#spiderman sickfics

[irondadmadlads]

Irondad Prompt #229:

Sick!Peter: You really don’t have to take care of me, Mr. Stark. Managers don’t take care of their employees, after all.

Tony: You’re right. Managers don’t take care of their employees. But I’m not your manager and you’re not my employee. I’m your…

Peter: My…?

Tony: Your… Tony! I’m your Tony and you’re my Peter!

[motherlvr]

I just found your blog but I love your fics omg. I don’t know if you’ve received a request like this, so forgive me if you have. But do you think you could do a sickfic with the reader taking care of Miles?

i havent gotten this req yet, tysm for requesting!

--------

wc: 1k

Pairing: Earth-42! Miles Morales x f! reader (could possibly be read for 1610! Miles as well)

Summary: Miles has been acting off, so you decide to pay him a visit.

Warnings: established relationship, sick fic, cursing, fluff

----------

Staring at your phone's messages, you awaited a response from Miles. But he hasn't been responding to you all afternoon. He never does that. So, it's only natural that this raised suspicion within you.

Miles made the mistake of granting you a spare key to his dorm a while ago. Since you lived on the same campus, you decided to pay him a little visit. It's not like this was the first time you've shown up unannounced, anyway.

Walking down the hallways of your school, you successfully found his dorm. You knocked on his door, "Miles, it's me. I'm coming in." Putting in the key to his door, you unlocked it. Miles was seemingly unfazed as he stood in front of you. "Hola, princesa. ¿Qué tal?" (what’s up?) He said with nonchalance.

But there were a couple of indications that made you realize what his deal was. For one, he didn't greet you with a kiss. Matter of fact, he was standing a few feet further from you than usual. Even before you started dating, Miles would always leave a small kiss on your forehead or temple. And secondly, there were dark circles on his under-eyes that don't usually adorn his face. He was still indubitably charming, however. There was no denying that.

You raised an accusatory eyebrow at him, and he immediately knew you saw straight through him. "You're sick. Aren't you, Miles?"

He almost rolled his eyes at how well you could read him. "I'm fine. It's nothin', ma." He shrugged, but his voice was laced with a subtle rasp. Still enough for you to pick up on, however.

"C'mon, even big tough douches get sick sometimes." You hit him lightly on the chest and grinned at him. Entering his dorm, you asked him, "Have you even eaten anything?" He brushed off your question. Instead, he said,

"You're lookin' pretty-" trying to change the subject, but you cut him off. "Good try, Miles. Wait here, I'll be back!" You promptly ran out the door, Miles stood there dumbfounded.

Within less than ten minutes, you returned to his dorm as promised. With a whole bundle of supplies. "Alright babe, sit." You grabbed him by his arm and sat him on his bed. "Estoy bien, mami. Really. You don't gotta do all this." He told you. But you didn't buy it. Holding up the back of your hand to his forehead, you winced. "Miles, you're burning hot. Temperature-wise." You winked at him.

Unpacking all the supplies you brought, you gave him medicine to take. "This stuff is magic, it'll help you feel better in no time." You said as you handed him the bottle. Glancing at the bottle in skepticism, he told you, “I ain't that sick.” His voice came out atypically groggy.

Much to his dismay, you whipped out a thermometer and put it in his mouth. He didn't even see where it came from. Within a few seconds, it read an unusually high temperature. As you suspected. Putting your hands on your hips, you told him, "Miles. You’re 101 degrees. Take the damn medicine or else I'll feed it to you."

Miles always put on a front. A facade that he didn't need anyone, a 'tough guy' front. But you knew better.

He finally gave in and took the medicine, your eyes trailing to his adam's apple that bobbed as he downed it. Shaking off your wandering gaze, you handed him a bowl and told him, "I brought you some soup as well." Staring up at you, he accepted it. He looked at you with adoration in his eyes. As long as you were here with him, he'd look forward to waking up in the morning.

A few moments passed by and he said, “...Gracias, mami.” “Of course, Miles.” You replied, gently placing a kiss on his forehead. He backed away slightly and concernedly said, "You're going to get sick, ma."

"It'd be worth it." You carelessly grinned at him, and he was sure you could singlehandedly cure him with your smile.

The sun was already starting to set, so you decided to stay at his dorm for the night to make sure he was taking care of himself. Behind closed doors, there was no doubt in his mind that he'd stand outside in the cold rain for hours if it meant you'd stay here with him.

The next morning, you somehow ended up with his arms wrapped around your waist, your back snuggled against his torso. At least you attempted to keep a safe distance the night before. Can't say you didn't try. Stirring awake, you noticed Miles was already up.

But unbeknownst to you, he's been up longer than you'd think, silently listening to the soothing thump of your heart. Glancing up at him, he pressed his lips to your temple.

"¿Cómo te sientes?" (how do you feel?) He said, the rasp in his voice almost undetectable. You let out a small chuckle at the irony, "I feel like I should be asking you that." You replied. Waking up from your trance, you remembered that it was a school day. Looking for your phone, you asked him frantically,

"What time is it? We're going to be late for class, Miles." He shook off your fears, reassuring you. "Cálmate, princesa. We got time."

Letting out a sigh of relief, you relished in his embrace, not wanting to ruin this rare moment of quietude. Maybe you should've been more careful around him, but how could you when he was holding you like this?

It was almost a perfect way to wake up in the morning. You silently hoped you could stay like this a while longer with him. And little did you know that your wish would be granted. Just not in the way you initially hoped.

An abrupt sneeze interrupted the comfortable silence that fell between the two of you. You slapped your face with your hand. Groaning at how warm it felt, you exclaimed,

"Oh, fuck."

Needless to say, both of you were in this together. Whether you liked it or not.

----------

estoy bien - i'm good

cálmate - calm down

princesa - princess

gracias - thank you

[presleyluvschris]

chilly

pairing(s): mcu peter parker x sick!fem!reader

desc basically im obsessed with sick!fics. posted one a while back for another fandom 🤭 just peter worried.

a/n holy shit im so sorry i haven't been posting lately my loves. my house is currently being sold and i've been running ramped. i wrote this after i had time off work. hope you enjoy.

warnings language, fluff, grammar. (please message me if i missed any!)

