chocolateandredbull - Tumblr blog

[chocolateandredbull]

Midnight Blues

cw: vomit

—————

“Hey Tony, can I talk to you for a second?” Pepper asks, leaning over the arm of the couch.

“Yeah, where?”

“Let’s go outside, it’s nice.”

Tony stands from the couch, following her out to the porch. When the door closes behind him, she sighs. That’s never good.

“What is it?”

She shifts her weight a little. “It’s Peter.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, I’m not totally sure, but he’s not acting like himself at all. He came in to help us clean the kitchen, and now he’s been sitting at the table completely silent ever since. I don’t think he’s feeling well.”

“Oh. I was wondering where he was. We were supposed to watch a movie.”

“Yeah, I just think something upset his stomach. I asked him if he was alright, but he insisted he was fine, so I left him alone. I think he might talk to you, though, so I thought I’d ask.”

“Yeah, of course. He’s probably pretty exhausted, I mean we drove for, like, ten hours today.”

“Maybe that’s part of it.”

“Maybe. I’ll go talk to him. Thanks Pep,” he says, leaning forward to kiss her cheek before turning to go inside. She follows him, but they split before the kitchen.

As promised, Peter is slumped over the table, staring at the wall. He doesn’t look good at all. If it’s possible to actually turn green, Peter has just about managed it.

“Hey kid,” he greets, pulling out a chair and sitting next to him.

“Hi.”

“You still up to watch a movie?”

“Mm…maybe. I’m a little tired.”

“I don’t blame you. But, uh…are you feeling okay? You’ve looked better.”

Peter exhales slowly. What Tony didn’t expect was for him to suddenly crumble, holding back a weak sob.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he soothes, scooting closer so he can rub his back. “What’s wrong?”

Peter shakes his head, tears tracking down his cheeks. He breathes out shakily and then inhales sharply. It takes a moment for him to compose himself.

“M’just…I don’t know. I thought my stomach would stop hurting on its own, but now I don’t know,” he murmurs.

Tony reaches a hand over to feel his forehead, and it’s scorching. That probably explains the sudden breakdown.

“You’re really warm, kid. I’m sorry you don’t feel good.”

“S’okay.”

“Do you wanna call it a night?”

He nods just barely, pulling away from the table. When Tony helps him stand, he pales. Tony’s just a little nervous.

“Can we…I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Sure thing, kid. C’mon.”

He leads him to the bathroom, picking up the pace just a little. He watches Peter tremble as he lowers himself to the floor. He wishes he had FRIDAY here to tell him how high Peter’s fever is.

Peter hovers over the bowl, silent tears still escaping. He hugs his middle, groaning every now and then. Tony continues to rub his back.

“I really don’t feel good, Tony,” he moans, resting his head on the arm he has draped across the bowl.

“So sorry, kiddo. Maybe throwing up will make you feel better.”

That seems to only upset him more. He actually whimpers.

“I don’t wanna,” he breathes out, voice strained. He swallows with effort.

Tony continues to just keep him company, and several minutes go by before Peter rolls forward with a heave. Nothing comes up, but Tony can hear how unhappy his stomach is. He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He takes it out to see a message from Pepper.

Everything okay?

He quickly types out a response.

In the bathroom. Think he might throw up.

Poor kid.

I know. Maybe get him a damp washcloth and some water for when he comes out?

Sure. I’ll have it in his room.

Thanks Pep

He pockets his phone again just as Peter coughs out another retch, just as unproductive as the first. With a weak sob, he rubs at his stomach a little.

Tony didn’t think it was possible, but Peter suddenly goes an even more impressive shade of grey-green. Watery spit starts to drip into the bowl, and Tony remembers from the last time Peter had a stomach bug that it isn’t a good sign.

“I don’t feel good,” he nearly weeps. Almost immediately after, he pitches forward and vomits a heavy stream against the back of the bowl.

“There you go, kid, you’re doing good.”

He throws up again, even more than the first time. He struggles to catch his breath before the next wave comes up, and then the next. Tony just tries to make him feel comfortable and calm.

He finally begins dry heaving, and then those taper off too. He sits back on his heels, tears collecting at his chin. Tony rubs his back.

“Feel any better kiddo?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “M’tired.”

