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flowers-of-io · 3 years

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Shockwave

Read it on AO3 here.

It is thirty-six hours later when the shockwave hits.

The Stranger—Elisabeth—let them stay in her camp out in the frigid nowhere, just a tiny round cabin with a bed and a table. She has driven off into the blizzard for supplies, and Eris quietly notes the subtle sign of trust that was leaving her and the Drifter alone in her personal space. It is cosily warm inside, well-insulated Braytech door keeping the cold out. She can see the snowstorm raging on the other side of the glass, white and blue and violent like the power crackling in her fingertips.

They sit on the opposite sides of the table, an old radio between them fighting through the snow to catch any signal that might slip through. Between the cracks of static and scraps of broadcast, there is silence.

This is the first time Eris has really sat down, stretching her back and legs aching from the hike. Between her mad escape from Io and what happened in the City, and persuading Zavala and the flight to the Jovians, she did not have time for as much as think. Head spinning as she danced from one purpose to the next, time slipping past her, reality squirming and bending. She has not slept in a long time.

The radio hums and Zavala’s voice pierces through, cracking and out of context. “…confirmed that Io, Mars, Titan, and Mercury have disappeared. We don't know why. We have lost contact with Deputy Commander Sloane and Gensym Scribe Asher Mir. We are deploying…”

She cannot hear him anymore.

Realisation hits her like a train at full speed. The assailed planets are gone. Her beloved, sacred Cradle, the Tree of Silver Wings – they are gone.

Sloane is dead. Asher is…

She has known. Since he squeezed her hand goodbye, and his red shadow began to darken her door every night, she has known what choice he would make and struggled to respect it. But it was too calm of a sorrow, she realises now, like leaves falling upon a grave, and she did not wail or claw her fingernails against the sandstone. There was still a thread of stupid hope, one that she hung upon by the little finger and refused to admit it, refused to acknowledge she believed there was still a chance, an unfinality of loss possible to revert. That threat is strangling her now, sharp and merciless, and Eris struggles to suck in a breath.

Drifter moves, his heavy coat rustling as he slouches forward towards the radio. He stares at it intently, silent, until Zavala’s voice is drowned in static again.

“Guess our pals kicked the bucket,” he says with such tremor in his voice Eris is not even angry.

She turns the realisation around like a bitter pill in her mouth, sticking fingers into the wound to get used to the pain. It is best constant, she has learned long ago, rather than the sudden spikes when she would touch the hurting place inadvertently. She digs deep to find some visceral core of horror; she imagines Asher dead in a hundred atrocious ways, his body broken and dismembered, crushed into red pulp, blew apart from the inside in an eruption of sizzling radiolaria. The deeper she reaches now, the safer it will be to sleep – the images familiar and predictable, horrent with spikes she already knows the placement of.

Skittish thoughts propel her to run off into the storm, let the blizzard lash her skin with an icy whip and scream until her larynx bleeds, until she cannot hear the din in her mind anymore. But she will not lose her composure. The days of punching walls and hollering into the night are long past her, shed along with the skin of chitin and blood she had been wearing for too long. She has only just started to bloom again—she will not allow it to trample the gentle scaffolding she has so arduously put up to hold her. She will not break.

Somewhat absently, she can see Drifter staring at her from across the table but her brain is screaming too loud to process it. He must have noticed some change on her face, or maybe how her hands started to shake and fiddle with the beads hanging by her belt, because he keeps his eyes on her—cautious, searching. As if looking for a handhold to grab and drag her out of the pit of horror she is thrusting herself into over and over.

“You saw it coming?” His voice seems to echo from far away.

“I should have,” Eris murmurs, nausea swelling up in her throat. “I should have persuaded them… I should have been there.”

In a desperate attempt to chase off the fuzz of thoughts hurtling through her mind at lightspeed, she stands up and regrets it immediately; the horizontal axis of her vision rotates by thirty degrees and she leans on the table with her full weight for support. Drifter stirs, then reaches out but she waves him off.

She can manage. She has been worse. It’s just another arrow to the same knee—does it make any difference?

She thinks about how her bloodied fingers traced the letters she had never sent to the people she would never see again. Piles of ink-stained paper, trembling sentences seeking comfort and asking forgiveness of the shadows she projected in her mind instead of the real flesh and bone. Real was too frightening, real could judge and shun her, real required a vulnerability she was terrified to reveal. She dreamed of a day when she would be steadier, braver—her hands no longer flinching away from touch, her words bold and sure of themselves—when she would send the letters out, confident of the fearful affection they disclosed. The correspondence she had truly written to herself.

