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violetsandfluff · 2 years

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Cough Drops and Extra Love

this took a hot minute whole ass month but I think it was worth it? prepare yourself for 4.2k of sick, clingy harry fluff <3 tw: sickness, mentions of throwing up, nudity, *brief* mention of sex, and loads of fluffffff so if that’s not your cup of tea, don’t read any further. I proofread this a billion times and it’s still not quite right, but it’s as good as I’ll get it.

“Hey, rockstar,” you beamed as Harry strode off the stage and into your arms. He flipped his water bottle and raised it to his lips to finish whatever was left in it before re-wrapping his arms around you. He lowered his head so it was resting on top of yours.

“I love you, baby, I’m so proud of you,” you went on. “How was it?”

Harry just shook his head. “Exhausting,” he muttered at last. “I love you, too, pumpkin.” Casting you a half-hearted smile, he straightened and picked up another water bottle, immediately opening it and downing half of it.

“Someone’s thirsty,” you joked.

Harry let out a dry laugh.

“You’re not very talkative tonight,” you mentioned bluntly. “Usually you’re talking a mile a minute after a show.”

“Tired. And my throat hurt,” was his raspy response before quickly adding, “but it’s better now.”

“Are you sure?” you asked skeptically. “A few sips of water fixed it just like that?”

Harry nodded before throwing his arms around your neck from behind and letting his cheek rest atop your head. “I’m tired, ‘s all,” he said finally. “And thirsty.”

~~~

Once you were home, the first thing Harry did was sink onto the couch and emit a prolonged sigh.

“Oh, baby. What’s wrong?” you asked, plopping onto the cushion next to him.

“Tired,” he sniffed. “Will you take a shower with me?”

“Why?” you asked cautiously.

“Not f’that reason,” he assured you with a soft but priceless smile.

“You want me to help you wash your hair?” you guessed and he nodded, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Only f’you want to, lovie.” His words were followed closely by a poorly stifled sneeze that you chose to ignore. Instead, you made your way to the bathroom and turned on the shower to ensure that it would be nice and warm once Harry stepped in.

When at last he entered the shower in all his naked glory, he stepped towards you and enfolded your waist in his strong arms. He kissed your forehead a few times before resting his head on it once more.

“‘S so warm,” he mused, planting a few more kisses on your head. “Feels nice.”

“I’m glad,” you cooed, reaching up to ruffle his hair, which was now damp and matted down thanks to the water. You wriggled out of his grasp and reached for your shampoo, squeezing a generous amount onto your hands.

“Bend down,” you instructed, and he obeyed, lowering his head so you could reach all of his hair.

You worked the suds into his hair, using your fingertips to massage his scalp as you went.

His eyes fell shut in pleasure as he enjoyed the sensation.

“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” you warned jokingly.

He shook his head and let out a gentle laugh. “It feels so good when you wash my hair.”

“Does your head hurt?”

“A little,” he admitted reluctantly. “Not too bad, though.”

A soft smile spread across your face as you continued working the excessive amount of bubbles into his hair. The shampoo allowed it to stick up in all directions, making it resemble a clown.

“You’re so cute, Harry,” you giggled. “You can rinse your hair now.”

“Already?” he whined, leaning his head back into the warm stream of water, running his hands through his sudsy hair to get every last bit of shampoo out. A few coughs and sneezes escaped him as he emerged from the waterfall, shaking any remaining water droplets from his hair.

You repeated the washing process with a more reasonable amount of conditioner, working it into his hair while she massaged his scalp.

When you finished helping him rinse it out, he wrapped you in another warm embrace, holding you tightly against his chest.

“You’re so clingy tonight,” you noticed.

“S’cuz I love you,” he replied, his voice muffled in your wet hair.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He nodded once before ultimately deciding to shake his head, pulling you closer to his chest.

“Does Jeff know you don’t feel well?”

Harry tensed slightly. “He knew I had a headache before going on, and that my throat was sore afterward,” he said slowly.

“Do you want to tell him or should I?” you asked as you turned off the water.

Harry immediately began to shiver, deprived of the warmth the water had been providing. He wrapped his arms around himself before sidling up next to you again. “Tell who what?”

“Tell Jeff that you’re sick. Do you want to tell him or should I?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, clearing his throat to ward off the persistent tickle that tormented it.