“Alright. Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

“Okay…”

He lets Tony help him to the sink to wash his mouth out and then leads him to bed. It’s quiet in the house, and Peter is becoming increasingly limp against his side. They make it to his room, and he quickly crawls under the blankets.

Tony grabs the wet cloth Pepper made and lays it across his forehead.

“You want some water, Pete?”

“No…my stomach hurts.”

“I’m sorry. How about you get some rest and see if you feel better?”

“Mm…okay.” It sounds like he’s already halfway there.

He steps out quietly, turning off the light and leaving the door cracked. He sighs, shuffling to his own room, suddenly aware of his own exhaustion. It’s been a long day, he can’t imagine how Peter feels.

He makes it in, crawling in next to Pepper. She turns toward him and pauses the TV.

“Is he okay?”

“Been better, but he’s resting now. He threw up a lot.”

“I knew something was up. Did it help any?”

“Not sure, but he was pretty upset about it. I think the fever made him cry.”

“Poor kid.”

“I know. I’m gonna check on him in a few hours, I think. He needs to drink some water, but I don’t wanna force it on him when his stomach hurts.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best. You should get some rest too. C’mere.”

She holds him close as the day wears heavier on him. He just barely manages to set an alarm before he drifts off.

Some time later, he’s woken, but not to what he expected. There’s no alarm, just a hand pressing gently at his shoulder. He wills his eyes to open, and he sees a small silhouette against the light spilling from the door.

“Pete?”

“Tony…,” Peter repeats, voice watery.

“What’s wrong? You sick?”

Tony sits up and turns on the lamp beside the bed, illuminating Peter’s pale, tear-slick face. He’s up in an instant.

“Hey, hey…it’s okay,” he whispers. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel good,” he all but sobs, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach.

“I’m really sorry, kid. C’mere, let me take you back to your room.”

He lets himself be led, but they come to a full stop in the hallway.

“Pete?”

Not a beat goes by before he’s projectile vomiting onto the floor, splattering what has to be last night’s dinner all over the hardwood.

“Oh, kid…”

He throws up again, doubling over completely. Tony keeps him from falling and rubs his back while he rides it out. He figures there’s no use in trying to get him to the bathroom now. Peter’s legs are shaking too much, and there would probably be even more of a mess to clean up.

“Tony, what’s—oh Peter, honey…are you okay?”

Peter responds by retching violently, stomach contents splattering against the others.

“He woke me up and told me he didn’t feel good. Guess I should’ve expected an encore, you know?”

Peter throws up again.

“Let me grab some paper towels.”

“No, it’s okay, you go ahead and go back to bed. We’re okay.”

“You take care of him, I’ll take care of the floor, okay?”

“Alright, sure. Thanks.”

She disappears to the kitchen, and it seems like Peter has run out of things to throw up. He straightens up slightly.

“Feel like you’re done?”

“I’m so sorry,” he slurs, suddenly seeming years younger.

“Don’t apologize, it’s alright. I know you don’t feel good. Think you’re ready to move back to bed?”

He nods just slightly, still ghostly pale. Tony helps him the rest of the way to his room, and he all but collapses onto the bed. He looks so small.

“M’so sorry.”

“I said it’s okay, Pete. Does your stomach feel any better?”

“I guess…”

“It’s alright, you’ll feel better soon. Fast metabolism. Just rest up, and I’m right down the hall if you need me again.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Always.”

—————

A/N: As always, thanks for reading! More to come!

[chocolateandredbull]

I’ve actually got time on my hands and I have three (3!) solid ideas for lil fics but am I gonna write them? Who the fuck knows? Someone come and take these ideas out of my head and put them in a word doc plz and thnks

[chocolateandredbull]

Hi! I love you! It’s finals season and I’m barely scraping by and suffering lots, so I could use a fanfic to live through! What about a mini fic where Peter is doing some homework in his room (compound/tower, or just Tony’s house but Morgan doesn’t exist) and he has a pretty bad fever. Tony notices he’s getting frustrated really easy and checks his temperature and then lots of cuddles?

Another mini-fic! This time staring a feverish, grumpy little rain cloud Peter and a very dad-like Mr. Stark. :) Very very very mild angst and some good old-fashioned fluff. Oh. And Peter gets a hug.

