#sick tony stark | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yes-i-am-happyaspie · 2 months

Note

Do you know any sick Tony stories with Peter caring for him❣️♥️

Yes! I know quite a few!! Including a handful of my own. Haha! HEre are some of my favorite Sick Tony Stark & Peter Parker fics (In no particular order)

List below the cut!

Tony Stark is a Terrible Patient by sdottkrames @sdottkrames Rated G

Peter had been warned that Tony Stark is a terrible patient. Luckily, he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve to help his mentor feel better.

Even Sick, I’m the Hero by the Spider-Man alt (counterclaw) Not Rated

Unofficial parental duties don’t end, even when you get sick taking care of your unofficial son.

Lights and Sounds by xxx_cat_xxx @xxx-cat-xxx Rated T

“Just let it out, okay?” The kid has jumped out behind him, hovering at his side. He tries to pat his shoulder, but Tony flinches away. Everything hurts. Holes are being drilled into his skull, but they do nothing to relieve the pressure. It just increases with every retch, until he is sure that his head will burst open any moment. He can’t see anymore, and he catches himself wishing he would pass out, just to make the pain stop. --- Tony has a migraine while spending the day with Peter. When trying to hide it proofs futile, he is secretly glad to have people around who will take care of him.

Cortisol Control by Sara (ctrsara) @ctrsara Rated G

Boss, you have not eaten since 6 PM yesterday, and your blood sugar is low. You should eat something.”

Tony rolled his eyes at FRIDAY, and continued to mess with the toaster. It had been sticking lately, and Tony had it in pieces across the counter. Should be an easy fix, which he desperately needed right now.I’m

When Tony won’t listen to FRIDAY, she decides to enlist some help.

Give the Kid an Oscar by whumphoarder @whumphoarder Rated G

Poor kid—he looks utterly miserable. And if anyone should know how much migraines suck, it’s Tony.

Lack of Self-Care by happyaspie Rated T

With Pepper out of the country and a plethora of projects requiring his attention, Tony fails to participate in any kind of self-care. As a result, he’s overcome by a pounding headache. At some point, Peter shows up with a guilt-inducing look of harried concern.

Sticky Sickie by lemonlillybee @lemonlillybee Rated G

Tony is recovering from an illness in bed, and Pepper wants him to stay in bed, so she calls in reinforcements to make sure he does. Reinforcements being a certain spider-kid, who might also be sick.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood by ambivalentangst @ambivalentmarvel Rated T

Tony Stark is sick.

Peter Parker is tasked with bringing him food.

It’s not Peter’s fault some stuff comes up along the way.

Or, Spider-Man is out and searching for soup on a Saturday, but nobody—with the exception of Tony, whose complaints Peter is growing increasingly skilled at ignoring—says he can’t multitask and help his city at the same time.

Laughter is the Best Medicine by happyaspie Rated G

Tony is sick and Peter just really wants to make him feel better.

I've Got 102 Problems by Sara (ctrsara) @ctrsara Rated G

Tony Stark had been having a pretty crappy day. He’d woken with a tickle in his throat and a headache. Pepper had only been home for two days that week before she got called to some kind of crisis at Stark Industries-Malibu, so he’d been alone since yesterday morning. His fancy coffee maker had randomly broken, and the new one wouldn’t be there until late that afternoon (because it was coming in from France). And now his AI was giving him all kinds of pushback. -------- Peter shows up for his internship, and Tony isn't doing too hot. Or, he's doing way too hot, since he's burning up, but won't admit that he's sick.

Bonus! Ned Taking Care of Tony (*whispers* Give it a chaaance.)

Ned Leeds: Jack of All Trades by happyaspie Rated G

Tony is sick, Pepper’s out of town and Peter has been left in charge. But when a half-man half-monster looking guy starts attacking the city Peter does the only rational thing he can think to do. He calls in the reserves, and asks Ned to take care of Tony while he ducks out to save the day.

Or:

Ned’s responsibilities as Spider-man’s ‘guy-in-the-chair’ continue to evo

#sick tony stark #rec list #irondad fic recs #irondad fic rec #irondad and spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #iron man #spider-man #marvel #mcu #irondad

28 notes · View notes

lemonlillybee · 1 year

Text

Sticky Sickie

Title: Sticky Sickie

Fandom: Irondad

Word Count: 2500 (Read on AO3)

Prompts: #76 from @irondadmadlads and @comfortember prompts falling asleep on someone & quality time

“Pep!” Tony doesn’t care that he sounds whiney. Well, maybe he cares a little bit, but he has other, more important things to focus on. “Honey, I can’t stay in bed all day! I have things to do. I’ve been in bed all week, and–”

“I thought you might say that.” Pepper smiles brightly. “Would you rest if someone stayed with you? Misery loves company, after all.”

“Is that so?” Tony grumbles, feeling irrationally annoyed at the way his hopes soar at the thought of not having to be alone today. He stuffs down the hope and tries to sound indifferent. “You’re really going to stay here with me today?”

Pepper gives him a smile and Tony knows she can see right through him. “Mm, not quite.” She doesn’t explain herself, just leaves the room without another word, and Tony flops back onto his pillows with a heavy sigh that makes him cough a little. He’d been knocked on his ass almost a week ago by the cold from hell and though he’d love to be able to get up and get on with his life today, he’s actually still feeling really exhausted. Not that he’s going to admit that to Pepper.

Tony drags a hand down his face and starts to make a list in his head of things he’d like to get done today. When Pepper comes back into the room, she has someone shuffling along behind her, and Tony immediately forgets his entire list when he sees who it is.

“Peter?”

Peter pokes his head around Pepper, raising his hand in a little wave. He’s holding a box of tissues to his chest with his other arm, and he looks terrible, his face pale and his nose red. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and he shuffles over to the wall closest to Pepper’s side of the bed, kicking his sneakers off and lining them up neatly before dropping his backpack down next to them.

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter says, his voice so congested it doesn’t even sound like him.

“You’re sick too, huh?” Tony asks, guilt straining his voice. “I’m so sorry, Roos.”

“I’m okay,” Peter replies, sounding anything but. “Ms. Potts said you’re not feeling well and wanted my company. Which, I’m not sure I’ll be any entertainment because I’m also not feeling well, but–”

“Pete,” Tony cuts him off, because Peter is grimacing and rubbing at his throat as he talks, his voice croaky and fading fast.

Pepper notices, too, and she ushers Peter toward the bed. “You’re running a fever, sweetheart, so you’re going to get into this bed and rest today. Both of you are going to rest, got it?” She says, looking pointedly at Tony over Peter’s head.

“Got it,” Peter replies obediently. He climbs into the bed, sitting with his back up against the headboard, and lets Pepper pull the blanket over his legs. She smoothes her hand over his forehead, and he leans slightly into the touch, closing his eyes and making a little humming sound that turns into a whimper when she pulls her hand away.

“We stopped by and got a dose of meds from Bruce,” Pepper tells Tony. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. is going to be keeping him updated on Peter’s temperature. And she’s going to call me if either of you need anything. Okay?”

“Okay,” Peter says, answering again for the both of them. He shivers a little, then drags the sleeve of his hoodie under his nose, wincing as the action irritates the raw skin around his nose. He sheepishly grabs a tissue when he sees the way Pepper is looking at him, pressing it to his running nose and mumbling an apology.

“You two take care of each other, okay?”

Tony and Peter both nod, and Pepper leaves, kissing Peter on the top of the head and then making her way around the bed to do the same to Tony before she goes.

“Well,” Tony says once she’s gone. “Guess we’re gonna get a little quality time together today, huh?”

Peter, who’s dabbing at his nose with another tissue, swallows with a wince. “Huh?” His eyes look a little glassy when he looks over at Tony. “Oh, yeah!”

Tony crosses his arms over his chest. He feels terrible for getting Peter sick, of course, but he’s glad Pepper thought to coordinate him coming to the Tower for the day with May so he won’t be in his apartment alone. Being alone while sick isn’t Tony’s favorite thing, and being alone in general isn’t Peter’s favorite thing, so the arrangement works out. Plus, he really does enjoy Peter’s company, even if Peter will likely be sleeping for most of the day. Tony’s thoughts drift to his mental to-do list again, thinking about how much he might be able to get done while Peter naps, but he pauses when he realizes Peter is still staring at him.

“So,” he says, rolling onto his side to face Peter. “How are you feeling, bud? What do you want to do?”

“We could watch a movie?” Peter suggests. “Ms. Potts said to choose Star Wars if you want to be awake, or a movie that was made after I was born if you need to sleep.”

“Did she now?”

Peter nods seriously, completely missing the smile that Tony tries and fails to fight from spreading across his face. “I also have some homework I could work on, but that’s kind of boring.” He takes a long, shaky breath, and Tony suddenly realizes that he’s trying to be his usual chatty self, despite his rapidly fading voice and the fact that he’s clearly miserable.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says, watching Peter shiver. “Why don’t you lie down so you can get all the way under the covers?” He holds the comforter up, and Peter nods, practically melting down the headboard until he’s completely horizontal. He curls up on his side, facing away from Tony, sniffling while Tony tucks the blanket around his shoulders.

A shiver runs through Peter, and Tony reaches out to rub his back, hoping the motion might help him feel a little warmer. Soon, Peter is almost asleep, his breath whistling in and out through his nose, and Tony is startled a little when Peter clears his throat loudly and reveals that he’s still awake.

“Your heart sounds really loud,” he whispers, and a second later he’s rolling over to face Tony, scooting closer until he’s fully pressed up against Tony’s body. He feels Peter’s hand against his face as he clumsily reaches up, his fingertips aiming for Tony’s pulse point and landing on his cheek instead. Tony’s skin is pulled slightly under the touch as Peter’s sticky powers are activated, his fingers prickly and clinging to his face.

“You’re…alive…I think?” Peter says, his eyes closed as he tries to assess the results of his failed attempt to check Tony’s pulse.

“I’m alive.” Tony reaches up and gently takes Peter’s hand, pulling it away from his face and wincing when the removal of his sticky fingers feels like someone ripping a bandaid off of his cheek. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, letting his hand fall to Tony’s chest, fingers immediately sticking to the skin above the collar of his shirt instead. It’s an odd feeling, slightly uncomfortable, but Tony doesn’t mind. Peter is almost asleep again. Tony reaches over and cards his fingers through Peter’s hair, and Peter snores a couple of times, then shakes his head slightly like he’s fighting sleep.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice is so small and so hoarse and Tony cringes because he knows it’s probably painful for him to talk, if his own experience this past week is anything to go by.

“Yeah, bud?”

There’s a long pause, during which Peter tucks his face into Tony’s shoulder, nuzzling the fabric of his shirt with his nose. “I have to cough,” he finally says, his voice muffled.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Tony chuckles dryly. “This is the part where you unstick yourself from me so you can cover your mouth. You know, keep your germs to yourself.”

“You’re the one who got me sick though,” Peter murmurs, then promptly sneezes right into Tony’s shirt.

“Oh, what the– That wasn’t a cough!”

“Oh.” Peter sniffles. “My bad.”