“No what?”

“I just need sleep, Y/N. ‘S all it is. Jeff doesn’t need to know.”

You just shook your head. “I’ll worry about Jeff later. For now,” you trailed off, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. “You’re pretty warm.”

His eyes fell to the ground. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you assured him quickly. “Come here.”

Harry stepped reluctantly out of the shower, stumbling backward upon moving his head too quickly.

“Careful!” you exclaimed instinctively, reaching out to steady him. “You okay?”

He nodded bashfully as his face reddened in embarrassment. “Sorry, lovie.” He spoke in a lighter tone than usual so as not to strain his fatigued voice further.

“Don’t be sorry,” you insisted. “Dry yourself off and I’ll help blow dry your hair.”

Satisfied, he grabbed his towel and began drying off. Any reason for you to play with his hair comforted him.

You rung your hair out in the sink and slipped into a pair of comfortable, loose-fitting sweats before removing your hair dryer from its place in the drawer.

Harry, still wrapped in his towel, sat down on the closed toilet seat to give you better a better view of the top of his head. You dried his hair as quickly as you could, not worrying about what it looked like. After all, it would inevitably get worse as he slept.

Once his hair was thoroughly dried, you led him into the bedroom, instructing him to lie down on top of the duvet.

He did as he was told, and you worked briskly to cover his body in lotion. The lotion was uncomfortably cold on his abnormally warm skin, causing goosebumps to form up and down his limbs. Despite your haste, you made an effort to massage his sore muscles, causing soft groans to escape his rosy lips.

“I’m cold,” he whined desperately, his voice weak and broken. “I just want to go to bed.”

Your heart flooded with compassion at his words. You passed him his pajamas, which he donned immediately. As he did so, you busied yourself pulling back the duvet and comforter.

Harry wasted no time lying down, curling up into a shivering ball against the cool, white sheets.

Presently, you joined him, positioning your body beside his in an attempt to warm him. Instead, he turned away, curling up in the opposite direction.

“I’d feel awful if I got y’sick,” he explained hoarsely. “I don’t feel sexy anymore.”

“Oh, Harry,” you sighed, enveloping him in a warm embrace against his protests. “How do you expect to get better without snuggles?”

He all but melted into you, embracing you and leaning his forehead into your shoulder as his eyelids fell shut.

“Are you comfortable?” you inquired sweetly, to which he responded with a nod as vigorous as his dizzy body would allow.

Once he was comfortable, it didn’t take long for him to start drifting off. You took the opportunity to text Jeff, who agreed that if Harry was sick enough to admit it, there was definitely something wrong. He agreed to drop off some medicine, as well as other items that would benefit Harry, but until then, you were instructed to give him Tylenol to help ward off some of his discomforts.

You shook his already-sleeping body reluctantly, sighing sympathetically when he let out a disgruntled whimper. His exhausted eyes found yours as he stuffed his hands with handfuls of your sweatshirt.

You apologized profusely for rousing him so suddenly before handing him the pills and a bottle of water, which he downed obediently before returning his head to its place on your chest.

“Jeff’s coming with actual medicine,” you informed him, “but hopefully this will take the edge off your headache.”

Harry gave you a weak smile and a grateful hug, mumbling one last apology before shutting his heavy eyes once more. “‘M sorry I’m sick.”

He had been asleep for less than five minutes when Jeff let himself in with supplies in tow. After one mere glance at Harry’s sleep-distraught figure, it was evident that he wasn’t well at all. Jeff set the bag down gingerly on the bed, whispering some generic instructions before leaving as quietly as possible.

You opened the bag painfully carefully, but the rustling of the plastic didn’t fail to stir Harry from his light sleep.

He looked up at you with glossy, dilated eyes, letting out a few sniffles and coughs.

“Jeff brought this for you,” you said, beckoning to the bag. “Sorry I woke you up again.”

“‘S fine,” he sighed softly.

“He brought some medicine as well as a thermometer, cough drops, and extra tissues. And he left some soup in the fridge for us to heat up when we want some.”

Harry attempted to smile as he tightened his grip around you, burying his face in your shoulder to escape the light of the lamp you switched on.

“I was told not to give you medicine until tomorrow to keep better track of doses, but you were also prescribed plenty of cough drops and extra love.”