@cozytober2023

requests | open 💌 masterlist

It was only October 7th and you we're already a stuffy snotty sticky mess from the sudden drop of temperature outside.

It was cold outside, but the light from your wooden bedroom windows sunbathed the room, brightening your pale complexion.

tissues were plastered all over your messy bed and your phone was constantly dinging with messages from your group chat. you didn't show up to work, or to school that day, and by the looks of your random naps and binge watches on Netflix, you had forgot to call anyone to let them know you couldn't make it, including your boyfriend peter.

you kept coughing which made your head pulsate more as you wrapped your blanket around you and curled into it, squirming and desperately trying to get comfortable.

he was always super protective of you. sometimes it was really annoying but it felt good to know he was always thinking of you. and thats probably an understatement.

you felt sick. that might've been a blunt word, but everytime you tried to swallow your own spit it hurt like hell and you felt your head beating in pain like a heart would pump blood.

you groan and pull your comforter back over your head before you flutter your eyes closed and try to get your mind off the pain in your throat. It burned everytime you breathed which made you hiss uncomfortably. You eventually get yourself to fall asleep (after way too many doses of NyQuil) with half of your body immersed in your pillow.

you rested softly for a few hours before you woke to the sound of peter climbing through your window. you're eyes could barely adjust to the light as your tried to look up to see who it was, but your body was too tired to try and shake yourself up.

he rolled on the floor after falling from your complicated window sill but quickly got up with a groan.

he puffs, dusting him self off as he looks around the room for his girl.

"love?" peter looked around curiously to find you laying in your bed.

he carefully knelt down and shook you slightly as you woke up again with a jump.

you cough. "jesus, peter. you scared the shit out of me." you shift your arms behind you to prop yourself up, as he tucks a piece of your hair that fell back behind your ear.

"sorry," he laughs. "i just got really worried. I came as soon as I could. are you alright? why weren't you at school? or work- MJ said you didn't come."

his smile turns into a concerned perplexed look.

"uh", you sit up and rub your eye, coughing.

he noticed you sweating, and your puffy red eyes and a nose rubbed red.

"are you feeling okay?" his eyes and face look soft for you as his lip pouted a little.

he comes closer to you, kneeling down as he rests his hand on your forehead gently. you press your lips together and sniffle.

"pete, im fine."

"but- you're burning up!" he adds, as you look away from him.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? i could've taken school off or-"

"peter." you look up.

"no." you croak, "i would never let you do that."

He puffs his cheeks and breathes out as he sits with you in your bed. You look in your boyfriends eyes as he turns his head to examine you.

"you don't look well, sweets." he frowns as he kisses the top of your forehead.

"i know", you say as you sniffle and your face starts to tickle a little.

he hands you a tissue as you sneeze in your sleeves. "bless you." he rests his tongue to the side of his mouth.

spidey senses.

"you okay?" he looks at you.

"mhm", you purse your lips.

you blow your nose as he looks at your face again.

"you gonna let me take care of you?" he holds his breath in worry.

you shake your head. "no."

he frowns again. "but you're sick! you're my girlfriend I can't just leave you here." He seems stressed, folding his his hands on your arms.

you cough and add, "i don't want you to get sick. plus, you have patrol tonight."

he shakes his head. "no way, im staying."

"No." you look in his eyes.

"Yes." he nods.

"No, peter."

"Yes, y/n." he crosses his arms.

you sigh.

"im staying right here." He says determinedly as he wraps his arms around you from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder. worry chilled up his spine for you.

"okay," you give up. "its cold anyway." you couldn't resist him. you didn't want him to patrol in the this insane cold weather anyways.

you pull a sweatshirt over your head.

"movie?" we whispers. "i'll get you snacks." he rubs your back softly.

you sweat a little and try to swallow.

you smile a little, "okay."

coughing, he rubs your arm. "are you okay?" he looks at you worriedly.

"im fine, my body just hurts."

he pulls you in a hug before kissing your head and leaving the room to go to the kitchen.

he gets back almost instantly with a bag of candy and popcorn, setting it on the bed and a mug of hot tea for your throat on the bedside table.

"can i get you anything else?" he looked sad.

your heart warmed and hurt at the same time.

"no, im okay."

he places a bowl of soup down next to the mug as you lean over to take it and sip it gently.

he lays in your bed as you open your laptop to the same crime documentary.

"again?" he groans, shifting his neck up against the pillow as he scrunches his face, looking at the ceiling.

as you giggle he looks up to see your smile which made his stomach hurt.

"yes, again." you try to hold back your lips from curling into a laugh.

he sighs and clicks the play button on your computer.

you rest your head on his chest, snuggling into him as he lays his arm around you, intertwining your hand into his.

"love you." he whispers in your hair softly, tucking a kiss to the back of your head.

taglist my idols/inspo @everythingisawayoflife @cafekitsune @luveline @scarthefangirl @elliexmylove @thevoidsaidnothanks @thestarvingwriter @spider-stark @bittenbyyou @incorrectmarvelquote @badass-dora-milaje @yes-i-am-happyaspie join my taglist ♡

[1heartfanfics]

Can you do a sick/hurt fic involving peter and Clint (Clint in dad mode) where Pete tries to hide his sickness and patrols and gets hurt and when Pete gets really nauseous he finally tells Clint

"You all right there kid?" Clint asked, eyeing Peter. Something was off about him.

"Yeah, I'm good," Peter shrugged, not very convincingly. Normally he'd be swinging around on things, a block or two ahead of Clint, but his hyperactivity was nowhere to be seen today.

"You sure about that?" Clint asked skeptically.

"I'm fine!" Peter said with a bit more enthusiasm this time. Before Clint could ask anymore questions, he shot a web out to the next building and swung across the gap between them.

Clint got a running start to leap across the gap himself but Peter was already several buildings ahead, like he normally would be. He had a feeling that Peter just didn't want any more questions though, something was definitely wrong with the kid.

