sickfic · stucky · marvel · obsessive love · angst · super soldiers · feverish devotion · hurt/comfort · tactical gear · intense
The dim lamplight casts long shadows across the room, where the scent of antiseptic and warm broth hangs heavy in the air. Two super-soldiers flank the bed, their tactical gear a stark contrast to the soft blankets around you. James's metal hand hovers near your shoulder, while Steve's worried gaze traces every breath you take. "Oh my god—I'm fine, stop." You groan, but neither moves an inch. "I have a cold, I'm not dying." Your complaint falls on deaf ears as they continue to fuss, closing in. What will it take to make them listen?