Scrap-sentences circle in her head, squirming into her ears and eyes and mouth slithering between her teeth bitter like poison. Everything she will never tell him, one more thing the paranoia took from her, all the honest words and quivering confessions she feared to account for and how he will never know how she loved loved loved—

Staggering, she slumps onto the cot. Guilt is burning acidic in her chest and she cannot keep from shuddering any longer, burying her face in hands and smearing the ichor all over her cheeks. These eyes cannot cry and oh how she wishes they could, remembering the warm release of tears streaming down and tasting salt on her lips. There is only the black ooze now, seeping into her mouth and ears as she sleeps, drying on her eyelids and sticking them shut with a black wax seal. She is shaking so wildly her back hurts and tries to stifle the wail that creeps upon her lips, threatening to escape instinctively like a held-back breath.

The letters she never sent; alas, the promise had been made. She should have been there.

She had sworn.

The mattress dips down beside her, a movement she hardly registers. Only when an arm wraps itself around her loosely, a tentative loop for her to lean into or move away from, do the floodgates truly break. She curls up against Drifter’s chest and starts sobbing, dry and ugly sobs like frantic gasps for air above water.

He caresses her back, slow and soothing movements of a warm hand against the fabric of her cloak. Eris can hear her own wailing resonating through his ribcage.

“I should’ve been there,” she mumbles, her jaw trembling so hard it is difficult to push the words out.

“I know you were close,” Drifter hums, “but what use would be for you to die there? It’s not like you could’ve done anything.”

“He would comfort me in my darkness… and dying… I could not.”

He shifts and Eris feels his other hand gently press against her head. It is soft and warm and comforting, enclosing her in this tight dark space like in a blanket fort. It helps her slowly calm down until she is not heaving anymore, shivering only from time to time with leftover sobs.

“There was a kid in Eaton. A place I used to live,” Drifter says when her breathing is almost steady, “Taught her to fly a kite. Once it got stuck in a tree, almost at the top, and she climbed all the way up to get it. I asked her if she wasn’t afraid of falling.” There’s gentleness in his voice, one she has never heard there before. “And she said she wasn’t, ‘cause she knew I’d catch her if she did. Knew I’d save her.”

His thumb rubs gentle circles against her temple, lulling her, and Eris struggles to stay focused. She is too exhausted to think, and a terrible headache has begun to settle in, hammering against her sinuses, and Drifter’s tone is deep and calming, as if he was telling a bedtime story.

“When Eaton burned… when she took a bullet and stumbled and fell… I caught her. But I couldn’t save her.”

“At least you were able to offer comfort… One last time.”

“And did it change anything? She’s dead anyway.” Drifter shakes his head, a rustle of cloth sounding so odd with her ear partially covered. “You did what you could, sister. Don’t beat yourself up for it.”

The guilt will not subside until many, many moons later, and it is still gnawing at Eris’ bones in this moment, but the sharp, blinding fear has somewhat subsided into a dull ache. Maybe it is the catharsis of crying, or the initial shock having tumbled past, but an odd haziness overcomes her and her strained muscles begin to ease. The terrible weight of the loss is still dark and grim – she dreads to acknowledge it, fears the moment she will have to look under the cover and face it in all its irrevocable finality, yet for now it sits tucked away somewhere in the corner of her vision, present but bearably distant. For now she is warm and safe and breathing.

They do not speak more, just sit in hazy silence as the storm rages outside.

#bring tissues this is sad #am i over asher's death four months later? nope #character death tw #destiny 2 #my fics #eris morn #the drifter #asher mir #bad coworkers #cousins #gensym scribe #eris morning #sad man from the basement #destiny 2 fics

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gooddadstan · 4 years

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The first story in my Batman Bingo 2020 writing! For the card above, Red is completed, and blue is requested. Another huge thanks to @batmanbingo2020 for making it! Feel free to ask for a prompt!

1.Sleep Deprivation

Arkham breakouts were bad. Rogue level breakouts were really bad. Gotham knew it, the bats knew it, even the Justice League knew it, if just from the strict instructions to not call on any bat within three days of returning all escapees to their cells. With a necessary exception of world ending circumstances, no matter how much everyone hated it.

Unfortunately, these were world ending circumstances.

According to the clock on the Batcomputer, it hadn’t even been an hour since they started the Do Not Call countdown in the Watchtower’s systems. Far too early for the emergency transmission to send alarms blaring through every bat-associated device the house.