A few minutes later Clint caught up with Pete, finding him sitting on a roof a couple blocks down, slumped against a ledge. His eyes were closed and he was pale, sweat beading on his forehead. Clint sighed, doing a quick observation of their surroundings before stowing his crossbow in it's place on his back.

"Pete?" Clint asked, crouching down in front of him.

"Huh? What? I'm ready! What is it?" Peter awoke with a start, eyes darting around as he tried to push himself up.

"Woah, woah, easy kid. You're alright," Clint put a hand on Pete's shoulder, gently pushing him to sit back against the wall.

"We don' need to fight somethin?" Peter asked, still struggling to try and stand.

"No Pete, there's nothing to fight, just relax," Clint said firmly.

"Oh, good," Pete sighed, eyes slipping closed again. "Mr. Barton?"

"It's Clint," he corrected.

"Mr. Clint -" Peter said, his face draining of all color, "I think I'm going to puke-", was all he got out before pitching to the side to vomit.

Shit. Stark was gonna kill Clint for letting this happen on his watch. "Alright, easy does it," Clint moved to sit beside Peter, rubbing a hand up and down his back as he was sick.

"I'm so sorry," Peter said pitifully once he was done. The poor kid sounded near tears.

"I've got three kids Pete, I've seen worse," Clint shrugged, pulling a water bottle out of his pack and offering it to Peter. "Small sips," he instructed.

Peter took the water with shaky hands, bringing it to his lips and taking a careful drink before handing it back.

"Thanks," he muttered, pale face now flushed slightly red with embarrassment.

"It's alright kid. Next time just tell someone okay? Even superheroes can take sick days," Clint joked, giving Peter's shoulder a squeeze. "Now let's get you back to the compound."

Clint helped Peter up, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to keep him steady as they began their descent down the fire escape. Peter wasn't exactly in web-swinging shape.

Peter was practically dead weight by the time they made it back to Stark tower, having puked several more times along the way. As they walked through the rec room to the elevator, they passed Tony sitting on the couch.

Tony frowned, an eyebrow raised in concern at the state his kid appeared to be in. He caught Clint's eye, giving him a questioning look. Clint motioned with his head for Tony to come take his place. They all knew Peter was 'his kid'.

[luca-is-a-pengu]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Iron Man (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Roger Harrington (Marvel) Additional Tags: Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Precious Peter Parker, Peter Parker Calls Tony Stark "Dad", Iron dad and Spider son, mentions of no apetite, Sickfic, Sick Peter Parker, spiders get sick too, Worried Tony Stark, Dad Mode Tony Stark, Peter Parker's Field Trip to Stark Industries Summary:

Peter Parker loves weekends at Stark Tower, working late into the night with Tony Stark on groundbreaking projects. But one hectic Monday morning, after losing track of time, Peter faces a surprise school field trip while feeling unwell. He was really looking forward to this field trip, but now he has to navigate through the tower while being sick.

[chocolateandredbull]

I have six days of Sicktember left to do and it’s only now I’m seriously doubting my ability to finish it

How do people do this every year?

How do you get each chapter to not sound exactly the same?

How do you not lose your sanity after day four?

Proof read? We don’t know her

Send help??

[viixenvi]

𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐃𝐚𝐲

I've never posted here before so forgive me in case I do anything wrong

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You get the flu, Peter and Steve are in charge of taking care of you while Tony (your dad) has to go to meetings. You and Peter have a plan to help Steve and Bucky make up after being mad at each other so all four of you can watch movies all day.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Peter, Steve, Tony, Bucky, Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: None

"Peter will be here soon to keep you company," Tony says, slipping his phone into his pocket and sitting next to you on the couch. He reaches over and presses the back of his hand to your forehead.

Your fever had gone down since the morning so you were already feeling a lot better than the past few days. Tony hummed and places his hand onto his knee. He has been worried for you the past few days, it was just the flu but it hit you pretty hard.

"What is Mr. America doing all the way over there?" You ask jokingly.

"For the last time, its captain america," He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. This makes you laugh, but you end up in a coughing fit.

"Maybe I shouldn't go," Tony whispers to you.

"Dad go! I'll be okay, promise!" You hold out you hand to do a pinky swear with him. This had been a tradition since he and Stephen adopted you. He locked his pinky with yours and, with a sigh, he got up.

Tony placed a kiss on your head before leaving the room hesitantly.

"Where is your boyfriend Mr. America?" You look at Steve, who is leaned against the door frame across the room. He looks down and you notice a tint of red on his face.

"He's mad at me right now."

You smile and immediately reach for your phone. You knew they were in a fight and you decided to invite Bucky over to "have a movie night" but you just wanted them to make up. You text Bucky to hurry up nd you hear someone walking down the hall.

"Peter!" You squeal when Peter is in view. He runs up to you and gives you a hug.

"Hi I missed you so much Y/n, I was so sad building the lego set without you," Peter plops down next to you and pulls his phone out to show you process of the lego set.

"You got so far in it! When I get better we are definitely finishing it together."

"Hi Mr. America sir," Peter greets Steve with a wave, laughing when Steve gets an irritated look on his face.

"Y/n put you up to this, didn't she?"

Peter looks at you before turning back to him and nodding. "Sorry Steve, you called me bite-size Stark last week, this is what you get," You giggle.

"He called you what?" Bucky's voice sounds from the hallway. He walks in and immediately gives Steve a look.

"Buck? what are you doing here?" Steve asks, trying to ignore the questioning look on his boyfriend's face.

"Y/n invited me to watch movies, why are you here?"

"Tony made me look after these two."

Bucky turns to look at us and we both smile.

"Why are you guys in a fight?" I ask, i'm just nosey and Steve wouldn't tell me.

"Because I did something I'm not supposed to do."

Bucky crosses his arm and raises his eyebrow. "Go on, tell them what you did Stevie."

"I took his arm and hid it from him because we have been in a prank war and I thought it would be funny," Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

You gasp and Peter holds back laughs. "You are never supposed to touch his arm! It's like his number one rule," You exclaim.