Harry brightened immediately, eager for love and an extra something to soothe his irritated throat.

You ripped the package of cough drops open, inhaling their inherently intoxicating fragrance before popping one into his waiting mouth.

He thanked you by managing a weak smile before clacking it against his teeth a few times and lying back down.

“Don’t fall asleep with that,” you warned jokingly.

“I won’t,” he replied, his voice low and raspy. “My head hurts, Y/N.”

“Give the Tylenol some time to work,” you suggested gently, running your fingers through his freshly washed hair.

His eyes fell shut at the sensation as he leaned instinctively into your touch.

“Now I smell like you,” he sniffled, enjoying the attention despite himself.

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, but it also didn’t take him long to wake up. He found himself unable to sleep for more than two hours at a time. He was hot and cold simultaneously and every muscle in his body seared with a dull ache. Every time he began to drift off, he awoke immediately, needing to cough or sneeze.

After waking up for the third time, he ultimately decided to move to your other side in hopes of finding a more comfortable position to lie in without straying too far from your comforting body heat.

You adjusted the blankets around him as he adjusted his grip around your waist. HJose tired, glassy eyes looked up at you, blinking profusely as a singular tear slid down his cheek.

You used your thumb to brush it from his cheek and his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“You didn’t think I’d notice?” you asked in disbelief, feeling your heart sink.

He shrugged, trying to blink back the tears that welled up in his eyes, but his efforts were in vain.

“Oh, Harry,” you sighed, massaging his head gently as he leaned into you. “Why don’t you to go back to sleep?”

“I’m too tired,” he complained.

“Too tired to sleep?”

“I can’t get comfortable,” he explained miserably.

“We can watch a movie together if you want,” you suggested.

“That might wake me up enough to sleep,” he said softly, letting out a few coughs as he scrubbed at his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile, though you knew he was only clingy because he didn’t feel well. You leaned past him to grab your laptop off of the ground, as well as the tissue box, knowing all too well that he would need it. The moment you opened your laptop, a wave of blue light illuminated the room.

Harry whimpered softly, burying his face in your neck as you rushed to turn the brightness down, blinking the dark spots out of your vision after the shock.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you cooed. “That didn’t help your headache any, did it?”

He shook his head, muffling a short set of sniffles into your shoulder.

“What do you want to watch?”

He shrugged. “Your choice,” he rasped sleepily, moving closer to your chest. “I’ll watch anything.”

Your eyes moved from the glowing computer screen to Harry’s sick body, clinging onto you desperately.

You let out a low hum as you shut your computer and carded your fingers through his messy, blow-dried hair “You just want to be held, huh?”

He nodded solemnly, forgetting his signature cheekiness amid his fevered state as unpreventable tears sprang to his eyes for a second time that night.

Wordlessly, your arms enveloped his middle as you held him to your chest.

A shiver wracked his body as he allowed himself to be held, growing warm and tired in your arms. “I love when you hold me,” he muttered sleepily. Had his face not been buried in your chest, you would have noticed a rosy tint creeping into his cheeks.

In the comfort of your arms, he drifted off immediately, finally succumbing to the sound sleep his body craved.

You fell asleep shortly thereafter, waking up what seemed like minutes later to the sun streaming in through the closed curtains. You were sore from lying in the same position for so long, and your right arm was asleep from being under Harry’s weight. On top of that, you were almost sweating from the heat he had generated onto you throughout the night

A brief glance at him, however, told you he hadn’t moved all night. I’m

Based on the light coming in from outside, it was morning, meaning you could administer his first dose of medicine. Moving slowly so as not to wake him, you tiptoed from the room to use the bathroom and freshen up. You took the time to wash your face, brush your teeth, and get your hair out of your face, feeling miraculously put together as you exited the bathroom and headed for the kitchen to fetch him a bottle of water.

In the short time you were gone, Harry had woken up and repositioned himself to be curled up around a pillow, sniffling and coughing into it.

Climbing back into bed, you ruffled his hair affectionately as he let out a disgruntled sigh, rubbing the sleep from his puffy eyes.