“You are absolutely disgusting,” Tony grimaces. He looks around for the tissue box, but it’s on the far nightstand on the other side of Peter.

“I…am?”

Tony sighs. “No. You’re not. You are pretty sick, though.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. He lifts his head, unsticking his hand from Tony’s chest and tucking his face into the crook of his elbow to cough. “It sucks.”

“Want to try a movie, or do you want to sleep?”

Peter nestles himself back against Tony’s side and closes his eyes with a congested sigh. He doesn’t answer, but two minutes later, he’s snoring.

Tony grabs his phone from his nightstand. He can work on a lot of things from his phone, which is the only device Pepper didn’t confiscate from him. While Peter sleeps, he plans to get at least five things from his list done. The first task is checking his emails. He taps on his inbox, but he doesn’t even get through the first email before Peter shifts in his sleep, tugging Tony’s shirt down with his hands as he tries to burrow further down into the warmth of the blankets.

“Hey!” Tony protests softly. He looks at where Peter’s hand is attached to his shirt, stretching out the fabric, and tries to gently slide a finger between Peter’s palm and his shirt to free himself. Peter moans unhappily, but his hand doesn’t budge. Tony tries a slightly more forceful approach. He peels Peter’s fingertips up one by one, but he’s not entirely successful until Peter moans again and lifts his hand up all the way. As soon as his hand is free, however, he slides it up under Tony’s shirt sleeve, seeking warmth for his fingers. His cold, sticky fingers.

Tony sighs. When Peter had been awake, unsticking himself from Tony felt like a bandaid being ripped off, uncomfortable and a little painful, but he’s worried it will be worse now that Peter’s asleep and he doesn’t want to risk losing skin or something. As soon as Peter stills, he pulls up his emails again, resigning himself to staying very still and very stuck.

He lasts about one hour before he gets bored of reading and responding to emails.

“Pete?” He whispers, satisfied when Peter doesn’t answer. He just needs to unstick Peter from his arm, and he can sneak down to the lab while Peter rests in bed. He reaches his opposite arm over and takes Peter’s wrist, giving an experimental tug. The motion pulls at his skin, but Peter’s hand stays firmly pressed to his bicep.

“Mr. Stark?” Tony looks over to see Peter blinking sleepily up at him.

“Your hand is glued to my arm,” Tony explains. Peter sniffles and looks down at where his hand is tucked under Tony’s shirt sleeve. It takes him a moment to move, and when he does, his motions are sluggish and clumsy. When he pulls his hand away, Tony clamps his mouth shut to keep himself from crying out in pain.

“Sorry for stickin’ to y–” Peter’s cut off by a yawn. “To you. When I’m sick it’s harder to control.” He yawns again, and Tony chuckles, adjusting the covers over Peter and sliding away and out of bed before Peter can stick to him again.

“Go back to sleep,” Tony says. “I’m just going to run down to the lab for a bit.”

“Pepper said I’m supposed to keep you in bed,” Peter says weakly. His voice crackles on the last few words, and he buries his face back into his pillow to cough a few times. He lifts his head, rubbing at his eyes with a fist and looking sad. “Sorry I’m not very good company.”

“You’re the best company, Pete. I just have a little work to do.”

“But you’re not supposed to work today,” Peter argues hoarsely.

Tony sighs. “I’ll just be down in the lab for an hour, two hours tops. You can stay here and nap the whole time.”

“I could read you my book for English,” Peter offers. “Or you could read to me…?”

“While that is a very tempting offer, what if we go down to the lab for a little bit first? You can come with me and keep me company down there,” Tony tries again.

After a moment of consideration, Peter nods. “Okay.” He sits up carefully, scooting to the edge of the bed and planting his feet on the floor, shivering hard when he loses the warmth of being under the comforter. Tony takes a blanket from the bed and wraps it around Peter’s shoulders, then helps him stand, frowning when Peter sways a little on his feet.

“Here,” Tony says, grabbing the box of tissues from the nightstand for Peter and immediately smirking when Peter holds up a finger and inhales sharply, but instead of taking a tissue from the box right in front of his face, he tugs the sleeves of his hoodies down over his hands and aims a sneeze into the fabric instead.

“Wha–? Okay,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. He shakes the tissues in front of Peter’s face with a pointed look. “Bless you.”

Peter sniffles wetly and takes the box, crossing his arms to hold it against his chest, but still not using a tissue. “Thanks.”

In the elevator, Peter leans up against the wall, letting his head rest against the cool metal side. His face is flushed red, and Tony reaches out, pressing the back of his hand to Peter’s cheek.

“Feeling pretty warm there, bud,” he says. Peter responds with a cough, sagging against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When Peter is done coughing, Tony holds his arms open.

“Want a lift?”

Peter shuffles forward, sniffling miserably, and lets Tony pick him up, blanket and tissues and all.

“Hold on,” Tony says, and realizes his mistake a second too late when Peter actually latches on to him, his arms and legs wrapped around Tony like he’s a sticky koala. He tucks his warm face against Tony’s neck and huffs out a little sigh, and Tony doesn’t move when the elevator doors slide open. He looks out into his lab, at all of his waiting projects, and then down at Peter dozing off in his arms. With Peter clinging to him like this, he’s not even going to be able to sit at his lab table, let alone get any work done.

That’s how Tony finds himself back in his bed a couple minutes later, literally stuck to a sick, feverish teenager, and falling asleep to the sound of Peter’s loud snores and a movie from 2003 playing in the background.

#prompt fill #tumblr prompt #comfortember #sick peter parker #sickfic #sick tony stark #irondad #peter parker acting like an actual spider #fever #platonic bed sharing #fluff

46 notes · View notes

julunibalism · 1 year

Text

Here have some sick Tony and good friend Clint 🫶

______________

“Woah, you are not looking so hot, right now”

Normally, Tony would already have something sarcastic ready to reply, but he felt like absolute shit right now

“Oh, fuck off, Barton”, was his reply instead

“That’s no way to treat your nurse”, Barton’s voice was way too cheerful

Tony finally opened his eyes to see Clint leaning over the back of the couch, that he was currently occupying (collapsed on)

He narrowed his eyes at the other, “I don’t need a nurse, and I'm pretty sure that’s something you're not qualified in”

Clint scoffed, “Dude, you look like death warmed over”, he started to walk around the couch, “Plus, I'm pretty sure Cap’s gonna want you alive when he comes home”

Before Tony could answer a violent cough rattled through him, it only made his chest hurt even more and his headache worsen

“Yeah, Tony, I think you need an actual doctor”, all playfulness was gone from Clint’s tone, he reached over a placed the back of his hand on Tony’s forehead, “And you’re burning up”

Tony shook off Clint’s hand, “It’s just a cough and a slight fever, nothing I can’t handle, now shoo!”

Unfortunately, Clint did not shoo

“Hey, JARVIS, how long has Tony had a fever?”, Clint asked

Before Tony could tell JARVIS not to tell Clint anything, the AI was already answering

“I believe Mr. Stark has had a temperature of 101℉ since last night”

Clint turned a disbelieving look on Tony, “And you didn’t go to the med bay?!”

Tony rolled his eyes, “It’s not that ser-”

“I promise you if you finish that sentence, I will personally have Nat come kick your ass”, Clint threatened him, Tony rolled his eyes but kept quiet.

“Now c’mon we’re going to the med bay”, the archer started removing the pile of blankets Tony had covering himself.

Tony grumbled under his breath about meddling archers the whole way, but Clint ignored it. He’d dealt with worse than a sick bratty Tony.

#y'all have no idea how much i love Clint and Tony #also can we all agree that when Tony's sick he's a brat #tony stark #sick tony stark #clint barton #avengers fic #implied stony

4 notes · View notes

creative-caramel-coffee · 10 months

Text

Pesky Period Pains

Prompt: Cramping Pain

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 2.3K

Summary: you had managed to stave off periods but you could only do that for so long. But its very hard to hide things in the compound especially from your girlfriends.

TW: pain medicine, blood, period, cramps, bleeding on the bed (idk if that a warning or not lol), non-sexual nudity, Reader has their clothes removed (not in a bad way though don’t worry … you’ll see), hiding injuries / sickness, slight angst,

A/n whats this? A fic without vomiting for once? Crazy.

Curled up in bed the day had been going well until you realised you took to long to get more of your birth control. Your doctor had put you on birth control in your early teens before you became and avenger, your cramps being too painful for you to function and resulting in you missing a-lot of school. But you ran out last week and your ADHD had been kicking your ass lately so you forgot about the much needed trip to the chemist. Thinking you could just go tomorrow as its not like your period would appear over night. wrong.

Nat and Wanda were training in the gym like they did every Tuesday while you slept in. But when you realised with the first pang of pain in your midsection that it was a little too late for the birth control to stave off the period pains, you groaned. stuffing your face back into your pillow, before swallowing the urge to scream in frustration. you got up and threw on a pad before getting dressed quickly. you were craving chocolate. you could survive the cramps until after breakfast, and you couldn’t take painkillers on an empty stomach.

you had just finished drowning your pancakes in chocolate syrup and were not throwing back the tablets and some water when your girlfriends arrived. Nat smiled widely and came over to kiss you and hug you. “Detka,” you groaned, “your all gross and sweaty.” nat squeezed you in the hug chuckling before planting a kiss on your forehead. Wanda didn’t seem as happy. she sensed your discomfort before she even made it into the door. to be honest she sensed it from the gym, feigning exhaustion in favour of ending training early to check on you.

“what were you doing before we got here?” Wanda asked, hands crossed over her chest.

“making pancakes.” you shrugged, hiding a grimace as it jostled your midsection.

“i saw you put something in your mouth, Y/n don’t lie to me.” she was more concerned than angry but it did come across that way to you.

“i. was. eating. my. pancakes. Wanda.” you grit out, glad it seemed more like annoyance than the fact another cramp had hir rather hard.

“whatever.” Wanda dismissed angrily walking to get herself some pancakes. Nat frowned, normally Wanda was really sweet with you, only ever stern if you were being stubborn. she shrugged at you and followed Wanda to get some breakfast, only having had her pre workout shake so far. you didn’t wait for them, quickly finishing your pancakes and going to take a shower.

the girls frowned at your empty place when they returned and Wanda sighed. “somethings up with her nat i can sense it.”

meanwhile you stepped under the warm water, watching the red circle the drain and letting the heat relax your muscles. when another cramp hit you rested your head on your arm which steadied you against the wall. you didn’t want to risk leaving blood in your shared bathroom knowing nat was see it with her spy training, she noticed everything. Wanda would just freakout if she knew you were bleeding but didn’t know where from. And most importantly you didn’t want to bother them with your problems, feeling you were being a bit too needy lately having been sick the week before last.

you had come back to your old room, the one you stayed in before moving it with your girls. it was still your space. your gaming computer was still here, your switch and all your drawing stuff and tablet. your posters of Percy Jackson and your girlfriends still adorned the walls and the rainbow lights still worked above your desk. the bed had black sheets and you even still had some of your clothes in here. your many sketchbooks sat on the floating shelf by the desk and your blue couch and fluffy red blanket were still in the corner. the 84inch tv, courtesy of tony was mounted on the wall opposite the bed and you had painted a mural of the city scape on the far wall. it was as much your home as the room across the hall. your girls often found you in here during the day either drawing or gaming.

but you hadnt showered in here since moving to sleep over the hall. nat heard the running water as she went past, assuming you had done it so she could shower after her training this morning, she shrugged it off. unusual but not insane.

once you turned the water off you carefully towel dried yourself trying to avoid getting blood on the fluffy towel. getting dressed in fluffy pants and your oversized red hoodie nat had bought you at Disneyland, the one with the big picture of Mickey mouse on the front, you went and laid on the bed. after mindlessly scrolling through Netflix and putting on a random movie you snuggled up. after a few minutes the exhaustion of your body rebuilding an organ wiped you out and you fell asleep.