"That's what I told him." Bucky sighs.

"I'm sorry Jamie, please forgive me," Steve walks to Bucky and holds out his arms for a hug. Bucky is trying so hard to hold back a smile but he can't help but fail.

"You know I love it when you call me that," Bucky wraps his arms around Steve and buries his head on Steve's shoulder.

"Yay! Now movie time!" You clasp your hands together and turn to Peter.

"Twilight?" Peter suggests. You smile and nod.

"You know me too well Spiderman."

[starshaped-dreamer]

♡ 𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕧𝕖𝕝 ♡

peter parker (spiderman) x reader ‘you’re not coming with me’ - angst, fluff, happy ending (fem!reader) ‘I’m staying with you’ - fluff, comfort, sickfic rainy days - angst, hurt/comfort, fluff (fem!reader)

bucky barnes x reader ‘she said yes!’ - fluff (fem!reader) 'stay in bed’ - angst, sad ending (fem!reader)

[itsmechara426]

Irondad Prompt #175:

Royalty AU

King Anthony Stark has a plethora of responsibilities as king. However, when one of his servants — a teenager by the name of Peter Parker — becomes sickly, Tony puts all those responsibilities off to care for the boy.

[irondadidontfeelsogood]

cw: this is a long and self-indulgent sickfic, so if that’s not your jam, scroll on and have a good day! if it is, boy do i have a treat for you—enjoy

——————

No More Flights—Ever.

Peter’s putting on his best act to seem unfazed by being on the jet, but Tony knows him well enough to know he’s hardly hanging on. It’s barely perceptible, but he’s shaking all over, and he’s white as snow. He’s sweating through his t-shirt, and if the kid so much as blinks once, tears are going to start streaming down his face.

They’d had a conversation a few months earlier about how his parents had passed, and Peter assured him that he’d be fine on a plane, that he was so young when it happened that it wouldn’t affect him. Tony wishes he’d called his bluff. That would be infinitely better than watching the kid suffer on what’s sure to be over a seven hour flight, not to mention the matching trip back home.

Tony keeps a close eye on him, especially when they start to hit mild turbulence. Peter had fallen asleep for all of four minutes before they hit the first patch, and he woke so abruptly that he had to catch his breath. Tony was by his side in an instant.

“Everything’s fine, kiddo, it’s just some turbulence. We’re gonna be okay.” Peter nods, swallowing. “You want some water?” Another nod.

Tony gets up and retrieves a bottle of water, bringing it back to the poor kid. He sits with him as he drinks a little over half of it and then screws the cap back on. Tony doesn’t miss the way his hands shake.

After that, Peter has a much harder time of going back to sleep, but he eventually manages it. Tony relaxes just a little. Hopefully the kid will sleep through the majority of the flight. Tony wishes he’d brought some Xanax or something. Oh well, next time.

A little over two hours goes by peacefully, but then Tony is woken from his own slumber from a particularly violent patch of turbulence. Peter is already awake beside him, grey in the face and breathing erratically. He looks like he’s going to pass out.

“Hey—hey, kid, it’s okay. It’s totally okay. We’re fine. Breathe,” he urges, a hand on Peter’s chest.

The tears in Peter’s eyes spill over fast, streaming down his face in twos and threes. He’s breathing so hard that he’s wheezing, and his eyes are wild and grieving. His face somehow actually goes green.

The plane jolts again, even worse. Peter breathes out a sob, clutching his seat with all he has. Tony tries to redirect his attention.

“Kid, I need you to look at me, can you do that?”

Peter briefly glances at him, but then his eyes shut tight, and he weeps. The minor shaking from before has become full-body tremors, and he can barely wipe his own tears. The cries coming from him don’t sound like the kid he knows at all. They’re pained and terrified, everything Tony has never wanted to hear from him. The worst part is that he can’t do anything about it.

“Peter, everything is okay, remember the jell-o thing? We’re not going anywhere, kid. I’m right here, you’re okay.”

“Tony, I—I don’t want to die,” he sobs, having a full-on panic attack now. “Please, I don’t want to die, I’m not even seventeen, I’m not ready.”

Tony’s heart breaks. “You’re not gonna die, Peter, no one’s going to die, okay? I promise. Please take a deep breath. Drink some more water.”

Peter does neither of those things, completely disoriented from sheer panic. He’s pouring sweat and tears, heaving sobs and coughing from crying so hard. Tony’s worried he’s not getting enough oxygen.

He’s just about to pull Peter’s oxygen mask down when the kid presses both of his hands to his mouth and retches. Tony can’t even think about grabbing an airsickness bag before Peter gags again, spewing vomit from between his fingers. He moves his hands, choking just before he throws up a massive gush of puke all over himself and the floor.

“Oh, kid…it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he attempts to soothe, but the kid has gone off the deep end and is barely treading water.

He pitches forward again and blows chunks all over the seat in front of him. If he was pale before, it was nothing compared to now. He throws up again.

For some reason, it clicks in that moment to grab a barf bag, and once it’s open, he holds it over Peter’s mouth. He can feel the weight of Peter’s stomach contents pouring into the bag. It turns his own stomach, but he has to keep it together for the kid.

He curses Peter’s enhanced metabolism for causing him to stuff his face before they boarded, because the amount that the kid is puking can’t be scientifically possible. By the time it’s all over, Peter has filled two and a half bags, plus whatever he lost to the floor and his lap. Tony can’t believe what a colossal trauma he’s put this innocent kid through.

He’s panting and shaking, seemingly paralyzed otherwise. He’s probably in shock. The plane has stopped jolting, but Peter isn’t recovering visibly by any means.

“You’re okay. You’re doing good, Peter. It’s over now.”

It takes a few more minutes for the kid to even blink, sending more tears rolling down his cheeks. When Tony offers him napkins, he doesn’t respond. Like the dad he’s slowly becoming, he wipes the puke from Peter’s face and hands.