Clicking the button for the video call to patch through, they’re met with a disheveled looking Flash with a grim expression on his face, no other leaguers in sight.

“What.” The growl had been forming during the small loading period, but the Flash didn’t waver in his stance.

When he speaks just a second later, it’s sped up as much as he trusts the bats to understand. “Batman, the League needs your help. Send all available backup, you’ll meet Justice League Dark at the site..” He rattles off a set of coordinates and is gone again, the trail of his image heading off in the direction of the Zetas.

Batman scans over his children, the wounds both new and days old being nursed in the medbay and the bodies flopped onto any surface they deemed comfortable enough to sleep on. More than half of them were just lying down on the floor, which, okay, but they’re children of a billionaire, they’re supposed to have standards. Apparently these standards don’t involve not sleeping on the floor in full vigilante gear.

Tim, looking up from his designated spot on the next chair over, makes very pointed eye contact with Bruce. A simple nod is all that meets him. Already mourning the loss of a relaxing afternoon filled with cartoons, sleep, and lots of food, he pulls up the League’s initial reports on the issue. The burning behind his eyes was a later Tim problem. There’s not much there, but he sets to work as Bruce rises to call the others to action.

~^~^~

Maybe Dick going on this world-saving escapade was a bad idea. Yeah, he kicked some ass, and yeah, he was the one to actually get his hands on the device that let the world-enders of the week wreak their havoc, but he kinda feels like his legs are going to drop out from under him and it may or may not have been four days since he last slept. Sue him, it was a rogue-level Arkham breakout. Measures had to be taken. Caffeine pill measures.

And if those measures ended up with him more spaced out than present during the after-victory conversation with the Titans, well, it’s not like he hasn’t done worse to himself in the past.

And no, bad Dick, that’s neither a healthy nor productive way of thinking. He forces himself to focus back in on what Wally was saying, only to see that the entire circle he was in was looking at him with various concerned expressions. Wally had placed a hand on his shoulder. Huh. Dick didn’t remember that happening.

“Dude, are you okay? We’ve been calling your name for at least a minute and a half.” He doesn’t even bother hiding the concern in his voice, which, fine, it is Wally, but Dick’s torn between wanting to yell at him for putting himself in unnecessary danger during the fight, and just wanting to go eat enough carbs to kill an elephant. “How long have you even been awake?” Oh, he must have given up on reality for another second there, because Wally decided it was time to talk again. This time, Dick was pretty sure he was collected within himself enough to answer. Maybe.

Pulling one hand up to rub at his face and almost, almost hitting his own nose in the process, Dick finally opens his mouth. “Since the breakout started. So… a hundred n’ twenty-six hours? Somethin’ like that.”

Wally closes his eyes extremely pointedly, and opens them to make direct eye contact with both hands on Dick’s shoulders. “Dick. You are going to go home, and you are going to sleep. Do you need someone to be there for you?” The caring is familiar, but it still sends warmth through his chest after all these years.

“Yeah. To the manor?”

“To the manor.” In less than a second, Wally’s arms are around him in a familiar hold, and he’s being hoisted up into the air. By the time Wally sets him down on his bed in the manor, he’s asleep.

~^~^~

“Tim.” Kon takes one look at Tim after they finish the battle, and immediately goes from grinning manically as he punches villains into the ground to hovering in front of Tim and calling Cassie and Bart.

“Yes, Kon?” He ignores the fact that he can feel the concern and disappointment in Kon’s gaze, and focuses on the wrist computer projection of the rapidly lowering energy readings in the area.

“Tim.” And oh, this was going to be an Actual Conversation now. Tim looks up from his projection, unsurprised that Cassie and Bart are both already there. When Kon’s satisfied by the level of eye contact, he speaks again. “Tim, did you sleep at all during that breakout?”

Tim spends less than a second debating with himself before shrugging. “I got knocked out at one point. Killer Croc doesn’t exactly pull his punches.” Watching the looks going his way grow slightly darker wasn’t foreign, at this point, but the curl of uncomfortability in his gut could probably be blamed on exhaustion at this point.

“Tim. Buddy. That started four days ago. Were you checked for a concussion?” It’s Bart that speaks this time, having appeared behind Tim’s back to place one hand down and try to guide him towards some rubble that looks vaguely chair-height. Tim doesn’t move.

A small sigh escaping his lips, Tim shakes his head and stands his ground. “Yes, it did start four days ago, and no, I’m not concussed. World ending circumstances override our protocol. I’m fine.”