Finals Week Heat 980 words

Peter sat at his desk in Mr Stark’s workshop and grasped a fistful of his hair. It was only Wednesday, and he was already burnt out. Finals had been going strong all week, and he still had two more to go. His worst subjects. Spanish and world history. He released his hair in favor of rubbing his eyes and stared at his notes. As they blurred in and out of focus he slammed his fist down on the desk.

“Easy, Pete,” Mr. Stark called from across the room. “ What’s got you all worked up over there?”

“Nothing!” Peter snapped before he could stop himself. But he was so exhausted he ached and his head was starting to throb. It was making him unreasonably irritable. “I'm not worked up! I’m just tired.”

Mr. Stark arched a single brow. “It’s only eight o’clock.”

“Does it matter? I’ve been busy for days! I think I’m allowed to be tired.” Peter flourished a dismissive hand and directed his attention to his notes. “Just go back to your work and leave me alone.”

“Hey,” Mr. Stark warned. But for some reason, Peter didn’t take the hint, He visibly bristled and narrowed his eyes.

“What?” he aggressively shouted. “I know you’re in the middle of at least three projects and I have to study. Actually. You know what? I’ll just take this to my room. It’s whatever.” Immediately, he started haphazardly stuffing things into his bag, ready to flee the situation before it escalated further.

“Nuh-uh, no way, no how. Sit back down Kid.” Mr. Stark stood up, taking on an authoritative posture. “We need to talk about your attitude.”

Peter knew he should listen, and any other day he probably would. However, the tension in his body was wound so tight, he snapped instead. “I don’t want to sit down and don't want to talk to you. I just want to get this done.”

Mr. Stark's jaw clenched. “Sit. Down. Now.”

Knowing it was best to give in, Peter threw himself into his chair and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Whether it was out of indignation or because an unexpected chill had consumed him, he wasn’t sure. Rather than contemplate it, he glared across the room.

“What are you studying for?”

“Finals. You know that,” Peter spat.

Mr. Stark’s face remained stoney as he regarded Peter with scrutiny. A few beats passed. He sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been at it for hours with the flashcards, Kiddo. Why don’t you just call it a night?”

“Because I happen to like my 4.0 GPA, Mr. Stark!” The sarcasm was thick but the sentiment was genuine. He was at the top of his class and the pressure to remain in that slot was high. “If I don’t study, I don’t get to keep it.”

Mr. Stark's head tilted to the side. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I'm fine,” Peter grumbled. “Why?”

“You’re not usually this snippy with me,” Mr. Stark casually replied. He spanned the distance between them and ran his hand through Peter’s hair, down to his neck. The contact Made Peter shiver. “You’re burning up, Buddy,” Tony said, his voice significantly softer. “FRIDAY? Get me a tempt, will you?”

“Mr. Parker’s temperature is at one-hundred and two point three degrees.”

Mr. Stark nodded and gave Peter’s shoulder a squeeze.“Well, that settles it. You’re definitely done studying for tonight. The good news is, you’ll have a few extra days to review the material because you are definitely not going to school to-’”

“I have to go!” Peter growled. “I have finals to take!” He wished he didn’t. Staying home sounded idea.

“Nope. Zip it. The adult is talking.” Mr Stark, sent him a look, daring him to say anything else. Peter snapped his mouth shut. “You’re not going to school with a fever of a hundred and two. Not happening. You can make up the test.”

Peter slumped in his seat. “I want to be done with them,” he mumbled.

“And I want you to feel better,” Tony replied without missing a beat. His fingers went back to Peter’s hair. “You’re clearly miserable, Buddy,”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, his eyes beginning to water. He gathered a tremulous breath and closed his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t feel good.”

“Okay, Kiddo. You’re going to be okay.” Mr. Stark wiped a stray tear from Peter’s cheek and hauled him into a firm hug. “Let’s get upstairs, hmm?”

Inside the elevator, Peter leaned into Mr. Stark. “Sorry, I yelled at you.”

“I’d say it’s okay, but I definitely don’t want you biting my head off like that,” Mr. Stark said. He paused to swipe the bangs off of Peter’s forehead. Probably gauging the fever again, in the process. “It would be much easier if you just told me when you were sick.”

Peter sighed, unsure of how to explain how difficult it was to satisfy literally everyone’s expectations. “I didn’t want to-” he began, but Mr. Stark cut him off quickly.