Wanda carefully opened the door to your room. frowning at yhe sight of you curled up asleep in the middle of the day. this was unlike you. the tv had an action movie playing and the sound of gunfire should have woken you up, but you slept on. Wanda turned out the lights and muted the tv before going to talk to nat.

“I’m telling you nat something’s off, shes been acting weird all day.”

“I’m sure shes fine, shes a big girl wands.” nat sighed drying her hair with a towel.

“i don’t know, you know how it is when shes hurt, she wont tell us even if shes bleeding out on the floor.” Wanda huffed pacing and running her hands through her hair.

“why don’t we go cuddle up to her in bed and we’ll talk to her when shes up again?”

“ok” Wanda sighed in defeat.

after carefully lifting the sheets and sliding in either-side of you nat took the tv remote frowning at the cheesy action movie.

“you cant even shoot arrows like that in real life.” she grumbled putting on something that Wanda would like. a sit com.

still asleep you curled up around Wanda’s leg as she lent against the headboard and ran her hands through your hair.

“she looks so fragile when she sleeps natty.” Wanda cooed

“thats because its hard to be a cocky asshole when your sleeping.” nat teased. but it wasn’t fun without your sharp come backs to quip against her.

“naaattt leave her alone shes cute when she sleeps.” looking down at you she noticed a grimace on your face when you held onto her leg tighter. thinking you were having a nightmare she went to wake you. unbeknownst to her it was just the medicine having worn off and the painfully cramps coming back full force. before Wanda could gently wake you, you shot up, blinking rapidly before feeling the wetness of the bed and shooting off the bathroom to change clothes. Wanda and nat frowned at each-other, you hadn’t even noticed them. nat hopped up and knocked on the door.

“y/n/n? can i come in?” she asked. you froze. what were they doing here.

“Y/n/n?” nat asked again.

“natty… um you should come here.” Wanda quietly said from the bed. she had pulled back the sheets to find a wet bloodstain on the sheets. Nat’s eyes widened almost comically.

“y/n let us in right now.” she banged her fists on the door. just as she swung to knock the door down you opened it, her foot stopping mid air as she tried not to kick you or fall over. at the sight of your bloody clothes she jumped into action. extending your arms with her hands she searched your body before stopping and looking you dead in the eyes.

“strip.” she said. you balked.

“what?”

“you heard me. strip. or i’ll have Wanda use her wiggly woos to do it for me.”

“natty-“

“No.”

“wands-“

“I’m with nat on this one sweetheart. we need to know your ok.” Wanda cooed softly having walked in behind nat.

“I’m fi-“

“if you were going to say your fine we found your blood on the sheets. so we know your not.”

before you were able to reply you were hit with a rather painful cramp that made you double over in an attempt to stop the pain. you groaned loudly and both your girls sprung into action. they knew you didn’t get periods so that couldn’t be it. but the last mission was weeks ago and you hadn’t left the compound without them since. so how did you get hurt? Nat was at your side in an instance. “y/n/n baby where does it hurt?” she ran a hand down your back up and down your spine. you merely groaned in response still hunched over.

“wands I’m gonna need you to-“

“don’t worry it got it.” she replied. before you could think you felt the cold air hit as you were suddenly without clothes. Nat’s eyes grew wide as she saw the red between your legs. you felt tears slide down your cheeks as the girls understood. they had seen you naked before so it didn’t bother you plus you knew you were safe with your girlfriends.

“oh sweetheart.” Wanda cooed, picking you up. “did you get your period love?”

more tears fell as she carried you bridal style to the bath. with a wave of her wrist there was warm water in the tub and her clothes were also gone. gently she hopped in placing you curled up in her lap. nat removed her clothes to show toned muscle and slipped in beside her. it was a big tub, tony was not one to spare expenses much to peppers dismay when she first brought home Morgan to find a car already with custom plates with Morgan’s name on it in the garage.

“tony what the hell is this?” she had asked pointing to the car, Morgan’s carseat in her hand.

“well its called planning my dear wife.”

“planning is writing it out on paper not buying it 16 years early.”

Wanda chuckled at the memory before focusing back on your. she carded a hand though your hair and you whined softly.

“gonna made the water dirty.” you whined “and i ruined my hoodie.” you sniffled “the one you and natty bought me from disneyland.” you cried. nat rubbed a circle on your back knowing this was the work of pesky hormones but doing nothing to invalidate your feelings. Wanda smiled down at you.

“why are you smiling.” you sobbed.

“oh sweetheart do you forget i have magic sometimes.” Wanda cooed

“oh.” you hiccuped.

“its already clean and folded on the bed which has fresh sheets.” she started kissing you all over your face, tasting the salty tears. “and natty and I will buy you ten more if we need to. anything for our sweet girl.”

“even the goofy one?” you smiled looking up with teary eyes.

nat chuckled. they were so whipped for you. “anything you can ever dream of of my love.” nat cooed. “and whatever we can buy with the new black master-card i have from tony.”

“how-“ you were going to ask how but another cramp hit and tears flooded your eyes as blood swirled in the bathwater.

“oh sweetheart don’t cry.” Wanda cooed seeing the water was making you upset she waved her hand and the blood disappeared from the water.

“honey i wouldn’t care if the bath was 100% blood as long as your ok. i would do anything for you.”

“we.” nat corrected “we would do anything for you.” Wanda rubbed circles over your stomach and her fingers glowed a soft red hue in the bath water as she took away some of the pain for you. you sighed in relief at her magic touch.

“and to answer your question, all it took was a little blackmail.” you laughed at her smirk.

“come one love lets get you washed up.”

when Wanda had finished scrubbing your body clean for you, you were too tired to do it yourself. nat dried you with a towel and slipped you back into your comfy and now, thanks to Wanda, clean clothes.

curling up in bed with nat, Wanda returned with food for all of you and a mountain of all different kinds of chocolate and popcorn.

“I vote we have a movie day today.” Wanda proposed. nat smiled at you and brushed the hair from your face, “id love that” she agreed “ what about you Y/n/n?”

“only if i get lots of hugs.” you mumbled in an embarrassed way that made the redheads hearts skip a beat.

“alright then.” wand climbed in beside you and put down the tray of food. “you get first pick Y/n/n” Wanda grinned and nat passed you the remote.

“here you go” you took it and placed a chocolate in your mouth. going to reach for another Wanda lightly slapped your hand away.

“food first.” she chided softly. you pouted and picked a movie. after the first 20 minutes or so you hd finished lunch and were happily curled in the arms of your girls munching chocolate. maybe you should get your period more often you thought. then another cramp hit making you keen softly. never-mind you thought. Wanda ran her magic fingers over you lower back and the pain stopped. you knew then and there your girls would always be there. you were never going to be alone again.

MASTERLIST

686 notes · View notes

harleyification · 1 year

Text

Can I talk about Avatar for a second?? Lemme talk about ATLA/ALoK for a second.

Like, so, I have many, many...many....grievances and hangups about A:LoK. I have tried to watch it twice, and while the first season is okay, the second season made me so mad that I dropped it. Twice. I have not watched the third season or got to see Gays In Action in 4k, because I was that disappointed.

I remember a hell of a lot about ATLA...but I can barely remember anything about Korra. That’s mostly due to my disappointment, but the fact remains that I barely remember the show, after watching it twice, and it’s the latest installment. That being said, I remember one thing that stuck out to me most....

Vaatu.

I am so, SO disappointed that they really just!! Made up this AMAZING concept of an Avatar counter-spirit, and they were just like!! “Oh yeah, his concepts are chaos and darkness, he’s EVIL, dudes.”

The one thing in the world that could possibly rival one as strong as the Avatar, would have been Another Avatar. They could’ve done something amazing with that!! They could finally have a balancing act!! A great leadup to this bigger enemy, with a twist at the end - like how ATLA did it with Ozai, with Aang refusing to kill him and instead taking away his bending!! The outcome wasn’t expected, but it still led to the same ending, with a better meaning behind it because it didn’t force Aang outside of his boundaries!! But...LoK didn’t have that. It was “Here’s this sketchy guy, we all Know he’s sketchy, but LOOK, THE TWIST IS THAT HE’S SKETCHY!! BUT ON A MORE EXTREME LEVEL!! Haha!!”

The only thing that LoK managed to twist was the lore of the world, by expanding on the Avatar, how it came to be, and by introducing a spirit of EQUAL POWER to the Avatar. I love Wan’s and Raava’s story, that isn’t my problem with this twist. My problem lies in the fact that Vaatu was merely made to be the Evil Avatar Spirit, in a world where balance and equality mean everything. I think Vaatu being the spirit of Chaos and Darkness would’ve been so cool to explore, if the creators had time to explore him - because Chaos and Darkness aren’t evil, they’re nature. What is morality anyway to a spirit?? Why make an Evil Spirit?? Why not explore WHY Vaatu is the way he is rather than say he just is??

Does that mean that Tui and La are merely good and evil, then?? They’re supposed to represent Yin and Yang, quite literally. Is Tui, the moon, evil simply because they can only thrive in the darkness?? Is La evil, because the sea is unrestrained and takes innocent lives, being a chaotic force?? Shouldn’t Tui and La be CLOSE, or at least GRATEFUL to Vaatu for giving them the darkness they need to remain balanced?? I don’t know too much else about the spirit gods in Avatar, so idk if there’s a Spirit of the Night, but my point still stands - the moon can’t prosper without darkness, and the ocean needs the moon. How can that be constrained to an idea as simple as “evil”??

Was La in the wrong or the in the right for destroying those fire nation ships, for taking control of Aang, for taking Zuko’s crew away from him after their other half died??

I just think that the world of ATLA/ALoK would have been so much better if Vaatu wasn’t just...Evil Bad Guy Spirit. The balancing act would’ve been restored if there are two Avatars (and Raava should be seen as something that can become Too Much - too much light, too much serenity/complacency, too much order means that there’s no room for self-identity, chance, risk, and the ability to look inward. If Raava can go too far, but be held back by their Avatar, then why can’t the same be held for Vaatu??). For a world that says that balance and equality is the true guide to peace, it seems really, really desperate to keep only one Avatar.

Vaatu would have been an excellent twist, if he just wasn’t so one-sided, and if it was anyone else but goddamn Unalaq.

