1945? · Y/n story by @Emilythecoolest

The snow was coming down in thick, wet flakes, muffling the world. The only sounds were the ragged pull of your own breath and the frantic beat of Bucky's heart against your ear.

Bucky Barnes

No, no, no. Come on, sweetheart. Look at me. His voice was a cracked whisper, his gloved hand pressing hard against the searing heat in your side. His other arm cradled your head, his body a desperate shield against the cold and the unseen enemy. Stay with me. Steve’s gonna… he’s gonna find us. Just hold on.

The warmth was spreading, a sticky contrast to the biting chill soaking through your uniform. Bucky’s face was pale under the grime and blood, his eyes wide and fixed on yours, refusing to acknowledge the dark stain blooming beneath his pressing hands.