Steve With Reader Who Has A Cold, Just Generic Full On Fluff With Helping Her Have A Warm Bath, Nothing

Steve with reader who has a cold, just generic full on fluff with helping her have a warm bath, nothing spicy just domestic? :) <3 ly always

18+ for general nudity theres NOT smut/ any graphic descriptions, pure fluff! thank you for your request doting steve is the best! ly anon 1k wc

"Oh, gross. What the fuck's happening in here?” Steve asks, bursting through your bedroom door like a maniac. 

You flinch awake, a wave of used up tissues falling off of your chest. "Steve?" you ask, though your nose is so plugged up that it comes out like, "Steeb?" 

"I think my nose just started running, it's like the air is eighty percent vapor rub." 

You pull your bed sheets over your face to hide from your boyfriend for about five seconds before the air gets too hot and you have to pull it down to just under your lips. 

His eyes soften when he gets a good look at you. "Shit, you don't look good." 

He strides straight to your window and throws it open and then to your side, tugging the sweat-damp sheets off of your tired body. 

"I told you I was sick." 

He sits by your knees, hands landing familiarly over your struggling chest. He spreads his hand, feels the clammy material with a frown. The smoothing of his hand over your skin is nice. 

"You said sick, not dying." 

"You're so dramatic," you complain weakly, your voice thick. 

He pats your chest once. "Alright bub, up we come," he says, arms slipping under your back. 

You moan as he pulls you up and in, his chin pushing over the dip of your shoulder in a hug. He rubs your back. You wish you could breathe through your nose if only to smell his scents, his bergamot and cedarwood, his hairspray and his skin. 

"Steve, I'll make you sick." 

"Sacrifices."

You're sweaty and too-hot, you smell sick and you look worse and Steve absolutely doesn't care, his skin on yours unflinching.

"I think," Steve says under his breath, pulling back to look down at your feeble hunch, the back of his hand pressed to your forehead, "that you need a bath." 

"I'm too tired." 

"I'll help you out, yeah? I'm, like, your personal hot male nurse." 

You wrinkle your nose at him and the skin around your nostrils feels tight and dry. You wince, wanting to fall into his arms and never get back up again. Steve has other ideas, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and leading you into the bathroom. He shuts the toilet lid and sits you down gently.

"I don't want to be naked right now, I'm disgusting," you complain though you don’t really mind, content for him to do as he pleases. You're just happy he’s here. 

"You've never been disgusting a day in your life. Icky, maybe. Slimy. Pretty underneath all the dirt, though, babe," Steve says as he turns on the faucet. 

He sticks his hand under the stream until he's happy with the temperature and then pulls out a clean towel, tucking it over the towel rack and turning to you, smiling his pretty smile that always manages to calm you down. 

You look up at him, breathing through your mouth, head heavy as a bowling ball. He rubs your shoulders lightly.

"Stevie…" 

"I know. You're alright. Look, let's get this off you," he says, hands at the hem of your shirt. He helps you undress and encourages you to hang onto his waist as you step out of your pants, his hands waiting to catch you as you climb into the bathtub. It's not necessary – you're not dizzy, only aching and weak – but it makes you happy that he cares that much. 

You feel better as the water rises, legs crossed and pulled up to your chest in an effort to maintain some dignity though it really couldn't matter less, your boyfriend having seen and loved on almost every part of you by this point. Steve sits on the lip of the tub with his arms crossed, only moving to reach out and rub the top of your back with the heel of his palm when you cough. 

"The steam will clear you out, get you breathing easy again in no time," he promises. 

You turn to him, bringing your hands from the water. They get the hip of his trousers regretfully wet as you grip the side of the bath and drop your head into his lap. 

Steve heaves a sympathetic sigh and hugs you best he can in your positions. You're so tired and being this sick is miserable but his company, his care and his touch are all invaluable. You melt in his arms, quickly close to dozing. 

"Don't fall asleep," he croons jokingly, "I haven't given you your sponge bath." 

"You little freak," you murmur. He bursts into laughter, his chuckles rocking you and making the water around you ebb and wave. You feel like laughing too for the first time in at least a few days. 

"Sorry I couldn't come see you sooner. I mean, I would've made it happen if I'd known you were this sick, I swear," he says.

"It's okay. I know you would've. I've only been this bad since last night." 

"You could've called me." 

"You worked overtime, I wouldn't do that to you." 

"Do what? Let me take care of you? Shocker, loser, I want to do that. I wanna take care of you all the time." 

You grumble into his lap and he mimics the sound fondly, rubbing the edge of your hairline, pushing against it. 

"You want me to wash your hair, babygirl?" Made warm with affection his words come out quiet, like his lips aren't fully parted. 

"Please?" you whisper. 

He guides your head from his lap and strokes your face before giving you a good pat on the cheek. "I'm gonna have you clean as a whistle in no time," he says with pride. He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Then I'm changing your gross sheets. You couldn't pay me to cuddle on those bad boys. There's, like, an eighth grade science experiment happening in there." 

"Bet I could persuade you," you say, not believing it yourself. 

"You definitely could. Dunk your head, I wanna wash your hair before the water gets cold."