Tim’s pretty sure if any of Young Justice had a say in it, he’d be at home asleep already, because even he could admit (to himself) that maybe he’s not entirely fine. Unfortunately for them, and fortunately for Tim, he thinks, Tim is technically their leader so they can’t kick him out. Probably. He notes to check if they can kick him out for lack of self care and moves on.

The next thing he knows, he’s yelping and scrambling for handholds as the ground disappears beneath him. “What the shit, Kon?” From his awkward half-dangling place, he can see Cassie fly up to meet them, Bart in her arms.

He’s shifted to a slightly more secure hold, but it’s painfully clear that if he makes a move to leave Kon’s arms or if Kon drops him, he would be in for a decidedly Not Fun Time. So they’re trying to coerce him. Threaten him? Maybe both.

“Dude, you’re even glitching. Take a nap or something.” Bart shouts at him from maybe five feet away, which is unnecessary, but Tim appreciates the effort to account for possible wind. If only there was any more than none.

“Seriously, you’re spacey and clearly exhausted. You didn’t note anything from those readings until the third rotation, you’re not exactly keeping up with the field work. I could even take you over to the farm or your apartment or something if you don’t want to go back to the cave. But find somewhere to go pass out.” And okay, fine, Kon might be right about the readings. But he can’t just leave-

“Nobody’ll fault you for leaving dude.” Tim immediately curses Bart and his uncanny ability to understand Tim’s anxieties.

“And if anyone does, then we’ll make sure to have a little chat.” He can almost hear the sound of Cassie’s fist hitting her palm, and as much as he wants to accept…

“Thanks guys, really, but I need to keep up on my own responsibilities.” His tone his regretful, and he really can’t leave the rest of his family without warning.

“Tim, you’re our responsibility, so go home and take a nap.” And Kon is not allowed to make sense when Tim’s this tired anymore. But, ever the adamant one, Tim opens his mouth to speak again. “I-“

“Tim, go home.” It’s simultaneous, and manages to effectively shut Tim up.

Heaving one last exasperated sigh, Tim accepts. “Fine, just drop me off at the nearest Zeta.”

Kon gets that manic grin on his face again, and Tim’s internal monologue consists entirely of ‘oh no’. “I can do you one better.” Tim is going to get murdered. “Gotham, here we come!”

~^~^~

Bruce was still fighting as his GPS reported family leaving the area. He felt like his limbs were moving like slugs, his eyes were burning with every blink, and every little noise sent waves of rage through his very soul, but he was still fighting. The last of today’s havoc wreakers were still raring to go, and where evil stands, the Justice League rises to meet them.

As one final punch sends his last opponent to the containment area, Bruce lets his shoulders slump. The past few days have been unbearably long, and he just wants to sleep for a week wherever he can find a horizontal surface. His kids might have the right idea about the floor, at this point. His wounds are throbbing, he can feel his mind succumbing to exhaustion, and he just wants to rest. For once. He should extend the protocol before the next breakout.

Clark touches down next to him, and he immediately braces for a complaint about something, even though this is Clark, and he’s pretty sure Clark hasn’t complained about a thing in his life. Or maybe he just really needs to sleep. Despite all his training, it’s hard to tell.

“Batman. I think it’s time you took a rest. You’ve had some long days.” There’s a kind pressing in his voice.

Bruce suppresses a growl, though he’s sure Clark can hear what escapes from his throat. “I can continue.”

“But you don’t need to. Batman, the kids you brought are already gone, you’re the only one here. Hood and Robin are home with broken bones, you’re needed there more than here.” He smiles, and lowers his voice. “Go home, Bruce, rest up. We’ll see you for the meeting next week.” He takes off, nothing but a gust of wind that aggravates the burning sensation in his eyes.

An hour later, Bruce is pulling himself out of the Batmobile and shedding his suit. As he turns the corner to the main area of the cave, he’s met with his children, huddled together asleep and surrounded by blankets and pillows. A small smile creeps onto his face, the warmth of seeing each of his children here, safe, and soon to be better rested. He moves to go past them, move up to the master bedroom and get some rest himself.

A hand catches at his wrist, pulling down. He glances to the source, and can’t help but worry when he’s met with Jason, eyes still closed and broken leg elevated on a stack of floor pillows. “Br’ce.”

“Yeah, Jaylad?” The nickname wouldn’t fly most times, but his own exhaustion made it slip by.

