Steve Rogers And Bucky Barnes Images

Covid (rewritten)

Guess who's had the new strand of COVID?! Y'all I was not breathing for like six days. I couldn't even get out of bed, and my fiance was WORRIED. I missed so much work, it's not even funny lol.

Anyways, I rewrote this, made it a tad longer, and cut out the last part because I liked the thought of not finishing it.

Warnings - Needles, mentions of sickness, quarantine, reader is sick, mentions of violence and threats, Protective!Steve core, mentions of blood and popped veins for those of you who don't like that lol

It was like a sixth sense when it came to you. Steve had his entire body tuned to yours; mind tracked to stay within touch within at least half a mile. It didn't matter where he was or who he was with. If you were within ears reach, Steve was paying attention. He knew your body more than you did. He sees things most people could miss. He knew when something was wrong; felt it in his chest every time he thought about you; whether it be good or bad.

So when he came into the training room to find you at the punching bag, Steve could feel the panic before he even noticed something was wrong. His chest hurt, mind reeling as his eyes traced every inch of you from where he leaned against the wall on the other side of the room. Your hands were quick, headphones wired to your phone in your pocket, and focus on hitting the bag in front of you.

But he knew something was off. From where he stood, he could hear your breathing and see the paleness in your face. Sweating wasn't really a surprising feature, considering you'd been here for at least three hours, but your stance was all wrong. Your knees were bent much more than they should've been, elbows curved in a way that would make them more sore than they should be later on.

Steve could spend hours trying to figure out what was wrong, but the more he watched–the more he listened, the more concerned he got. Your lungs had this murmur to them that made him push off the wall and make his way to you, heavy hand gentle on your back to only startle you. But you smiled nonetheless when you noticed it was just him, eyes brightening as you laughed and tugged the earbuds out of your ear.

"Steve, hey!" There it was.

"You're sick." It didn't matter to Captain America that you were sick. He didn't ever have to worry about airborne diseases or anything traumatic considering his blood made him have the immune system of a shark. But he now had someone else to worry about when he heard the slight crack in your voice. As well as the dark circles beneath your eyes. "Honey, you don't look so good." It didn't take him long to place his hand on your forehead, his worry no longer misplaced when he felt the extra heat before he even touched you.

Slapping him away, you chuckle. It was like a routine whenever he got worried. He pushed and seemed to get carried away with the stress. But, you knew it came from the heart. "I'm good, Steve." And then you coughed, fist covering your mouth just as your boyfriend stepped closer. "It's gotta be allergies. Stark hasn't hired anyone to clean out the vents since Clint started finding manholes, so the dust is crazy."

"Dust is giving you a fever?" He panders, unforgiving as his hands cup both sides of your jaw to feel up your neck and pulse points. "You're obviously not feeling good, Y/N."

Pushing him away again, you bring both his hands down in front of you, keeping him steady despite the signs he wasn't believing you one bit. "Dust is giving me a migraine that's affecting my airways," you joke, but it comes out heavy and slightly rough as you clear your throat. "But, I'm fine, Steve. I'll take a Benadryl later tonight and everything will be brushed away with my dreams."

Steve didn't believe a single word of it. You were pushing away the pain, something so common when it came to your own well being. He's seen it too many times before. Communicating where it hurt seemed to be an impossible task when it came to you.