“How do you feel, bubs?”

Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste at the pet name. “‘M okay,” he began before clearing his throat and trying again. “I feel like shit.” The throat-clearing irritated his already-sore throat, causing him to cough.

You rubbed his back sympathetically as he sniffled before continuing to rub his eyes.

“I can give you medicine now,” you said brightly. “Hopefully, it will help perk you up and bring your fever down. You’re like a little heating pad right now.”

“A little heating pad,” he repeated, smiling slightly despite himself.

“A little bed-headed, cough drop-scented heating pad.”

He sighed contentedly as your hands found their way to his hair once again. “My head hurts,” he commented.

“I’ll get you your medicine and water. Does oatmeal sound good or would you rather eat something else?”

“Do I have to?” he grimaced before muffling a stuffy sneeze into his pillow.

“You can’t take the medicine on an empty stomach.” you reasoned. “Plus, when was the last time you ate?”

He sneezed one more time before agreeing begrudgingly. “Anything to make me feel better,” he sighed before coughing again into the crook of his arm.

“I’ll be right back. In the meantime, rest your voice.”

Harry nodded, zipping his lips obediently. He leaned back against the cool pillows, pulling the comforter up to his chin. His whole body was tired and achy, and his head was foggy and throbbing. His nose was alternating between stuffed up and runny, and his chest felt tight and heavy. He could barely sit up without his head spinning and almost everything made his feverish, irritable body threaten to burst into tears. He knew he was being clingy, but he could scarcely keep his hands off of you. He needed your warm, comforting body near his more than anything else in the world. Because of that, a sigh of relief escaped his chapped lips when you finally returned to the bedroom.

After setting down the oatmeal and water on the nightstand nearest your side of the bed, which he had inhabited as of late, you couldn’t resist his outstretched arms.

He buried his fever-warmed face in your neck as you ran your fingers up and down his back.

“‘M sorry I’m being such a baby,” he mumbled. “‘S just, I haven’t felt this sick in forever.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, squishing his dimpled cheeks. “You baby me all the time. Now it’s your turn to be babied.” You looked over his sick body with sad eyes before passing him the bowl of oatmeal from your nightstand.

He stared blankly at it for a moment before raising a spoonful to his lips. He swallowed a few bites wordlessly before lowering the bowl back down to his lap. “Is that enough?”

You shook your head sadly. “A few more bites, baby. Then we can give you your medicine.”

Harry choked down four more bites of the gormless oatmeal before pushing his bowl back in defiance.

You handed him his pills and a glass of water, both of which he downed readily.

Leaning back against the pillows once more, he cast you a forlorn, heart-melting gaze. His eyes were puffy and watery from fatigue, and his lips were chapped from excess licking. His nose was on fire from the number of times it had been wiped and coddled, but somehow, he was still unfairly cute.

“‘F I can’t sing, can we at least have sex or something?” He looked at you with inquisitive green eyes as he awaited your response.

“Oh, baby,” you sighed. “You’re too tired to sit up fully. How do you expect to have sex?”

He shrugged as a look of defeat crossed his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I’m sorry. Just bored.”

“I know,” you pouted. “Is there anything you want to do?”

“We could watch a movie,” he suggested, beckoning toward the brand-new bedroom tv that had yet to be turned on. Harry never failed to cheer you up when you were under the weather, but you weren’t used to being the caretaker. He fell ill so seldom, and when he did, it was almost always mild and gone in a day or two, tops. Now, glancing over his long body, bundled up in blankets, you hoped you could give him a similar assurance.

“Find a movie while I make us some tea.” You passed him the remote from atop the stout dresser beneath the tv before exiting the room. You made the tea hastily, not wanting to leave Harry alone for too long. Because being sick made him especially clingy, leaving for more than a few minutes at a time would cause inevitable whining from him. When you re-entered the room, mugs of tea in hand, Harry wasn’t there.

Your brow knitted in confusion. Poking your head into the ensuite bathroom, you saw him curled up in a heap on the cold tile before the toilet.

A sound of concern similar to a cat’s meow brewed at the back of your throat. You padded over to where he lay and crouched beside him.

He rolled to his side, brushing the hair from his face to make better eye contact with you.