That being said, I think Tui, La, and Vaatu (and maybe Wan Shi Tong, that giant Owl bitch) would’ve been/should be Ride or Die.

#Vaatu #Avatar #avatar: the legend of korra #avatar: the last airbender #Vaatu Headcanons #Lamenting the fact that I dislike ALoK despite trying so hard to love it #FUCK THE MCU AND TONY STARK THIS IS NOW A MULTIFANDOM ACCOUNT #No shame in having 20+ fixations!!#This is mainly me complaining about the writing choices used for Korra but also #This is me pointing the potential in Vaatu #BITCH GIVEN THE CHANCE I WOULD BE A DARK AVATAR #MY EYES WOULD GLOW RED!!! THATS SICK AS FUCK!!#ATLA #ALoK #I read Avatar fics for 3 days straight and YES it was mainly Zukka

679 notes · View notes

fotibrit · 9 months

Text

tony stark always drives. When he can’t be the driver, he wears his sunglasses the entire ride.

There’s a lot of theories from the media as to why this is. Everything from “control issues” to “aliens” has been proposed.

Peter Parker, however, discovers the real reason for this phenomenon when he complains about an upcoming long winding school bus ride that will be sure to result in a splitting headache and nausea for peter, and the billionaire silently hands over a basic pair of sunglasses. Upon trying them on, peter discovered that they’re motion sickness glasses.

“But- how do you-“

“they’re built into the suit, too, kid.”

#anyone who draws tony in the goofy motion sickness glasses #i owe you my life #tony stark #iron man #irondad and spiderson #irondad fic ideas #peter parker #spider man #spiderson #irondad #marvel mcu #avengers #peter parker and tony stark

285 notes · View notes

mxssingmemories · 9 months

Note

hi hi hiiii juleeees can i pleaseee get a tony stark x daughter!reader where they're sick or smtj idk i have mild conjunctivitis rn amd it sucks ☹️ so maybe just smth wherr tony takes care of reader and gets cheeseburgers for them ot smth (im sorry if this is too big i love uu)

Burgers

Pairing: Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Summary: you're sick, and you scare the shit out of your dad. Fluff and burgers ensue.

Warnings: mention of not eating due to sickness, passing out, sickness in general

Word Count: 480, just a short lil blurb I'M SO SORRY

A/N: ASH!! HI!! this was so sweet to write, tysm for the request lovie

The sound of loud coughing startled Tony into consciousness, his heart immediately speeding up. He jumped out of bed, running to your room-prepared to find anything and everything. His panic subsided almost instantly, though. He ran in to find you bent over on your bed, in the middle of an awful-sounding coughing fit. He stepped next to your bed, sending a reassuring smile as he sat down next to you.

“You alright, sweetie?” he asked, softly rubbing your back.

“Yeah, dad,” was what you tried to say, but you ended up coming into another coughing fit before you could say a single word.

“Easy, okay, breathe through it,” he coached, worried lines showing through on his face. Luckily, you were too busy hacking up a horse to notice. He hated you seeing it when he was worried. Even in times like these, he wanted his entire focus to be on you.

The fit steadily got worse, and Tony did his best to get you through it.

“Fri, can you tell Bruce what’s going on? I’m gonna bring her down to the medbay,” was the last thing you heard before everything went black; the stress on your body too much for you to keep up with.

“Oh god,” Tony exclaimed, immediately picking you up in his arms and rushing to the elevator. The ride down to the bay felt like an hour, even though it was only two minutes. When the doors finally opened, Bruce rushed to his side, eyes widening when he realized you weren't conscious.

“What happened?” Bruce asked as you were rushed into a room, him already hooking up your vitals in less than two seconds.

“I-I don’t know. One minute she was coughing a lot and then she just,” he paused to wipe his nose on his sleeve,”passed out.”

"Okay, so I'm not seeing anything serious. It looks like pink eye? She doesn't need to be in the hospital right now, Tones," he assured, smiling when all the tension drained out of his best friend's body.

As soon as Bruce finished talking, your eyes fluttered open, confusion masking your face. Tony reassured you as quickly as he could, and a few minutes later, you were riding down to the garage. He decided he wanted to take you to get some fast food-it was his cure-all for stressful days with you.

As you pulled up to the McDonald's line-"Why are we even here," being said about fifteen times from your dad- you laidd your head on his shoulder, letting your eyes close. Your breathing evened out, but Tony woke you up when you got your food.

"Thanks, dad," you smiled, digging into your food. You still felt like absolute shit, but you hadn't eaten in almost a day thanks to your illness. You could have sworn that was the best burger you'd had in your whole life.

#tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark fluff #my writing #tony stank #mcu fanfiction #sick fic #for ash

118 notes · View notes

airas-story · 29 days

Text

Stay Anyways

Stephen clung to the blankets. Tension kept his body tight even as shivers wracked through him.

He heard the faint sound of someone slipping into the room. He recognized Tony’s footsteps immediately. Wong must have called him. Stephen felt some of his tension slip away.

The first time Stephen had gotten sick after he and Tony had started their relationship had been… rough. Stephen hadn’t been sure if he could let his barriers down and Tony hadn’t been sure how far he could push.

In the end, Tony’s gentle, pleading request of please, Stephen, let me help, had broken Stephen’s barriers.

As odd as it was, the experience had been good for them, as little as Stephen had enjoyed his dimensional flu.

At least this time it was just a normal earth-bound fever.

The bed shifted as Tony sat on the edge. “Hey,” Tony’s voice was soft, as though checking if Stephen was actually awake. “I need you to sit up for a minute, okay. Get some water into you.”

“Don’t wanna,” Stephen muttered. He buried his face back into the pillows. It was vaguely suffocating, but it was better than moving.

Tony let out a hum, even as he gently nudged at Stephen. “How about this,” he offered. “You sit up and drink this water I brought you, and I’ll play with your hair.”

Stephen frowned into the pillow. That wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to sit up or drink water. But he loved it when Tony played with his hair, the fingers brushing gently through his hair, the gentle scrape against his scalp, the sheer love in every touch.

He was a sucker for it.

Reluctantly he forced himself into a sitting position. Tony carefully supported him.

The cup had a straw in it—Stephen’s hands shook always, but with the additional shivers from the fever, there would be no way Stephen would hold a cup steady—and Tony held the cup steady as Stephen drank.

Stephen pulled away, but Tony nudged him into drinking a little more before he set the cup on the bedside table.

“All right, sweetheart,” Tony murmured. “Let’s get you lying down again.”

“Hair,” Stephen told him; he didn’t care if he sounded demanding. He’d done his side of the bargain; Tony had better deliver. “You promised.”

That earned him a laugh. “I’m well aware of what I promised,” Tony said.

Tony and Stephen shifted on the bed until Stephen was wrapped back in the blankets—Tony tried to convince him he didn’t need them, but Stephen was cold, he didn’t care about fever science—with his head resting on Tony’s lap. Tony’s fingers started their gentle brush through Stephen’s hair.

Stephen relaxed into the sensation. He hated being sick—hated might not be a strong enough word for the sheer abhorrence—but he did love when Tony’s whole attention was focused on him and making him feel better.

It didn’t take him long to drowse off, slipping into a state of not-quite-awake, but still partially aware.

Tony had started humming at some point—AC/DC was surprisingly peaceful in this form—lulling Stephen further.

“You’re a terrible sick person,” Tony said quietly, but he sounded more fond than anything. “You really are. Get stabbed by alien torture devices and you’re fine. Give you a fever and you’re suddenly a big baby.”

Stephen just hummed. The thing was, he was allowed to be sick; he couldn’t give in to threats or break down at the pain. But here? Safe in the sanctum with Tony taking care of him? Here, Stephen was allowed to give in.

He felt a brush of lips against his forehead. “But that’s okay,” Tony said. “I’ll take care of you every time, you know that, right?”

Stephen tilted his head further into Tony’s hand. He didn’t feel the need to say anything. That Tony was here was proof enough that he would always come; Stephen’s easy give to Tony’s gentle requests was proof that Stephen would let him stay.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Tony said quietly. “You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

For a moment, Stephen thought about asking Tony to stay. It took his hazy moment to realize that he didn’t have to. Tony would stay anyways.

#fic #ironstrange #tony stark #stephen strange #sick fic

49 notes · View notes

silver-trumpets · 2 months

Text

"My dad never really gave me a lotta support, and I'm just trying to, uh, break the cycle of shame."

#spidermanedit #spidermanhomecomingedit #peterparkeredit #tonystarkedit #mcuedit #spider man: homecoming #tony stark #peter parker #my edit #tony loves him SO MUCH i'm gonna be sick

27 notes · View notes

irondadmadlads · 5 months

Text

Irondad Prompt #200:

Peter: Merry Christmas Mr. Stark!

Tony: Merry Christmas Peter! How are you?

Peter: I’m fine. The hospital bed is kinda itchy but it is what it is. How are you?

Tony: YOU’RE IN THE HOSPITAL???

#irondad #iron man #peter parker #tony stark #irondad and spiderson #spiderson #irondad prompts #spider man #irondad and spiderson prompts #spiderson prompts #sickfic prompts #sick peter parker #hospital #christmas

591 notes · View notes

yes-i-am-happyaspie · 5 months

Note

I have a sickfic prompt for you!

Okay, so imagine Peter sick in bed. Tony babysitting because May has to work. Before May leaves she mentions to Tony, “Can you grab his pjs out of the laundry? He always wants a particular pair when he’s feeling sick-“

And Tony doesn’t think anything of it. So he goes to grab Peter’s clothes and sees the pjs…

Are a tourist shirt and Hello Kitty pants

This ask came in all the way back in March. It was a fun idea so I held into, hoping to eventually turn it into a mini-fic. Well, friends. Today is the day. Have a big dose of soft, guilty Tony and sick, cuddly-warm Peter.

Hello Kitty Pajamas - 826 Words

“May! May, I’m here!” Tony called as he let himself into the Parkers’ apartment. He’d received a message an hour prior requesting his presence. Specifically, so he could babysit a significantly ill spider-baby while his aunt went in for a mandatory shift. He’d hesitated at first because was he really the best choice? May had assured him there was no one else. And that even if there were, she was sure Peter wouldn’t want anyone but him. An unfamiliar warmth had bloomed in his chest, prompting him to obtain his keys.

“Sorry!” May called from down the hall. “I'm sorry! He sweat right through his clothes. I was changing the sheets, so you didn’t have to.”

Tony pulled a face without meaning to. A slight laugh escaped May’s lips as a result.

“He’s in the shower now. That should help with a lot of the congestion.” she paused, sighed and twisted her lip between her teeth. “I know he’s old enough to take care of himself. I just- with his fever going up and down so rapidly I didn’t want him to be here alone. Just in case.”

“It’s fine, May. You know I don’t mind spending time with him,” he said, keeping his voice as steady and nonchalant as possible. “Thanks for changing the sheets, though. Housekeeping isn’t really my thing.” They both knew, without a doubt, that he’d do it again if needed. But neither of them commented on it.