He goes over to Peter’s luggage and digs out some clean clothes, bringing them back to him. He looks awful. Tony worries he might be sick again.

Tony gives him all the time and patience he can. It’s over thirty minutes before Peter’s eyes seem to tune back into his surroundings. He blinks a few times and looks down, groaning lowly when he sees the mess.

“Fuck…,” he finally breathes out. Tony has never heard him curse before. “I’m…I am so sorry.”

“No need to apologize, kid. It’s okay that you threw up, I understand.”

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats again, more tears spilling over.

Tony doesn’t care if he gets puke on his shirt, he leans over and wraps the kid up in his arms tightly. Peter holds him back tighter. He sobs and sobs, his body still shaking.

Tony rubs his back and repeatedly tells him everything’s alright, but he’s not sure how much of a help he’s being. Eventually, he pulls back, heart aching as he sees Peter’s face again. He looks awful, like he’s actually sick.

“I got you some clean clothes, okay? Right there,” he says, pointing at the pile on the aisle across from them.

“Thank you,” Peter breathes out, standing weakly.

Tony looks away while the kid gets changed, and then they switch seats to another row. While Peter tries to fall asleep again, Tony gets up to clean as much of the mess as he can. It’s a lot.

When he returns, Peter is still awake, pale as ever with dark, sunken circles under his eyes. Tony rubs his back some more, wishing there were something substantial he could do for him. He wishes they had never left New York.

They hit the smallest patch of turbulence yet, and Peter blanches. He grips his seat again and looks at Tony desperately.

“Please let me off this thing,” he begs, voice broken.

“Trust me, kid, I really wish I could.”

Another jolt.

“I’m gonna be sick,” he chokes out, and Tony has never moved faster in his life.

He opens a new bag and gives it to Peter. He takes it with shaking hands, and Tony loses all hope of a false alarm when he sees watery spit dripping from Peter’s mouth. Not even five seconds goes by after that before he hurls into the bag. Tony rubs his back again.

He coughs, and burps, and gags, and every time he does, a little more comes up. It sounds awful. The poor kid must feel like shit.

When it finally seems to be over, Peter gently pushes the bag away, swallowing thickly. Tony rubs his back a little more. Peter apologizes softly. Tony tells him it’s okay.

He winds down again after about thirty minutes, and Tony disposes of the bags. He can’t seem to relax anymore, sure that Peter could wake up sick again at any moment. He alternates between looking at his phone and the kid, thankful for each moment of peace that they manage to have.

There’s about two and a half hours left on the flight, so Tony prays that Peter stays asleep. His heart drops when they hit another wave of turbulence, but Peter is so deep in sleep that he doesn’t wake. Thank God. Being sick must have made him exhausted.

Another half hour goes by without incident, and Tony feels himself starting to drift off. After jolting awake a few times, he’s out. He dreams of nothing in particular.

He wakes to a hand on his shoulder, and when he blinks his eyes open to see Peter standing beside him, he’s suddenly much more awake. He sits up straighter and clears his throat. When he gets a good look at the kid, he’s worried again. Peter looks sick to say the least.

“Hey, Pete, I’m sorry I fell asleep. Are you okay?”

“Um…we—there was some turbulence,” he manages, his voice nearly gone.

“I’m really sorry, kiddo. I didn’t know it would be so stormy today. Try not to worry about the turbulence, though, we’ve made it through the worst of it, and we’re okay.”

Peter nods, but he looks far from okay. He sits down beside Tony.

“How much longer?”

“Uh…,” he breathes out, looking at his phone. “Just about an hour. Not so bad.”

“Okay,” he says, voice small.

“Wanna try watching some TV or going back to sleep?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” Tony says, pulling up the menu. There’s a few cooking shows, but he doubts Peter’s stomach is ready for that. There’s also wipeout and Judge Judy, and that’s what Peter ends up choosing. It makes Tony laugh a little, but then they’re both invested.

Tony still keeps a close eye on him, and he can tell Peter isn’t comfortable. He must not be feeling all that well. Hopefully they’ll avoid another round of vomiting.

And that they do. The landing is a little rough, and Peter goes pale again. Tony’s ready to grab the puke bags in an instant, but he doesn’t seem to be in vomit territory, at least not yet.

He’s never been happier to get off a jet in his life. He’s sure Peter is feeling the same way. He’s still shaking as they gather their luggage and head for the taxi.

He’s silent the whole ride to the hotel, and silent as they check into their room. He grabs a water out of the mini fridge and sips at it before crawling into bed. He looks so small.

They’d planned on exploring the city when they landed, but Tony expects that Peter’s not feeling up to it. Maybe tomorrow. As of now, he’s still looking decidedly green and withdrawn.

“Wanna keep watching?” Tony asks, turning on the TV. Peter gives a small nod and takes another sip.

They only manage to make it about five minutes into the episode before Peter speaks up.

“Tony…”

“Yeah?”

He says something, but it’s so quiet that Tony misses it. It’s a little dark, but he swears he sees tears on the kid’s face. His heart shatters.

“Sorry, kid, I couldn’t hear you. What was that?”

“Can you pause it?”

“Yeah, you okay?”

“Um…I don’t know. I think I might throw up.”

“Oh, kiddo…again?”

In lieu of an answer, he shucks off his blankets and gets up from the bed with a hand on his stomach. Tony gets up next, following him into the bathroom. Peter lowers to the floor in front of the toilet, and sure enough, watery spit is dripping from his mouth. Tony sits on the edge of the bathtub and lays a hand on his back.

Peter is visibly nauseous for the next five minutes, burping and swallowing repeatedly. He moans, draping himself over the toilet. Normally, Tony would find that gross, but he understands that the kid must be completely spent.

Just as Tony begins to wonder if it’s a false alarm, Peter’s back lurches under his hand, and he hears vomit hit the water. Tony’s heart clenches. He hates seeing him like this.

Peter throws up again, all water and bile. The shaking comes back. He’s not bringing up much apart from the first wave, but he’s retching pretty violently.

