caught his attention. His gaze snapped to the young woman sitting beside him. She was leaning forward, her hand pressed lightly to his forehead as if checking for a fever.

Without thinking, his instincts took over.

In a flash, his vibranium arm shot out, gripping her throat. Her startled gasp filled the air as he stood, towering over her, his mismatched eyes filled with confusion and fear.

"Who are you?" he growled, his voice low and gravelly. "Where am I?"

Y/N's hands flew to his wrist, but she didn't fight him. Instead, she forced her voice to remain calm despite the constriction.

"You're... in my house," she managed to say. "You were... freezing outside. I brought you in."

Bucky blinked, the words slowly penetrating the fog in his mind. His grip loosened, and he stepped back, his expression a mix of regret and alarm.

"I—" He swallowed hard, his voice thick. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Y/N coughed lightly, rubbing her throat but giving him a small, reassuring smile. "It's okay. You were scared. I get it."

He stared at her, bewildered. "Why did you help me? You don't even know me."

Her smile softened. "You looked like you needed help. I couldn't just let you freeze to death on my steps."

Bucky stayed. He hadn't meant to, but he didn't know where else to go. Y/N, despite her initial shock, treated him with nothing but kindness. She cooked simple meals, left blankets and clothes out for him, and never asked him questions he wasn't ready to answer.