"Shoot! How did it get so late? I really need to get going.” He watched May scramble to find her purse and keys. “His favorite pajamas are in the dryer. Can you grab those for him?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks again, Tony,” May said, already halfway out the door. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

Tony smiled and waved to her toward the hall. “Any time, May. You know that.”

Once she was gone, he located the laundry area and opened the dryer. Inside was a heap of towels of varying sizes. Among them, he managed to stop a white shirt and some pink fuzzy pants. Although it wasn’t until he hauled them out that he realized what they were. Hello Kitty was patterned across the bottoms, and the top was the over-sized tourist shirt. He suddenly realized it was the outfit he’d purchased the kid directly after their first argument. He blew out a breath as an image of Peter, wearing that exact outfit with tears running down his cheeks popped into his head. Guilt began to swirl in his gut. He dug around in the dryer hoping to find different pajamas. He couldn’t fathom how those could possibly be Peter’s favorite. Unsuccessful, he clutched the shirt and pants tightly in his fist and carried them to the restroom door.

“Pete?” he called. “I’m putting your PJ’s outside the door.”

“Thanks,” Peter rasped, coughing harshly after. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Take your time, Bud. No rush.”

Tony sat down on the couch. His leg bounced and his fingers tapped on his knee as he thought more about that decidedly horrible day. The whole thing has been his fault, really. If he’d just told the kid he’d called the FBI… He squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand down his face. God, he’d been a jerk. He shouldn't have shouted in the kid’s face and really shouldn't have taken the suit. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the bathroom door creak open.

“Hey,” Peter said as he rounded the corner. “Sorry, May made you come.”

Tony swallowed with difficulty. The sight of the pajamas making his stomach churn. “I-”

“Are you okay?” Peter interjected.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Tony quipped. Peter continued to frown. “I’m fine. Just- thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Definitely,” Tony agreed, then sucked in a breath. “May said those are your favorite pajamas.”

Peter hummed positively and dropped down onto the couch. “They’re comfortable.”

Tony's brow furrowed. “They don’t make you think about that day?”

“Sometimes,” Peter shrugged. “But mostly they make me think about you.”

A warm wet head landed on Tony’s shoulder. Water soaked through his shirt. He found he didn’t really mind. “I’m so sorry, Kid,” he whispered. “I really didn’t handle that situation very well. I didn’t communicate with you the way I should have, I lost my temper when that backfired, then I took it all out on you. I shouldn't have done that. Forgive me?”

“Already did,” Peter yawned. “Like- a long time ago.”

It shouldn’t have been that easy, Tony thought to himself. But Peter is such a good kid… he leaned his cheek against the top of Peter’s head and sighed. “Tired?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I don’t feel so good.”

“Well, let’s get you into your bed, hmm? May changed the sheets and everything.”

Peter nodded and started toward his bedroom. Tony followed behind, smiling softly as the kid exhaustedly crawled under the covers. Astonishingly, the sight of the pajamas didn’t bother him so much anymore. He traversed the room and ran his fingers through his kid’s hair.

“Sleep well, Kiddo,” he murmured. “I’ll be out there if you need me.”

166 notes · View notes

aindyghosh · 1 day

Text

Fix Me Up (IronDad fic)

Peter hated formalities.

No, that was too mild a word to describe his feelings on the topic. Peter despised formalities.

Detested them. Abhorred. Loathed. And any other synonym that Oxford had come up with to date that he’d be able to remember as soon as Peter’s mind returned to the right track.

As it was, Peter’s brain felt all jumbled and disoriented, as if he were in a daze, because the morning sniffles he’d dismissed as a reaction to the accumulated dust in his room were, in reality, a case of severe cold due to the weather fluctuations that New Yorkers were experiencing and thus, very much not insignificant.

The last time Peter had fallen ill was three years ago before a visit to OsCorp had juiced him up on a — what would probably be perceived as ‘freakish’ — spider-serum (well, it was more of a spider-bite than a full-fledged serum, but that was what he called it, anyway) that turned his vision into a ten out of ten, dialled his senses to an eleven, and for the initial few months, made him stick to pretty much every surface available. No, that wasn’t a double entendre of any kind. It had been a real issue, thank you very much, until he had hauled control of it into his own hands.

Now one might ask, how did his sickness tie into his hatred for formalities?

Well, it was like this: Peter was sick, all he wanted to do at the moment was go home, politely refuse Aunt May’s chicken broth that was more likely to send him to the ER than to make him feel any better, allow sleep to treat him like he was dead until he was ready to return to the land of the living, and the fever, with any luck, would subside by the time he woke up again.

He didn’t think these were, in any manner, unreasonable demands.

Yet, his school acted as though he’d broken into Nexus and stolen the nuclear codes that he could access on Mr Stark’s servers.

Not that he’d ever say that to anyone because it would be incriminating Mr Stark, even though he was around eighty-three per cent sure it was one of those open secrets that everybody knew but pretended they didn’t. Adults were so complicated.

Regardless, coming back to the point, Aunt May was unreachable over the phone, which Peter had already suspected would be the case because she had a very important meeting with some angel investors who had expressed interest in the latest venture that her NGO was trying to set up for victims of domestic abuse.

Peter had said that to both Mr Harrington and Principal Morita, and had practically begged to be permitted to leave because anybody with a functional pair of eyes could see that he wasn’t faking an illness for the fun of it (Principal Morita had blanched at the hundred-and-three-degree temperature the thermometer had displayed; apparently, the spider-serum had increased his body’s tolerance to the extent where he didn’t keel over while burning up, but still, it would’ve been nice to not fall sick at all).

They had denied his request, of course. Formalities. See why he despised them?

With Peter being miserable in the infirmary and Aunt May not answering her calls, the natural next step in the administrative process was to either call the second emergency contact tagged to his name or the hospital.

Peter had put his foot down when Mr Harrison had tried to make noise in favour of the latter choice. Whether it was his uncharacteristic blunt protest or the pitiful murmur he had exhaled for being too exhausted to attempt anything else, Principal Morita had, though begrudgingly, relented.

That had stripped them down to one option. The second emergency contact. And that was where the root of all his problems laid.

Even when he had been one of the sickliest children, Peter’s file had been empty of a secondary contact since Uncle Ben’s demise because, besides Aunt May, he hadn’t had any such person in his life. But two years ago, his Aunt May had applied to add one.

Tony S.

It had been Mr Stark’s idea after their initial application had been rejected because “there is no way Tony Stark is your emergency contact, Peter; such kind of pranks will not be tolerated!”

As insistent as Ms. Banks was on not being taken for a fool, she hadn’t batted an eyelid when Peter had submitted the revised application with the name tweaked from “Tony Stark” to “Tony S”. At the time, like in one of those really old movies, Mr Stark’s “People are gullible, Peter! They think they know and understand everything when they barely see a quarter of the full picture,” had echoed through his head like a voiceover.

But he was digressing. The point he was trying to make was that despite the fact his school hadn’t, and still didn’t, believe that he had an internship — which wasn’t even a lie — with Stark Industries, much less that Mr Stark would ever agree to be his secondary contact (if Peter was being honest, he too found it ridiculous and surreal sometimes that Mr Stark had been listed as one of his emergency contacts), he hadn’t imagined that Principal Morita and Mr Harrington would stammer say an outright “no” to the man’s very face.

Peter watched, perched on the uncomfortable bed that threatened to make a germaphobe out of him, as Mr Stark’s face underwent a long series of varied emotions until it began oscillating between intrigued amusement and concerned frustration.

“I am his secondary emergency contact,” Mr Stark stressed for the third time. “You saw the papers! They have May’s signature! Why, on God’s holy green earth—” ( Ooh, the fancy curses were coming out now. When Mr Stark started saying things like “God” and “holy”, the best course of action was to run.) “—would I want to compromise your records? Do I look like a kidnapper?” Principal Morita failed to reply within a satisfactory period because Mr Stark pinched the bridge of his nose for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. Someone was developing a new anxious tic. “Why would I want to kidnap a student, Principal Morita?”

“We don’t think you’re trying to kidnap him, per se,” Mr Harrison swiftly cut in, seeing as Principal Morita seemed more interested in mimicking a fish and flailing his hands like an octopus. “But surely, you must see why we’d be, um, sceptical about allowing Peter to go with you?”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

Mr Harrington waved his hands in vague gestures, not unlike Principal Morita but he resembled more of an orangutan. “You are Tony Stark.”

“I’m aware, but thanks for the reminder.” Mr Stark deadpanned, his flat features compensating for the raw vulnerability in his eyes as he kept shooting Peter worried glances. “Look, this argument is entirely pointless.” You tell ‘em, Mr Stark! “I have a sick child to take care of—” He wasn’t a child! He was an almost-adult! That was a thing! “—and he can do with some treatment that is not in this horrible room. Is this what you call an infirmary? You know what, it doesn’t matter! I will need Peter to come with me pronto.”

Principal Morita stood up taller as if something in Mr Stark’s speech had vindicated him. “That is what a kidnapper would say.”

“No, a mugger would say that while robbing somebody. Go on, accuse me of petty theft as well while you’re at it.”

Principal Morita stuttered something out, but whether that was in response to Mr Stark’s utterly unimpressed face or Mr Harrison elbowing him in the rib, Peter wasn’t sure.

The ongoing conversation gradually morphed into unintelligible white noise, overwhelming while being muffled at the same time, like being pulled out of the water after a long time under, the sound of waves rushing ringing in one’s ears and deafening them to their surroundings but unable to mitigate the imposing presence of the people around.

“M’st’r St’k?” After a short second, his brain-addled self wondered if he’d managed to get the words out in the world or if they had died a premature death on his tongue.

“Peter?”

Maybe he had. “I d’n’t f’el sss...g’d, M-St’k—”

💖

Peter blinked. And frowned when his view refused to stop swaying between pitch black and black with spots of red and green in it.

It was another moment before he realised his eyes were still closed.

Oops.

When his eyes fluttered open, it wasn’t to Midtown High’s infirmary that left much to be desired, but to a clean white ceiling with a familiar huge and fancy circle of light decorating the middle which his brain placed right away.

The Avengers Compound’s MedBay.

He had a love-hate relationship with this corner of the compound, in that his body loved to end up here, at least, once a week while he had to actively hold himself back from cursing like a pirate anytime someone so much as mentioned the wing.

“FRIDAY?” He asked in a tone that even his brain thought suited an eighty-year-old, weary of the world, than a teenage kid with superpowers. No, not superpowers. That made him sound narcissistic and ostentatious. Spidey-powers. There, much better. “How long was I out this time?”

“You missed both lunch and dinner, if that answers your question,” came the reply from the person who was very much not FRIDAY.

“Mr Stark!” He attempted to sit up to no avail, Mr Stark’s firm grip on his shoulders gently pushing him back on the bed. Peter might have been stronger but Mr Stark was much more stubborn and a lot less prone to listening.

“How’re you feeling, kid?”

“Fine, actually, y’know, given everything.” He was no longer burning up, his skin didn’t crawl, the pounding in his head had subsided, and nothing felt jammed up his nose. All in all, he felt much more in control of himself. At least, the spider-serum worked fast.