It takes a while for the gagging to turn to hiccuping and then slow to a stop. He wipes his mouth and flushes the toilet. When he turns to Tony, his eyes are flooded with tears.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. Do you think you’re actually sick?”

He shakes his head and crumbles, his head falling to his knees. His breath hitches with quiet sobs. Tony lays a hand on his shoulder.

“I…I’m sorry, I just—I keep thinking about my parents, and how I felt on the jet. I can’t imagine how scared they must have been when they realized what was going to happen,” he breathes out. “They were probably terrified, it makes me sick to think about it,” he all but weeps.

“I’ve heard people talk about their near death experiences and say they felt complete peace before they went. I’ll bet they were scared at first, but I think once they knew, it was suddenly okay.”

“I hope so,” he murmurs softly, wiping at his face. Then, “I miss my mom,” he sobs, breaking right in front of Tony’s eyes.

Tony gets down on the floor beside him and holds him silently while he cries. Several minutes go by, and then Peter suddenly tenses, and an awful noise comes from his mouth. He pulls away.

Tony watches helplessly as Peter throws up a mouthful of stringy vomit into his hand, lurching toward the toilet to let it spill out. He coughs a few times, emptying his stomach for the fourth time today. Tony’s so out of his depth here.

Still, he sits with Peter until he apologizes and says he’s done. Tony helps him to the sink to wash up and then get back to bed. Peter’s tremors are slowly dying down.

Tony puts a trash can next to his bed just in case, and encourages him to take a few more sips of water. The last thing they need is for him to get dehydrated. He already feels bad enough.

Peter obeys, and then they go back to watching Judge Judy. Peter is asleep in under two minutes. Tony can’t get to sleep for another four hours. What the kid said was so heartbreaking, and it won’t stop echoing in his mind.

By the morning, Tony considers it a miracle that he wasn’t woken by a sick Peter. In fact, he’s still sleeping peacefully. Tony thinks about waking him before breakfast ends downstairs, but he’s not sure how his stomach would feel, and he figures he needs all the sleep he can get for today.

That turns out to be about another hour. While he’s asleep, Tony watches some more Judge Judy, silently cursing the kid for actually getting him interested in this show. He can’t help but laugh at himself.

When Peter stirs in the bed beside his, he pauses the TV. He watches with a bit of anxiety as he rolls over with a low groan. Hopefully he doesn’t feel as bad as he sounds.

He blinks his eyes open and they settle on Tony. “Hey, kid. How are you feeling?” he asks, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“M’okay…but my mouth tastes like puke.”

“I’m sorry. You want some water?”

“Please.”

Tony gets up and retrieves a water from the mini fridge, bringing it to him. “Sit up a little.”

Peter obeys, taking the water and drinking just a few sips. Tony hopes that isn’t a sign that he’s feeling bad. Hopefully he would tell Tony the truth at this point.

“You excited for today?”

Peter nods, a smile spreading across his face. “Only waited a year for this.”

“I think it’ll be worth it.”

“Well, I don’t know about the flight over, but hopefully.”

“Again, I’m really sorry, kid. If we could swim back to America, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Might consider it.”

He laughs, but Tony can sense the nervousness in it. He lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Peter drinks a little more water.

“Alright, so we should probably head out in a few minutes. Think you can be ready?”

Peter nods, sitting all the way up and standing from bed. Tony heads to the bathroom to get ready while Peter gets ready in their room. He goes over what they’ll do, and tries to think about ways to make it even better for Peter after their rough day and night yesterday.

When they’re both ready, they head down to the lobby and out to the train station. He hopes sincerely that part of Peter’s problem isn’t motion sickness in general. That wouldn’t be a great start to the day.

Thankfully, they make it through the ride without incident, and by the time they arrive to the convention, Peter is alight with excitement. He’s looking around with bright eyes and a wide smile, yesterday all but forgotten about. Tony’s heart grows warm.

They head straight for Peter’s favorite scientist, Alain Aspect, a major leader of research in quantum entanglement. Peter’s whole face lights up, and Tony could swear he’s trembling. He goes straight up to Alain and shakes his hand, telling him how amazing it is to meet him, how he has so many questions.

Alain feeds off his energy and gives him a big smile. He entertains Peter’s every question, loving and complimenting Peter’s brilliant mind. He can’t believe he’s only sixteen.

They spend a good amount of time there, and Peter’s enthusiasm never wanes. Eventually, someone else walks up, and Peter gives them a chance. After that, they visit several other booths and meet more physicists, biologists, and astrophysicists. Tony loves watching the kid soak everything in. They don’t even stop for lunch.

He surprises Peter with an exclusive panel with the board of directors for NASA. The kid almost bursts, thanking Tony repeatedly and very nearly crying. He’s on the edge of his seat the entire time, even being selected to ask a question toward the end.

He’s still buzzing by the time it’s all over. He’s blabbering about all of it as they leave, going to explore the city as they planned to do yesterday. They stop at a nice restaurant for dinner, and the food is amazing. Peter is back to his old self, downing more food than Tony can ever imagine eating himself.

He doesn’t even stop talking for the whole ride back to the hotel and even as they enter their room. Tony is thoroughly enjoying all of it despite his usual tiring of Peter’s rants. It can be a little much sometimes. Tonight, he’s more relieved than anything.

They go to sleep easily with Judge Judy on softly in the background again. Sleep comes with no disturbances. The night is a good one.

When Tony wakes to his alarm, he groans, stretching. He cracks his eyes open and looks over at Peter. He’s already awake, sitting up in bed with his knees to his chest. He looks pretty terrible. Tony’s heart sinks. He was afraid of this.

Their flight back home is this morning, and neither of them are looking forward to it in the slightest. They’re silent for most of the morning. Peter gets ready sluggishly and refuses to eat breakfast.

“Kiddo, if airsickness has anything to do with it, that’s going to make it worse.”

Peter wilts. “I’m really not hungry.”

“Doesn’t have to be much, just something small. Okay?”

“…Okay.”

They had down to the dining area of the hotel and grab some food. Peter only puts a plain croissant and some fruit on his plate. Tony figures that’ll be okay.

