Sebastian Stan & Bucky Barnes Imagines

Rationed Time: Part One - 1940s J.B.B.

Bucky's P.O.V.

I never thought I would hate the sun so much. I've always liked it but now...nothing can describe how much I wish it would never come back, that the world could just be shrouded in darkness, that time could just stop forever.

This is so hard.

Harder than I thought it would be.

I'm afraid.

Not of dying but leaving her here. I need her. She needs me. What if I don't come back? I've asked this question a million times in just the short hour I've been in bed next to her but I can never come up with an answer I like. And I can't tell which is worse: the answer or leaving it unanswered.

Looking down at her in my arms, cuddled against my chest, giving me warmth--which I'm certain will soon be in short supply--I can't imagine myself leaving. Stepping out on my beautiful wife is unthinkable.

But inevitable.

Looking at her sleeping face, I see her perfect (skin/color) skin. It's soft, glowing in the moonlight pouring in through the window of our bedroom. Her (hair/length), (hair/color) hair is smooth and dangling delicately in front of her beautiful face. I bring a hand to her face and brush the fallen hair behind her ear so I can see her delicate features more clearly. Her lashes are lying softly on her cheeks and her eyebrows are relaxed, resting from all the strain they've recently endured from crying. Her soft lips are slightly parted, reminding me of just how much I love to kiss her. And how much I'll miss that. I keep hoping that if I stare long enough, maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll memorize every detail.

I'd never forgive myself if I left her here alone. She has no family, no close friends. She has nobody but me. She can't lose me. I have to be here for her.

But I have to leave in the morning. I think about looking at the clock for the time but force myself to keep my eyes on her. I don't want to waste what little time I have left looking at the numbers that tick down too quickly. I want to watch her for every second I have left.

My beautiful Y/n.

Something trails down my cheek and I realize I'm crying. I don't want to leave her. I would sit here in the dark for the rest of my life if it meant I didn't have to leave her.

As the minutes pass me by, I realize my eyelids are getting heavier. I force them open wider but they just fall right back down to where they were. The battle between my brain and my body is quickly finding it's winner. I know I have to sleep no matter how much I loath the thought of it. Sleep is a waste but my body begs to differ, so eventually, I succumb to it.

||☆☆☆||

In the morning, I wake up to what I would normally call a beautiful sunlit room. But I can't see anything beautiful about it today.

I lay there for a while, a sickening feeling taking me over while my mind thinks of nothing and my eyes look at nothing but the grain of the ceiling. It doesn't occur to me that Y/n might be awake as well until I feel soft fingers graze my cheek. I turn my head to see her examining my face with a slight frown to her lips. When she makes her gaze travel slowly from my chin to my hairline, she brings her hand up to reach the tips of her fingers into my soft rumpled bed hair. I close my eyes at how good it feels, but the sensation is short-lived. For a split second I am completely empty from the loss of touch, the only evidence I had that she was still there. But that terrifying feeling goes away, too, just as swiftly as it came, when her fingers lay softly just to the left of my left eye.