“Good, because I need to yell at you and I’d prefer to do that while you’re not being miserable in your own body.”

“Oh, come on, Mr Stark! I didn’t even do anything this time!”

“Yeah?” The man’s eyes narrowed at him in that manner where, historically, it meant he had yet to decide whether to be angry with him or let himself show his amusement at his antics. Usually, the latter won out after a few minutes of forced yelling which was more to help keep up his façade of a responsible adult than anything else. Here’s to hoping! “Then was it your clone who assured your Aunt May in the morning that you were okay and, in fact, healthy enough to attend school?”

Had Peter been sitting, he would have bowed his head or looked away. Since he was currently laid out helpless on the bed as Mr Stark hovered over him like a concerned parent mentor, bowing his head wasn't on the table and looking away could be considered impolite. Mr Stark didn’t take kindly to rudeness and Peter was in no mood to be tickled.

“Sorry, Mr Stark.” Apologising? Now that came much more naturally to him. Mr Stark said it was a problem. Peter wasn’t so sure.

“What are you sorry for?”

That sounded like a trick question. Peter eyed the other man with carefully concealed suspicion. “For falling sick?”

Mr Stark sighed in that exasperated way that was typically followed up with something either deeply profound or extremely heartfelt, and in both cases, Peter would be left speechless and a tiny smidge teary-eyed.

“Don’t be sorry for falling sick, Peter! How would you feel if I apologised for getting hurt on a mission?”

Peter shrugged. “Good, actually, because then it would mean you’ll try not to throw yourself in the active line of gunfire when the next fight comes along.” After a moment, he added, “And maybe a tiny bit worried if you said the word ‘sorry’.”

“Pot, kettle, Underoos.” Mr Stark rolled his eyes. “And stop distracting me from the real issue here.”

“There’s no real issue, Mr Stark—”

“You should have told May that you had a fever, Pete.” He didn’t have a fever in the morning! “She was so scared when she saw the missed calls. She almost hitched a ride with Karen.”

“She hates Karen.” Peter’s mumble was barely audible, but somehow Mr Stark heard it.

“I know. I talked her down from blowing her dinner invitation with the investors. She’ll be here in another—” He spared a glance at his expensive wristwatch. “—fifteen minutes or so.”

“Thanks, Mr Stark! I didn’t mean to cause any problems—”

“You didn’t,” Mr Stark said, his voice soft. “We just worry, Pete. You’d know when you reach our age and have to look after a hyperenergetic kid who can’t seem to keep out of trouble.”

“That’s right, Peter!” FRIDAY chimed in. “Boss nearly went into a panic attack at the thought of you being hurt.”

Mr Stark immediately hushed his AI, but FRIDAY made even her silence seem...smug.

“I didn’t.” Mr Stark was convincing nobody. He was such a mother-hen.

Peter shook his head with a small smile. “This won’t happen again, Mr Stark, I promise.”

“Yes. Please remember, we’re all here for you, okay?” The man squeezed his hand. His touch was warm and assuring, and it grounded Peter.

“I didn’t expect a few sneezes to turn into a fever. I’d thought the serum had taken care of that.”

“Me too. I have talked with Bruce. If you are fine with him taking a couple of samples, he’s agreed to look into it.”

“Sure.” A year ago, he’d have been uncomfortable at the prospect of Doctor Bruce Banner wasting his precious time on something as insignificant as Peter’s blood tests. But Mr Stark had beaten the so-called “self-deprecation” out with his snarky retorts and sassy eye-rolls, and Doctor Banner had, after returning from “the garbage planet” (not his words), become something of a second mentor to him.

Also, this was for science. Doctor Banner was always interested in analysing the dos and don’ts and powers and the side effects of the spider-serum.

“Boss, Forehead of Security is pulling up into the driveway with Mrs Parker as we speak.”

“Oh, goody! She can take over the yelling now. FRI, order some pizza!”

“On it!”

“Mr Stark!” Peter called for the man with a tone of voice that, to unsuspecting people, might have sounded whiny, but really, it wasn’t. “Save me!”

“Nope! You deserve it!”

“I promise I won’t do it again!”

“FRI, remind the young lad of the last time he’d said the same thing, please.”

“Three weeks ago, on the twenty-ninth of March, at 8:14 in the evening, Peter Parker had promised not to hide anything from Tony Stark and May Parker ever again post a two-hour surgery for failing to alert anybody after getting shot while stopping a bank robbery.”

Peter resisted the urge to pout. “FRIDAY! You didn’t have to recount in such detail.”

“I am not programmed to recite half-information, Peter.” She was trolling him. He could feel it in his bones.

“Hah!” Mr Stark crowed. “I am so proud of you, baby girl.”

“Boss, I have done some research and I have arrived at a conclusion.”

Peter’s heart hammered at the declaration. What now?

“Oh? Let’s hear it, then!”

“I have looked into various published papers on human behaviour and the possible environmental factors that may have an impact on it, and I have deduced that Peter Parker’s tendency to hide his injuries and downplay his struggles are identical to your documented traits.”

It took a visible minute for Mr Stark to realise what transpired, and when he did, he let out an outraged screech that would have put a whole colony of bats to shame.

Peter sucked in his cheeks.

“Are you implying I’m a bad influence on the kid, FRIDAY?”

“No, I’m saying that you and Peter are in the same boat, and both of you panic when the other gets hurt yet none of you do anything to set an example for the other, and since you, Boss, can be argued to be the adult in this relationship—” She bravely ignored Mr Stark’s squeak of protest, and pressed on, “the responsibility of not being a hypocrite, unfortunately, falls on you.” FRIDAY finished with a flourish. Peter could hear the flourish.

A beat of silence.

“That’s it! I’m donating you to City College. How dare you insinuate that I’m a responsible adult. I hate being responsible!”

And that was the point where Peter absolutely and hilariously lost it.

He was soon joined by Mr Stark, who was more giggling than guffawing like Peter. When the titters and the chortles were on the verge of subsiding, FRIDAY played an audio recording of a woman cackling as a representation of her own emotions, and the riot powered up again.

That was, of course, until the door to his room — yes, he had been in the MedBay a sufficient number of times for Mr Stark to designate a room specially for him — was pushed open and a harried May rushed in only to be greeted by the sight of Peter and Tony all but rolling over the floor laughing.

Peter’s ears rang with her screaming for days after that.

#peter parker #tony stark #protective tony stark #sick peter parker #irondad and spiderson #attempted humour #cross-posted on ao3 #sassy FRIDAY #tony stark acting as peter parker's parental figure #tony stark is good with kids

22 notes · View notes

creative-caramel-coffee · 28 days

Text

Actually Asthmatic

Summary: Reader comes to work despite being sick and pepper makes sure you’re ok.

TW: asthma, fever, overworking, sickness lol

Pairing: pepper x Platonic!Reader

Words: 2.5K

A/n Part two coming soon (part two will have natty and wands >:). Also, so much has happened since I posted last and I’m so sorry it’s taken this long. I’ve been super busy with uni. But… I got a girlfriend :) I also have a ton of uni work I have to keep up with and I have like no time for anything now. But I will do my best to keep writing. So expect my updates to be a bit more spaced but I’m NOT giving up on this account :)

Living in a dorm was an interesting thing. You had a room, kitchen and bathroom to yourself, but it was lonely.

You knew you were in for a rough time when your lab partner came to a lecture sick. Not only that, but they were coughing … a lot. You knew no matter how hard you tried you were bound to get sick and mentally you resigned yourself to your new fate.

Lo and behold the next day your throat hurt, but it was manageable. Another day passes and your head had begun to feel like it was stuffed with cotton. A truely lovely experience. To make matters even better, you had three classes and work today. Your shift at stark industries was something you couldn’t miss even if you wanted to.

Pepper was coming to check on your branch of the company and you needed to be able to show her the numbers at the meeting you were both attending. You needed to prove it hasn’t been a mistake to hire a collage student with crippling debt and insomnia to run a branch of what was probably the most successful company in New York if not the world.

You flipped the page on your textbook and bit back a sigh. There was still an hour left of class and the world seemed to be against you, time was moving slower, and it felt rather personal.

You rested your head on the table and tried to block out the droning of your collage professor, he was a great guy, but your head felt like it was being run over by a bus and your cheeks were warm and your fingers cold.

You must have drifted off at some point because before you knew it someone was nudging you. You groggily sat up and squinted into the light, a frown marring your face.

“Y/n/n, get up. Class is over.” It was one of your friends, you gave a half grunt and looked around.

The lecture hall was quickly emptying out and so you grabbed your bag and textbook and stood, swaying slightly.

“Whoa. You good?” Your friend asked and you nodded mumbling something about standing up too fast before beelining for the door.

You bid goodbye to your friend at the train station and boarded the tube that would take you to work.

It was about a five-minute walk from the train to stark industries, but the cold weather that threatened your lungs working in tandem with your asthma and what you were now beginning to think was the start of a nasty chest infection, made it seem like hours of hiking through the amazon after dark.

You adjusted the backpack on your shoulder and waited for the train to slow, the next stop was yours and despite it being the quiet carriage there was still the loud sound of train tracks passing under making your head feel like a drum being beaten by a tone-deaf monkey on steroids.

The train almost had pity on you as it slowed just as you thought the monkey had found an amp to make his music ‘better.’

You stumbled off the platform and hurried up the steps to the footpath. The crowd jostled you and you felt more than desire to just let the ocean of people sweep you out with the tide.

But you forged on. So did the monkey.

You must have looked like death incarnate by the time you arrived at the lobby. You were flushed at the very least and you could hear the wheezing in your breath as you took in air by the lungful.

You scanned your keycard once you had located it in the mess that was your backpack. Stepping into the clean white walls of stark industries made you feel like a racoon in an upper-class neighbourhood.

You made your way to the elevator that would take you to the board room and finally paused to catch your breath which was now just a string of wheezes. You knew that because the look the lady at the reception shot you was one that was a mix of concern, confusion and pity.

Your throat was raw, and your face was congested as well as your chest. You sounded like you swallowed a frog, and the frog was also now sick and subsequently congested.

When the lift arrived you thanked Stark, who was your own personal god that there was nobody else in it. You stepped in and lent against the railing after thumbing the button for your floor with what was probably more force than necessary.

You sat back against the cool metal bar and watched the numbers climb higher and higher as you approached the master board room which was also the same floor as peppers office. A place you rarely visited except when you had the quarterly board meeting like today.

As the lift pinged and the doors slide open smoothly you stepped off and gathered your bearings.

You caught sight of a door at the end of the hall with peppers name on it and smiled. She was also one of your own personal heroes. She worked like a horse and kicked ass like an avenger all while wearing heels and a smile that said, ‘don’t fuck with me before I’ve had my coffee’.

You navigated your way to the board room and cracked the door a bit. So far there were a few people in there and it was still early. You smiled at the unfamiliar faces and sat down.

You didn’t know any of them yet and so you kept to yourself as you and the others waited for pepper and the rest of the companies branch managers and board members to come in.