They eat in silence. Tony wonders if there’s anything he can do for him, and then he remembers a medication Bruce used to have to take for long rides on the quinjet. It started with a D.

He pulls out his phone and starts to research. He finds it quickly—Dramamine. It’s sold at regular corner stores, so he plans to stop there before they leave.

When they head out to the train station, he drops by somewhere called Puls Apotek and buys some Dramamine. He hands one to Peter with a bottle of water and tells him it’ll help with his nausea, and then they board the train to the airport. Tony doesn’t miss the way Peter is restless, nervously fidgeting the whole way there.

When they arrive, Tony’s private jet is right there waiting for them. It’s had a good cleaning and been restocked with everything they need. Peter looks up at the jet with mild horror and lots of dread, as does Tony. He braces himself for the worst.

Hopefully the medicine has enough time to kick in before takeoff. Peter is already pale, sitting down beside Tony with his eyes shut. He swallows a few times in a row.

“Pete? You wanna try watching some Judge Judy to take your mind off of things?”

“…Okay,” he breathes out, voice weak.

About an episode in, Peter goes sharply downhill. Tony could swear he hears him whimper. When he looks at Peter, his face is grey with an awful yellow tinge, and sweat is beading across his forehead. He reaches in front of him to grab an airsickness bag.

“Oh, kid…it’ll be okay.”

Peter shakes his head just a little. He swallows with effort. Tony was really hoping they’d make it through this without Peter getting sick.

“I think…the medicine is making me really dizzy,” he breathes out.

“What? That makes no sense. Anti-nausea meds shouldn’t make you dizzy.”

“I don’t know…I didn’t feel like this before.”

Tony digs through his carry-on and finds the bottle. Sure enough, the warning label mentions drowsiness and dizziness as possible size effects. Tony inwardly smacks himself.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay. Like you said, that shouldn’t even happen. It’s not your fault,” he manages, but Tony can hear the nausea in his voice.

As if the universe is playing some sort of cruel joke on them, the cabin starts to jerk with turbulence. Peter lets out a string of curses under his breath. He goes completely pale, draping an arm across his stomach. The other is gripping the sick bag tight to his chest.

“Remember what I said, okay? We were fine before, and we’re going to be fine now. I promise, kiddo.”

The words seem to have no effect on Peter. For all intents and purposes, Peter is lost to the world. His breathing picks up. The jet jolts again.

Peter lets out a quiet sob. Tony starts to rub his back, repeating that it’s okay. It’s all he can do. He hates that.

The turbulence doesn’t stop, and a minute later, Peter pitches forward with a half-gag, swallowing down the impending vomit before it reaches his mouth. This happens a couple more times, like he’s fighting for his life.

“Don’t hurt yourself, kid. If you need to throw up, don’t try to fight it. It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to,” he chokes out.

It happens again. And then again. Peter’s stomach makes an awful noise each time its contents angrily return.

“Peter.”

“I’m—trying really hard not to puke, okay? Just give me…give me a second.”

His eyes shut, and he starts taking measured breaths. Tony’s never seen him look so sick before, not even on the flight over. He hates it.

Despite his best efforts, only about three more minutes go by before he’s unable to swallow back his stomach. He lurches forward, vomiting violently into the bag. Then, again.

“There you go, kid. You’re gonna be alright.”

Tony rubs his back as he loses his hard-fought breakfast into the plastic. The effort of holding everything down has made the release much more intense, and he’s filled the first bag in no time. Tony already has another one ready.

He’s completely doubled over in his seat, panting into the bag between heaves. He’s shaking like a leaf and sweating through his t-shirt. The retching doesn’t stop for several minutes.

When it seems to slow to a stop, he’s drained completely. He stays folded over himself. The only sign that he’s conscious is that his eyes are open, blinking tears of exertion and anxiety down his cheeks.

Just as Tony thinks it’s over, he hears what he can only imagine is the rest of Peter’s stomach contents retreating from their rightful place. Sure enough, not even a minute goes by before Peter starts throwing up last night’s dinner. Poor kid.

He vomits over and over, to the point where Tony fears he’s going to pass out from the effort of heaving. He loses everything he ate. It’s several minutes before he pushes away the third bag.

He looks traumatized to say the least. Tony is heartbroken. This was supposed to be a great weekend, and now the kid’s been properly wrung out four times.

“I’m really sorry, Peter. If I had half a brain, I would have reconsidered this whole thing.”

Peter shakes his head. “No…no, I had a really great time yesterday. You couldn’t have prevented this any more than I could’ve.” His voice is wrecked. “It’s okay.”

“I just hate seeing you sick. I hate it so much.”

“Being sick isn’t that great for me, either, but I’ll live. I’m sorry you had to see all of it.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, Pete. I just wish you felt better.”

“Me too.”

After that, Tony gets rid of the bags, and they return to watching TV. It’s a welcome distraction. Tony had forgotten about the drowsiness side effect, but not even five minutes later, Peter is knocked out beside him.

Tony drapes his jacket over Peter’s lap and watches him for a minute. He’s got some of the color back in his face, and Tony feels a little better at seeing that.

He watches Judge Judy until he drifts off himself, praying that the flight will be over by the time they wake.

—————

A/N: Thank you for reading! I have so many stories built up over the years, so if anyone is interested, let me know! Take care :)

[hoperays-song]

Hurt/Comfort (especially emotional hurt/comfort but also sickfics) is one of my absolute favorite tropes. Characters taking the time to take care of each other and to help each other no matter the impacts on their lives because the other is more important? Literal chills every single time. 

It shows how important they are to each other and how they’re willing to do whatever it takes to make sure they other us ok. To show the them that they matter.

[irondadmadlads]

Irondad Prompt #174:

Peter: *sick in bed, can’t sleep*

Tony: Okay. You can’t sleep so instead we’re gonna play a game until you fall asleep.

Peter: ??

Tony: Choose a letter. We’ll take turns each naming a word that starts with that letter until you fall asleep.