“Another time, Bud. We’ll talk about it another time.” They had arrived at the penthouse. Mr. Stark stepped inside first and gestured down the hall. “For now, go get in your pajamas and meet me on the couch. I’ll fetch you some meds, and we’ll watch a movie until you conk out on me.”

Peter huffed a small laugh, knowing that’s exactly what would happen. He’d arrive at the couch wearing his comfiest pajamas, soft blanket in hand. Mr. Stark would give him some pills and sit in the corner of the furniture. He’d allow Peter to burrow into his side and, together, they would pick a movie. Probably something science fiction. It didn’t really matter. Mr. Stark was right. He’d be warm and comfortable and sound asleep before they made it a quarter of the way in.

Super happy to see you again @yescaptainmarvel123875 I feel like it's been a while! Hope you are doing well and enjoy this fic!!

[chocolateandredbull]

Tempo Rubato: robbed time

Christmas break 1976 at Tomny and Tonya's Flat

I love these three from @motswolo Cadence of Part-time Poets marauders fic. It’s Remus and two OCs Tonya and Tomny. Finished reading coptp months ago, loved it so much, and this scene had been a sketch for ages in my drafts. The appearance is loosely based off an old tumblr post mentioning headcanons by motswolo. The painting is inspired by a scene in chapter 45, one of my favourites, of the them getting haircuts in the bathroom.

[chocolateandredbull]

Also if you can get a prompt into me before 11am GMT tomorrow I’m gonna get on 9 hour flight and could do with having something to keep me occupied 🤙🏻

[chocolateandredbull]

DO U HAVE A SICKNESS KINK??;:? i am just curious i have no ill feelings ! i was just like WOAH when i see the amount of sickfics on ur ao3 lmao

I do not have a sickness kink it’s literally just all that I know how to write 🫠

But I want to make it clear that I absolutely am not against sickness kinks, though I absolutely do not understand it one bit

Whatever floats your boat guys 🤙🏻

[chocolateandredbull]

James Potter was a leader, if anything. A mentor to students young and old, Quidditch star, top of his class, and prefect, amongst other things.

But he had his weaknesses. His eyesight was abysmal, he was constantly losing his quills and borrowing from others. He could get hay fever so bad that Madame Pomfrey had to brew special potions just for him when it was at its worst.

He also felt the pressure of being looked up to. He knew that people saw him as a role model, but he was still 15 years old at the end of the day. He could find himself getting overwhelmed and losing the run of himself if he didn’t take the time to calm himself down.

But he had a good handle on it.

Most of the time.

[chocolateandredbull]

Is Sirius actually sick or is he trying to worm his way out of detention?

[chocolateandredbull]

Remus Lupin puts way too much pressure on himself come exam season and it takes its toll

[chocolateandredbull]

When Remus comes down with something before a Quidditch match there’s only one thing on Sirius’s mind

[chocolateandredbull]

Sitting in the library with his friends, researching a prank, would usually be one of Remus’s favourite places to be. He knew his time at Hogwarts was coming to a close, with less than three months to go before he was sent into the real world to fend for himself, Remus usually tried to cherish these final few times together.

Except for today.

[chocolateandredbull]

Peter couldn’t possibly tell Tony what was wrong. He was sixteen for god’s sake, he’s not supposed to have something as stupid as heartburn.

[chocolateandredbull]

When a heatwave hits New York City, it takes its toll on our favourite Spiderkid

[chocolateandredbull]

Peter Parker knows he has to eat a bit more than others to keep up with his metabolism.

But how much junk food is too much?

[chocolateandredbull]

Sometimes cleaning up after missions takes more than a debriefing

Part 3 of Taking Care

Tony proves once again he knows how to look after his kid.

Or

When Tony comes home to find Peter holed up in his room in pain, he knows exactly how to help him.

(That sounds like its slash it’s not I swear)

Part 1 of Taking Care

[chocolateandredbull]

When a feverish Peter lets himself dwell on the past, Tony makes sure that he’s there to talk him through it

[chocolateandredbull]

Peter Benjamin Parker was something else.

The kid had absolutely no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.

He’d told him not to eat the food from that shady looking street vendor. He told him every time they walked past it on their way home from school.

“It smells good.” “It smells like a meth lab.”