After a bit pepper entered looking as swauve and elegant as ever. She took her seat at the head of the table and took note of the empty chairs with a small frown.

“It seems some people are still absent, so we’ll wait for a bit until the numbers are more … concrete.” She said with a smile drawing a few laughs from around the room.

You kept your head down, but your eyes kept straying back to pepper.

After a few minutes of you being sat there doodling in your notepad, the meeting started.

You paid attention to most things but once you had presented your numbers you had more or less zoned out. At one point you caught pepper looking at you closely and decided to try and pay attention again.

But the meeting droned on and soon your chest felt tighter and tighter. Your face flushed with the effort of suppressing a cough. The wheeze that had left you in the elevator had seemingly returned and you were doing your best to keep it quiet.

Your eyes looked around the room for an escape and you caught pepper looking at you again. She looked worried.

‘Are you ok?’ She mouthed and you nodded but she looked unsure.

You decided to leave, just to step out for a moment to get some air and let your lungs do their thing.

You waited until all eyes were back on the man presenting before slipping out the door.

You beelined for the bathroom which were luckily empty with everyone currently on the floor in the meeting.

You braced yourself by placing your hands either side of the sink and let out a string of deep chesty coughs. The wheeze got worse, and you cursed yourself for leaving your asthma inhaler in your backpack in the board room.

The coughing still hadn’t ceased, and it seemed the attack was making it harder to catch your breath than normal.

You barely registered the door to the bathrooms being opened and the sound of high heels click across the floor in hurried steps.

You felt a hand press between your shoulder blades as someone drew slow circles on your back. Someone was telling you to breathe and you recognised the voice.

Pepper.

You felt something being pressed into your hands and looked down to find a glass of water.

You gratefully took a sip and found it soothed your throat pretty well.

After a second, the fit ended and you just had the wheeze to worry about.

“Are you alright?” Pepper asked looking worried and trying not to fuss over you.

You shot her a weak smile.

“I’m ok.” You grinned unconvincingly. She gave you a look you assumed tony often received and caved. “I’m sick.” You rasped.

“I’d have never guessed.” Pepper joked rolling her eyes and guided you by the shoulders out the door.

“Where are we going?” You asked still holding the water.

“Well, you need to rest, and the board can handle the rest of the meeting. I want you to get that cough looked at and i have some emails to check. So, we are going to my office, you are going to lie down and I’m going to get some work done.” Pepper said with a smile, and you looked at her like she had hung the stars in the sky.

“Thank you.” You mumbled.

“That’s quite alright honey.” She smiled and then her brow crinkled as if she just noticed your wheezing. Which spoiler alert… she had.

You avoided her eyes as she scrutinised you closely. After a second her pace slowed and yours matched it before she stepped in front of you and placed a hand on your chin. She tilted your head back to look at her and met your gaze with a motherly worried expression.

“You’re wheezing.” She noted.

“And you’re pepper potts.” You said back looking nervous.

“Yes.” She deadpanned in response. “Y/n, are you … asthmatic?” She asked and you looked away.

That was enough of a response for her as she sighed. “Wheres your puffer sweetie?”

“Back in my backpack in the meeting room.” You mumbled.

“Alright here’s what we are going to do. I’m going to get you set up in my office and then go and get your bag for you.” She said and resumed her pace to her office.

When she arrived, she scanned her keycard and opened the door. It was an amazing office. Floor to ceiling windows in a corner room made the whole space perfectly lit with natural light.

You stepped inside in awe, and she guided you over to an expensive looking blue couch with a fond smile.

“You stay here, I’ll be right back.” She said and you grinned and nodded still star struck.

You could see the New York skyline from up here, the city bustling below.

You had barely blinked by the time pepper had returned.

She handed you your bag which you took and thanked her again.

“Now take whatever you need to and try to get some rest, I’ll be at my desk just there if you need anything.” She said with a smile, lingering to make sure you took your inhaler.

After you had uncapped the small blue device and administered the medicine, she gave you a curt nod and headed to her desk.

Almost as soon as your head hit the soft fluffy throw pillows on the couch you were out.

The next few hours were spent toeing the line between sleep and wakefulness. At one point as you dozed you heard pepper talking to someone on the phone before you returned to sleep.

Pepper had sat down to get some work done but had barely typed out one email before her eyes were back on you. You seemed so small in this moment. Just a young adult, you reminded her of peter. She wanted to make sure you were ok and the small wheeze coming from your lips made her worried.

Your face was slightly flushed, and pepper was sure nobody had been messing with the room temperature controls. Feeling maternal, she picked up her phone and punched in the number for Bruce’s lab. Better safe than sorry.

After a short conversation with Bruce in which she relayed your symptoms, he decided he wanted to see you to run further tests and rule out pneumonia. Pepper had looked over at you and agreed, you had been sleeping for nearly four hours now and seemingly weren’t doing much better, and including your asthma she didn’t want to risk anything.

Bruce and pepper agreed to bring you to the avengers' tower to check your lungs and maybe put you on a nebuliser to be safe as the wheeze was still lingering.

When the phone call ended pepper stood from her desk and walked over to the couch, gently she sat down beside you and nudged your shoulder. You groaned and rolled over trying to escape.

Stifling a giggle pepper placed her hand on your arm, frowning when she felt heat radiating off you. She paused and then lifted her hand to your face, laying the backside of her palm to your forehead and feeling for a fever.

Finding what she was looking for, pepper gently rubbed your arm again.

“Y/n? Honey, you have to get up. We’re going to the doctor sweetie.” She said softly and you whined and buried your face in the couch.

“Tired and don’t wanna move.” You mumbled into the cushions.

“You can lean on me the whole way to the car, alright?” Pepper said carding her hands through your hair.

“Okay.” You mumbled and blinked your eyes open to look at her. The haze of fever was settled in and the pink hue of your cheeks made you look both dazed and cute.

With peppers help you stand up and lean into her side. She had already called happy to bring the car around and he was going to meet you both out front.

With your bag slung over one shoulder and you curled into her other side, pepper slowly began the trek back to the lift. The board meeting had ended hours ago so it was just the two of you left on the whole floor.

After a slow and sleepy trip down to the car pepper got settled into the backseat with you so she could keep an eye on how you were fairing.

Your cheeks had darkened slightly, and she felt your forehead again as happy peeled out of the car park. Your fever had definitely risen, and she frowned as the glossy look in your eyes was increased ten-fold.

Part two coming soon :)

78 notes · View notes

irondadidontfeelsogood · 4 months

Text

Middle of the Night

cw: vomit

—————

It’s 2:17 in the morning when Peter wakes up with violent urgency, stumbling to the toilet in near-complete darkness. He’s not even entirely awake when he starts to vomit, his whole body trembling and coated in sweat. The nausea is so bad that he has to brace himself against the sink beside him to avoid braining himself on the back of the toilet every time he heaves.

Eventually, his legs can’t support him anymore, and he sprawls out on the cold tile floor, panting. He starts to gain awareness as he lies there, and he begins to reflect on how much actually just fucking came out of him. His stomach roars underneath his sweaty palm, giving him a heads up that there’s somehow more where that came from.

It takes almost all of his energy to sit up and hang his head over the water where he lets the spit just fall from his mouth. He guesses it was adrenaline that made him be able to run to the bathroom, because he’d never be able to do that right now. So, he sits there, feeling his dinner coil back up from wherever it thought it was going.

When it re-fills his stomach, the nausea washes over him again, and he can feel his face go grey. With a soft whimper, he wraps his arms around his middle and prepares for another go. Right on cue, his stomach lurches, sending another wave of partially digested seafood splashing into the murky water below.

The pressure makes him feel like he has to burp, so he tries, but he ends up violently puking instead. Go figure.

He hears an awful splattering noise that indicates he failed to aim in the darkness, and the heat of embarrassment claws up from his chest to his neck and flushed cheeks.

He lets his stomach rid itself of everything it needs to, only opening his mouth in the general direction of the toilet and just letting the puke spill out. It’s not his finest moment, he’ll admit, but he doesn’t feel good enough to care right now. On the other hand, he really hopes FRIDAY doesn’t snitch on him. He doesn’t necessarily want Tony to find him in his underwear, throwing up all the expensive food he’d just bought for him not even seven hours ago.

When his stomach feels relatively okay, he wipes his mouth and flushes the toilet. He struggles to stand more than he’s willing to admit, but when he’s braced against the sink once more, he blindly reaches over to turn on the light and brave the damage from earlier.

He winces at the sudden onslaught of light, and when his eyes finally adjust, he freezes completely.

Because what the actual hell.

Not only is there some vomit on the seat and each side of the floor beside the toilet, but also all over the wall behind it and on the porcelain lid he’d frantically flipped up in his adrenaline-fueled panic.

The sight is enough to make him suddenly retch over the sink, thankfully only bringing up a few pathetic splashes of stomach acid and bile. His arms shake where he’s holding himself up, and when he glances in the mirror, he hardly recognizes himself.

He knows that if he looks over at the toilet again, he’ll start the cycle anew, so he actually gives up. He hopes Tony will forgive him for just going back to bed, because that’s what he’s doing. Needs to do, really. He’s getting lightheaded, and if he passes out, FRIDAY really will snitch.

He drags himself back to bed, shivering even under two thick blankets. With his last strand of consciousness, he turns off his alarm for school in the morning. At the very least, he’ll miss his first class cleaning his bathroom, anyway.

Not even a second later, he’s out cold. He doesn’t so much as stir until hours later when he wakes to the sound of someone’s distant voice. He groans, pressing his face against the mattress beneath him. The voice grows more insistent, echoing. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that his stomach feels like it’s rotting, but he can’t quite do anything about it yet.

Finally, the voice reaches his ears at a somewhat normal volume, and the rude reality of consciousness envelops him. The memories of last night all flood in, making him cringe and feel sort of like throwing up right where he’s lying.

“Peter,” the voice says again. Peter now knows it’s Tony. He hums, drawn out and tortured, letting Tony know he heard him. “C’mon, Pete, what are you doing? You were supposed to be up an hour ago.” He steps further into the room.

“Mm...turned off m’alarm,” he rasps, throat still raw from his lovely encounter with the toilet.

“Why? And God, kid, what died in here?” Tony suddenly asks, probably looking around for a forgotten pizza box or something similar. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I did,” he mumbles, face still buried in his sheets.

“Huh?”

“The smell s’my bathroom,” he admits, feeling much too shitty to be mortified like he knows he’ll be later. “I wouldn’t go n’there, though, I kinda threw up all over the place.”

“What?”

“Yeah. M’about to clean it, don’ worry,” he announces, honestly feeling more like he’s just going to add to the mess.

“Like hell you are, kid. Stay put,” Tony says, disregarding Peter’s warning and swinging the cracked bathroom door open wider. He flicks on the light and lets out a string of curses under his breath.

He then closes the door abruptly, turning back to Peter, who hasn’t moved an inch. In all honesty, he feels like he might hurl if he does.

“That was—okay, wow.”

“Told you not to look.”

“Peter, that is so not the point right now,” Tony replies, walking over and perching on the edge of Peter’s bed. “Why didn’t you get FRI to tell me you were sick?”