“Stay, w’ll you?” He tugs again, harder this time, and Bruce lets himself be pulled down to sit on his heels. Dick almost immediately shimmies over to throw himself over Bruce’s legs, and he supposes that’s that. He lightly lifts Dick to lay his legs down flat. Cass’ arm to pull his shoulders down onto the blanket nest isn’t unexpected, and it’s not a surprise when the rest of his children stir enough to drape themselves over one body part of his or another.

As Alfred stands on the foot of the stairs, a dish towel drying his hands, he can’t help but smile. Maybe this way his wards would actually rest for once.

#batman #batfam #tim drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman bingo 2020 #sleep deprivation #blanket nests #this is fluff #basically just fluff

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avengersimagined · 6 years

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A/N: this was previously posted on my quotes account, that’s why it may seem familiar. Enjoy :) Steve Rogers had been a friend of yours since the aftermath of the alien invasion. You were a level 6 S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent when you were assigned to reintroduce Steve to the world. You both became really close friends after that, always making time once a week for your tradition; movies and wings. You came to see Steve as an older brother, and he was overprotective enough to fill the role. It took him a while to fully open up to you, but when he did, you loved to hear the stories of Bucky Barnes. There was something about Barnes that fascinated you. Maybe it was because Bucky had been so important to Steve, or maybe it was because Bucky reminded you of your older cousin that died over in Iraq. Whatever the reason, you had a lot of respect for Steve's old best friend. When S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed, you had been in Europe on a mission. You came back as soon as you heard Steve was in the hospital, only to find that Bucky was alive- he was the Winter Soldier. When Steve got out of the hospital, he filled you in on everything. You met Sam a few days later, and you both made a silent promise to find Bucky for Steve. After months of sleep deprivation, caffeine drinks, and days on end spent in front of a computer, you finally found a solid lead on Barnes. You packed a bag and booked a flight to Romania, only leaving a brief note for Sam and Cap to find. You didn't say why you were leaving, you didn't want to give Steve false hope. For all you knew, Bucky could have been gone by the time you reached him. But he wasn't. You found him hiding in an abandoned wear house, living off of scrap food and lake water. He was jumpy and he was wary of you, staring at you through a crack in the door. “I'm not here to hurt you Sergeant." You had said as you shivered slightly in the cold. “Why are you calling me that?" He asked, confused. “That's your rank. Sergeant James Barnes." You spoke, a smile on your face. "I'm friends with Steve." At the name, a shadow passed across the mans face. "He's talked about you, you were his best friend." “Who are you?" He asked, his metal hand clenching tightly. You reached over and placed a gentle hand over his, only to have him pull back quickly. “My name is Y/N, I'm only here to help you." You spoke honestly, letting your hand drop back to your side. “You can't help me." He spoke, voice void of emotion. “When's the last time you had an actual meal? A fresh glass of water." You asked, getting the hint when he remained silent. "Listen, you don't have to trust me right away, I knew you wouldn't. But I really am here to help. How about this, I'll give you the address to my temporary apartment. You can scope it out to your hearts content, make sure I'm not tricking you. When you feel sure enough, just knock on my door. I'll make you a nice homecooked meal." You bribed slightly. “Okay." He spoke, his eyes still dubious. “Goodbye Sergeant." You spoke, realizing he was done talking for the day. You turned to leave, before he spoke a single word that made you freeze. “Bucky." “I'm sorry?" You spoke, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Call me Bucky." “Alright then, Bucky." You winked playfully at him, leaving him to smile at your retreating figure. It took him a week to show up at your door. In the beginning, he showed up every once in a while. After a month, he showed up every other day, and then eventually he showed up every day. After two weeks of him showing up every day, you asked him to just move into your little apartment until he was ready to talk to Steve. Six months later, you found yourself on a plane back home, an anxious Bucky beside you. “Buck, relax. Steve will be ecstatic to see you." You said, squeezing the hand that was already holding yours. Over the course of the 7 months you knew him, he became very touchy. When he was nervous or after he had one of his many nightmares, touch brought him back to reality. There was a lot of handholding and nighttime cuddling, not that you complained. You had actually grown very fond of the man, to the point of having a crush. But he was Sergeant Barnes for Christ sake, a hero from the Howling Commandos and a lady killer according to Steve. He'd never feel anything for you other than friendship. “What if I can't live up to Steve's expectations? I've changed so much, I'm not that man that Steve