Stories about Y/n creating bonds with characters from series and films.
(I don't own the characters)
PG-13!
1. **Language:** Mild to moderate profanity, but not extreme or pervasive.
2. **Violence:** Some intense or realistic violence may be present...
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After the final battle, the world was still reeling from the chaos orchestrated by the true masterminds behind the international incident. Sam Wilson had led the charge, standing as a symbol of hope and justice, but the toll on his body had been devastating. Y/n rushed through the hospital's sterile halls, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and desperation. Every step felt heavier as she got closer to the room where Sam lay.
When she finally pushed open the door, the sight before her shattered her resolve. Sam, unconscious, bruises covering his face, lay motionless in the hospital bed. His once strong and assured presence was now replaced by pale skin and bandages. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound, a faint reminder that he was still fighting, even in this state.
Tears blurred Y/n's vision as she walked over to his bedside, her breath hitching with each step. She reached out, taking his cold, limp hand in hers, her fingers trembling as she intertwined them with his. His hand, once warm and full of life, now felt fragile — a stark contrast to the fearless leader she had known.
"Sam," she whispered, her voice barely audible, choked with emotion. "Please... you have to be okay. You have to come back."
She sank down into the chair beside him, holding his hand close to her chest as if trying to will her strength into him. Tears fell freely now, her shoulders shaking with sobs. She leaned forward, resting her head on the side of his bed, her free hand brushing gently over his bruised face. The sight of him like this, so vulnerable, broke something deep inside her.
"I love you," she whispered through her tears, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "I love you so much, Sam."
For a moment, there was only the sound of her quiet crying and the rhythmic beep of the machines. But then, she felt it — the faintest squeeze of his hand. Her head shot up, hope flooding her chest. His eyelids fluttered, and with immense effort, Sam weakly turned his head toward her.
"I... love you too," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath but filled with so much warmth, it made her heart ache.
Y/n let out a sob, this time of relief, as she hugged his hand tighter, gently kissing his cheek again. He was alive. Weak, battered, but alive. And that was all that mattered.