“What’s the matter, baby?” you inquired, concern evident in your voice. “Did you throw up?”

“Not yet,” he stammered nervously. You noticed how his body trembled when he forced himself to sit up. “I thought I ate enough.”

“It could be completely unrelated,” you suggested, rubbing consoling circles on his broad back. You could see the embarrassment and discomfort on his face as he glanced warily from the toilet to you and down to his hands.

“Maybe,” he sniffled in agreement, barely daring to move for fear of getting sick.

“It’ll make you feel better,” you promised. “It might seem gross, but it’s all in your head. I guarantee you’ll feel a thousand times better when it’s over.”

Harry leaned back on his elbows, staring expressionlessly at the wall as his face grew pale. His breathing became rapid and shallow. In one swift burst of strength, he repositioned himself so he was hunched over the toilet, his forearms resting on the rim.

You rubbed his back comfortingly for a painfully long couple of seconds until he finished, shrinking back against the blank, white wall. When you joined him, he wasted no time placing his head in your lap and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You played with his hair in silence, twisting the frizzy strands around your finger and unraveling them again.

“Do you feel better?” you asked lovingly as you continued to twist his hair and stroke his cheeks.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as they welled up with tears.

“Are you ready to brush your teeth or do you want to stay here for a moment longer?”

“Stay here,” he mumbled. “You stay here, too.” He looked at you with tearful puppy eyes before muffling his sniffles into your shirt.

“Oh, Harry,” you cooed gently. “What’s wrong? Don’t be embarrassed.”

“‘S just disgusting,” he spat. “I’m disgusting.”

“Why don’t you brush your teeth?”

“What if I get sick again?”

“Do you still feel nauseous?” you tried to respond calmly to his panic.

He shook his head slowly. “I just don’t want it to happen again.”

“It’s okay if it does. You’ll get better.”

Harry peeled his weak body off the floor, steadying himself on the counter as he reached for his toothbrush and toothpaste.

After a thorough cleaning of his teeth, he retreated to his bed, where he burrowed into the covers in an attempt to soothe his shivering body. He poked his head out from the covers just long enough to unpause The Notebook, his comfort movie, before returning to his cocoon.

A few minutes later, after disinfecting the bathroom, you joined him beneath the mountains of covers.

Instinctively, he cuddled up beside you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and embracing you profusely. He gradually began tracing imaginary patterns on your chest with his fingers, tired eyes half-lidded with sleep.

“You still don’t have any energy, do you?” You frowned slightly as he managed to shake his head.

He muffled a series of three consecutive sneezes into your shirt before sniffling a few times and returning to the patterns he was creating.

“I have your tea if you’re ready for it.”

He shook his head and let one final sneeze shiver out of his clammy body.

“Why don’t you go to sleep while you wait for the medicine to kick in?”

He nodded gratefully, seizing the opportunity to let his heavy eyelids fall shut.

“Baby.” You let out a prolonged sigh. “You don’t need my permission to sleep. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he sniffled hoarsely. “Can you spoon me?”

“Of course, lovie,” you mused sadly. “If only you were smaller, I could hold you on my lap and rock you to sleep like a baby.”

Harry whimpered softly as you removed one of your hands from his grasp to ruffle his hair.

“It’s not my fault I’m bigger than you,” he whined.

You had to laugh at his comment. You placed a cool hand on each of his cheeks, causing his eyes to flutter shut in contentment.

A delicate kiss was pressed to his forehead before he rolled over, finding his way into your eager arms.

He mumbled a word of appreciation as his eyelids fluttered closed for long-awaited sleep.

The next few days were a rollercoaster. You had to deal with Harry being extra clingy and emotional due to having to cancel shows for the first time ever. You spent countless hours curled up beside him as he slept, and you spent many evenings with him either relaxing in the tub or shampooing his hair in the shower. You dealt him tissues and cough drops as needed, as well as heated up the soup Jeff had delivered (which proved to be more than plentiful).

You watched in relief as Harry’s energy and cheekiness returned day by day. Soon, he grew more talkative, and not long after that, he returned to the state of despair he had been in earlier that week due to cancelling shows.

Even while sick, though, he never stopped asking for kisses.

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