once knew." Over time, most of Bucky's memories had returned. The both of you had worked so hard on bringing them back. But with the good memories, came the Hydra memories. There was so much self-hatred on Bucky's part, but eventually you were able to help him see that it wasn't him. What you wouldn't give to kill the bastards that did this to him. Bucky didn't deserve it. “Bucky, you're being ridiculous." You told him, rubbing your thumb softly over his hand. "Steve loves you. He knows you've changed, but you're still his best friend. You could never do anything for that to change. He'll understand. He just wants to help you, like you always did when he got into fights." “He sure did get in a lot of them." Bucky said, a fond smile forming on his lips. “Thank god for you." You joked, and he sent a sweet smile down at you. He finally settled then, closing his eyes to sleep during the rest of the flight. 4 hours later, you found yourself outside of the Avengers Tower, aka Stark Tower. A hesitant smile took over your face, and Bucky sent you a confused glance. “When I found out where you were, I kind of left without telling anyone where I was going. I'm just prepping myself for the lecture from grandpa I know I'm gonna get." You told him. “Grandpa?" He asked curiously. “Steve." You told him, and Bucky instantly burst into laughter. You smiled at the way his eyes lit up, his laugh was your absolute favorite thing about him. It was mesmerizing, and so rare. You made your way to the elevator, smiling when you heard Jarvis. “Hello Ms. Y/L/N, it's good to see you are back." The AI spoke. “Hey Jarvis, can you take me to wherever Steve is." “Of course Miss, he's on the main level with everyone else." He spoke, taking you to the main level. You squeezed Bucky's hand one last time, before letting go as you stepped off the elevator. “I'm telling you, my wings are way better than your silly bow and arrows." You heard Sam speak, a smile spreading over your face. “Give it a rest bird boy, your wings aren't that great." You joked, crossing your arms as you leant against the door frame. Bucky moved silently against the wall, observing everything. “Holy Shit!" “Is that..?" “You are in so much trouble." A voice spoke from across the room, and you laughed slightly. “Hey Cap." You smiled, watching as he walked quickly towards you, pulling you into a bear hug. “Do you know how worried I was? Just a stupid note about how you would be away for a while! I had no idea where you were, if you were ok! You've been gone 7 months, 7. Where the hell were you?" He demanded once he pulled away, holding your shoulders. “I was following a lead on our missing person." You told him, and Sam jumped up. “Wait what?!" He yelped in shock. "You mean to tell me that you went wondering off in search of a crazy assasin without telling us?! What if he hurt you?" He exclaimed, and Steve sent him an annoyed look. “Well I'm perfectly fine, aren't I?" You asked, smirking slightly. “Wait, you found him?" Steve questioned, his eyes lighting up. "How is he? Where is he? Is he alright?" “Why don't you ask him yourself?" You asked, gesturing to where Bucky was standing. Steve's head snapped over in his direction, his eyes going wide. “Bucky?" “Hey punk." Bucky responded, a small smile on his face. Steve's face morphed into one of utter surprise, before he raced towards Bucky. He pulled him into a brotherly hug, shaking his head in disbelief. Everyone left the living room, allowing the two friends to talk. You went to Sam's room, catching up with all that happened in the months you were gone. About an hour later, you and Sam were just lounging in his bed watching tv, when Steve burst through the door. You both looked at him with wide eyes, before Steve zeroed in on you and tackled you to the bed. You both fell off, a gasp escaping your lips as you landed on the floor. “Thank you so much Y/N." He whispered against your neck, a smile on his lips. "I don't know how I could ever repay you." “Seeing you truly happy for once, that's payment enough." You smiled, hugging him tightly. A moment later, he stood up and pulled you up with him. Bucky was standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his face as he looked at you. "What?" You asked, cocking your head to the side in confusion. “You're amazing, you know that? It's like you were sent to both of us to help us. First helping Steve adjusting to a world that was so foreign to him, and giving him a friend when he had no one else. And then you helping me find myself again. I don't know what I did to deserve you." At this point, you were blushing and staring down at the floor. You were vaguely aware of Steve and Sam leaving the room. “It's nothing, really. You both have been through so much, and neither of you deserved any of it. I just wanted to help." “Regardless, it means a lot to me. I never thought I'd ever find anyone that would care about me after all that's happened." Bucky spoke, still staring at you. “Well now you have me, I'm always going to care about you." You spoke, taking his hand in yours. He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn't have it any other way Doll."

#avengers imagine #avengers #marvel #marvel imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #winter solider imagine #winter soldier #captain america #steve rogers #falcon #sam wilson

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