Peter: Mr. Stark… what??

Tony: Trust me, I use it to get Morgan to sleep all the time.

[cold1dead1eyes]

31. forced relaxation

"mr. stark, i'm fine." peter muttered, one hand braced against the sofa. the floor is moving more than he thinks it should be. he pitches to the side and mr. stark catches his shoulder, slowly lowering him onto the couch. he presses one big hand against peter's throat.

"peter, you're burning up." it's not that bad. the room is tilting and his throat feels like it's being stabbed by a thousand needles and there's a man in his skull pounding away at his brain with a hammer but it's fine. he's fine, really. it's really nothing worth worrying about.

"it's just a fever. i'll be okay, i... i gotta get back out there, mr. stark." peter mutters under his fever-haze, body buzzing with adrenaline. he shouldn't have called mr. stark when the dizziness hit. if he just hunkered down in an alleyway until it passed he could be back out there by now--

"you're not going to be any good to anyone passed out." peter startles when something heavy falls on his shoulders. he opens his eyes to see mr. stark draping a blanket over his body. he's slumped over on the sofa, but he doesn't even remember closing his eyes.

mr. stark's worried eyes make peter uneasy. he squirms under the blanket, looking at anywhere but his mentor's face. he doesn't get sick. not since the bite, his healing is too fast, so why--

"when was the last time you took a break?" mr. stark's voice, so deep and close to peter, makes him jerk back to attention. he shakes his head and pushes to sit up, but just ends up slumping back over. god, why is the room moving like that?

"um… never?" he mutters. mr. stark clicks his tongue and shakes his head. peter can see him furrow his eyebrows through his blurry vision.

"never? peter, you..." he trails off. peter feels the sofa dip when mr. stark sits next to him. "you can't keep pushing yourself like this. it's not gonna work forever."

"what about my job?" he whines, and mr. stark chuckles. he puts an arm around peter's shoulder and brings him to lean against his chest.

"kid, i promise that new york can survive one day without their friendly neighbourhood spiderman." peter shakes his head, then regrets it when it makes his brain ting around in his skull like a ping pong ball.

"but, mr. stark--"

"nuh-uh. no buts. you're staying here until you feel better." mr. stark's hand is stroking over peter's back. it's strangely comforting. he takes a deep breath and lets himself rest his head on mr. stark. the stroking continues for a few seconds more, and peter is almost asleep by the time mr. stark talks.

"your aunt would have my head on a stick if she knew that i let you go out in this state." his voice is so hazy through the fever. peter knows that he's too far gone to get back up now. he can't even figure out why he needs to get up, why he can't just stay bundled up on mr. stark's sofa forever.

"thank you for letting me stay." he mumbles. he's starting to get sleepy. mr. stark pats him on the back.

"hey, no thanks needed." there's a pause. peter forces himself to stay awake. "you're part of the team."

"thanks-- i mean. uh. cool." he stammers, and mr. stark just laughs. he nudges at peter down the couch, sliding his head down to his lap.

"c'mon, lay down properly." peter's eyes go as wide as they can. he looks up at mr. stark, hoping that his awe isn't too obvious.

"y-you're staying?" he gapes. mr. stark lets out a huff.

"kid, i'm not going anywhere unless we're being invaded by aliens." he pauses. "again."

peter laughs sleepily, then closes his eyes. he falls asleep with mr. stark's hand gently stroking his head.

prompt from @whumpay

[ao3sdaredevil]

When Matt swam to consciousness, a cotton bud was dabbing at his forehead. He winced as he registered the pain throbbing throughout his body, and worked on pushing it down, working through the pain as he tried to sit up.

“Oh no you don’t.” Claire’s voice. One of her hands gently pressing him back down. “You’re hurt pretty bad, Matt. Don’t move.”

“What happened?” Matt asked.

“You were hurt in a fight,” Claire said. “So, an average Tuesday for you.”

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

@sicktember #28: Chronic Illness

Fandom: Marvel (Spider-Man: No Way Home)

Characters: Peter One (Tom Holland), Peter Two (Tobey Maguire), Peter Three (Andrew Garfield)

~

When it came to fire rescues, there was always a chance it would go wrong. It was a risk Peter Two was used to taking. “Some poor soul got trapped on the fourth floor…Never made it out.” Those words were always in the back of his mind, a burden, a warning. Fire rescues were personal.

Everyone had made it out alive today, but he couldn’t give himself any pats on the back. Peter One had to do it for him, holding him steady as he tried to expel the smoke and soot that had slipped past his mask. It felt like the heat was trapped in his diaphragm, squeezing, starving, burning away any vestiges of oxygen. Spots were crowding his vision, blotting out the world.

Peter One helped him sit before he could fall, yelping, “W-What is it? What’s happening? I-Is this an asthma attack or something?”

“He’s got a supplemental respiratory system! How can he have asthma?” Peter Three demanded as Peter Two wheezed, waving frantically in the direction of his pack. After some haphazard digging, Three lit upon an unobtrusive inhaler buried at the bottom. “This, is this it? I got it! Heads up!”

Shake, puff, hold. One, two, three, four, five…Keeping calm was easier said than done when his heart was madly racing.

One dose wasn’t enough. His hands threatened to lose their grip on his only saving grace. Six, seven, eight, nine…There, a slight easing in his ribs, but was it enough? Round three for good measure. Ten, eleven, twelve…

He didn’t hear his brothers breathe until they heard him first. Sagging into Peter One’s side, he coughed one more time, then swallowed with difficulty.

“Asthma attack…smoke-induced,” he confirmed at last, his voice wispy and paper-thin. “During my web block…went into a house fire to s-save this girl…No powers. No healing factor, book lungs weren’t compensating…Main bronchi took a hit. Now there’s this little g-glitch in the system if I ever take in t-too many fumes.”

“Little?” Peter Three echoed incredulously. Peter One allowed himself a weak, uneasy laugh at his tone, though he tightened his grip on their big brother that much more.

[im--in--your--dreams]

I love you so much ♡

~ "together in health and sickness" ~