Peter groans a bit at the mention of his condition. “Dunno.”

“It’s like you’re begging me to re-install the baby monitor protocol.”

“I really jus’ wanted to sleep. Didn’t feel good. M’sorry.”

Tony sighs, reaching out to brush the curls back from Peter’s forehead. “You don’t actually owe me an apology, kid. It just makes me worried that you were alone and that sick.”

Peter wants to reply and have an emotionally intelligent conversation, but he’s starting to get that tight feeling in the back of his throat again. Nausea stirs in the pit of his belly. He’s not sure if he has anything left to throw up, but he doesn’t want to take that chance.

“Um. Tony,” he strains. “I feel...” He can’t say the actual words or it’ll push him over the edge. Might be too late, anyway.

Tony thankfully gets the message and doesn’t waste any time. He swipes the trash can from beside Peter’s desk and has it under Peter’s chin in record time. It’s a good thing, too, because Peter was right. As soon as he moved a single muscle, his stomach took that as an open invitation.

Despite the horrendous amount of stomach contents that he’d already vacated in the middle of the night, he’s throwing up again. Only this time, it’s not so easy. Rather than being able to let the sickness run it’s course and pump him empty, he’s choking, and hiccuping, and tearing his throat up with every go.

“Jeez, kid.”

Peter wants to say I know, or maybe please just kill me, but all that comes out is more burning hot puke. He feels Tony start to rub a calloused hand between his shoulder blades, and he has to admit to himself that he wishes he had this earlier today. Maybe he does want the stupid protocol back.

Or maybe he’s just sensitive from being so sick. All he really knows is that he feels miserable, and he’s glad Tony came to check on him. There would probably be another mess to deal with if he hadn’t.

After a few more unsatisfying heaves, he stares blankly at the pool sitting in the bottom of the bin and tries to catch his breath. Tony gets up from the bed, and Peter feels a sudden, childlike urge to cry out for him. His future self will probably be grateful that he doesn’t have the energy to do so.

Tony comes back, anyway. He has a handful of toilet paper, and when he sits back down, he actually wipes the sick from Peter’s mouth. It’s parental, and Peter’s so gross, but Tony doesn’t seem to care. Peter must have a fever, because he’s about to cry over it.

The tears overflow despite his efforts to blink them away, and suddenly the bin disappears from his lap.

“You’re okay, Pete,” Tony soothes, collecting Peter’s still trembling body and holding him close to his chest. His hand curves gently up and down Peter’s spine.

“M’really sorry about th’ bathroom,” Peter murmurs, finally feeling the extent of his embarrassment.

“You don’t owe me an apology, kid. Anyone who’s sick enough to do that kind of damage gets a free pass.” Peter groans, feeling a bit sorry for himself. He can’t help it. Something about the way Mr. Stark is treating him makes him realize he should’ve gotten help.

“I think it was the sushi,” he murmurs. “Tasted a little funny.”

“Yeah, well, next time seafood tastes a little funny, maybe don’t proceed to eat twice your body weight in raw salmon.”

Peter groans. “I don’t think I’ll eat anything ever again.”

Tony breathes out a quiet laugh. They stay like that for a few minutes, listening to the birds outside Peter’s window. He’s glad he decided not to tough it out and go to school. A cramp reaffirms his thoughts.

“My stomach hurts,” he moans, pulling back to wrap his arms around his middle.

“I bet it does. You want some Pepto?”

He shakes his head. “I’d throw it up. I always do.” It’s true. Almost every time he’s ever taken Pepto, it ends up spewing back out of him almost immediately.

“Okay, maybe some Sprite? We gotta get some liquids back in you, kiddo.”

Peter thinks for a second and then nods, letting himself curl back into bed. Tony pats his knee through the blanket and stands up.

“Good. I’ll be right back.” He crosses the room, stopping at the door. “Anything else you want me to get while I’m down there?”

“Um. Maybe another trash bag? This one is making me nauseous.”

“I’m right there with ya, pal. Give me like, two minutes. Hang tight.”

Peter just hugs his stomach and groans, drowning in his misery. He wonders if it’s actually this bad or if he’s gotten dramatic, but for his ego’s sake, he’s probably dying. He can barely lift his head when Tony finally comes back.

He greets Tony with a whimper. A literal whimper. He’s going to hate himself later, but for now, he just wants Tony to wave some magic wand and give him a new stomach.

“I know, kid. Go ahead and sit up for me.”

Peter regrets ever sinking back against his pillow, because now sitting up sounds like the single most unachievable thing in the world.

“If I move, I’ll barf,” he replies, only half joking.

“Then we’ll ride it out and try the Sprite when you’re done.”

Peter groans, knowing he’s never going to win this battle. He begins to lift his head and eventually his torso, feeling the ache of his stomach muscles from overuse. The motion makes him very dizzy, probably from dehydration if he’s honest.

He holds up his hand, blocking Tony from bringing the glass to his lips.

“C’mon, don’t fight me, Pete,” Tony says, almost pleading.

Peter shakes his head barely. “One second...tryin’ not to puke.”

“Ah. Got it.”

Blessedly, Tony doesn’t push the glass on him again. He sits there swallowing convulsively for a minute before he can even open his eyes. When he does, he can’t help but look at Tony with open misery.

“I know you don’t feel good, kiddo, I’m sorry,” he says, seemingly reading Peter’s mind. They’ve gotten to that point apparently. He places a steady hand between Peter’s shoulder blades and rubs in a circle. “I really think you’ll feel better if you sip on this. Just try for me, Pete.”

Peter eyes the bubbling liquid and tries not to feel entirely disgusted. In a moment of pure bravery, he reaches for the cup and takes three whole sips. It’s cooling against his raw throat, and he’s grateful to get the taste of bile out of his mouth at least a little.

“That’s it, you’re doing good. You can take a break if you want to.”

So, he does. He sets the cup down on his nightstand and lays back down while Tony replaces the bin liner for him. His head swims a little as if he’s drunk, and he gets the sinking feeling that his Sprite victory won’t last too long.

“Mm...Tony,” he mumbles, snaking a hand under his t-shirt and trying to magically settle his stomach through touch.

“Yeah?”

“Can you turn on the TV? I really need to think about something other than my stomach for, like, two seconds.”

Tony gives him a sympathetic smile, grabbing the remote and turning on The Office. He uses his foot to scoot the trash can back to where it was and sets the remote back down. Peter starts to feel himself drifting off already.

“I’ll get out of your hair. Please actually tell FRIDAY if you need me, okay? I’m gonna check in every now and then anyway.” Peter nods, curling into himself. “Alright, I’m gonna go call Midtown, tell them you’re not feeling so hot.” Peter just nods again, blinks getting longer and longer.

The voices on the TV get jumbled and muted as he’s pulled into a state of half-consciousness fueled by fever. His dreams are far-off and confusing, often nightmarish and gory. When he wakes with a start, he wonders if it was a nightmare or a memory. Sometimes he worries that patrol has doomed him to a lifetime of night terrors.

It takes him several minutes to come to and make sense of the noises in his room. He eventually fumbles for the remote and turns off Netflix, flopping back down onto his mattress.

He’s coated in sweat, battling the swirling in his stomach yet again. He has no idea how much time has passed. It’s unsettling, and he finds himself really wanting company. His mouth is also bone try, so he grabs the Sprite with a trembling hand before speaking.

“Hey, FRI?” he rasps.

“Yes, Mr. Parker?”

“Can you, um. Get Tony?”

“Alerting Boss. Would you like me to deliver a message?”

Peter shivers at the condensation from the glass running down his forearm. “Um...just tell him I don’ feel good.” He knows he sounds like a child, but his head feels very funny and he doesn’t quite know what else to say.

He must be truly dehydrated, because once he starts drinking, the sips turn to swallows, and the swallows turn to desperate gulping, and before he knows it, the cup is empty. He winces almost instantly at the new sloshing feeling in his stomach. Maybe he fucked up.

He can’t even breathe in without heaving on the exhale, and in a fraction of a second, he’s refilled the glass. He promptly sets it down and leans over, vomiting into the trash bin.

Right on cue, Tony knocks on the door and cracks it open just a tad. When he peeks in, another wet retch is climbing up Peter’s throat.

“Ah, shit,” he mutters under his breath, crossing the room to pick up the bin so Peter doesn’t fall over with the effort of heaving. He’s grateful, because the blood rushing to his head was really starting to make his vision swirl.

Tony is silently rubbing his back, and Peter tries not to be too gross. It’s sort of a lost cause, especially when he misses a little bit and pukes on his hand that’s gripping the bin. Of course, that sets off his nausea all over again.

It takes him a long while to catch his breath. He has to close his eyes and forget where he is so he can stop gagging.

“You want some Sprite?” Tony asks, unintentionally sending Peter into his worst retching fit yet. “Okay, so that’s a hard no. I’ll let you have a minute to breathe.”

“It’s—,” Peter tries, cut off by a gurgling retch. He greedily sucks in air, heaving from deep in his belly on the exhale. “Not Sprite.”

“You wanna try some juice or something instead?”

“No, I mean—that’s-” More vomit. “I threw up the Sprite.”

“Yeah, I can see that, kid.”

Peter’s never going to be able to explain if he keeps imagining the glass. He’s panting heavily over the soiled trash. “No...I drank it all,” he strains. “That’s puke.”

Just like magic, Peter’s empty stomach finds more to shove up his throat. It trickles pathetically against the plastic.

Tony stands there, processing, and then:

“Oh. Oh, Pete.”

And then Tony’s visibly trying to figure out what to do about the full cup of vomit on the bedside table. Peter feels so embarrassed all of a sudden, and if he had the energy to escape the tower and go be by himself, he would. He knows he wouldn’t make it far.

“M’so sorry.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have done it if you had any other choice, kid. I’m just glad it’s not on the carpet.” That makes Peter feel a little better, actually. Not enough to actually make a difference, of course, but it’s better than nothing.

“When’s it gonna stop?” he breathes out, barely keeping his composure.

Tony lets out a short sigh. “I wish I could tell you. Hopefully soon.”

Peter wilts, not feeling optimistic about that at all. Last time he caught the flu, he spent the entire weekend hurling just about anywhere he deemed moderately appropriate. He hadn’t even felt as bad then.

“I’m gonna get rid of this. Do you want me to bring anything back?”

Peter takes a moment to think and then shakes his head. There’s nothing he can imagine that would ease his misery. The only thing he can bring himself to do is pray for sleep to take him, and even that’s a battle.

“Alright. Again, call FRI if you need me for anything at all, okay?”

“‘kay.”

Tony leaves him to what’s sure to be his slow death. He turns over and begs for sleep, receiving nothing but a lingering stomach ache. He lays awake for over an hour before he finally, blissfully slips into unconsciousness.

—————

A/N: Thank you for reading as always! You rock

#iron dad #marvel sickfic #peter parker #sickfic #cw vomit #peter parker sickfic #iron dad sickfic #iron man #tony stark #sick #hurt/comfort

38 notes · View notes