Peter: I want the bad guys to tremble when they see me coming
Tony: Yeah and I want a fresh cup of coffee, but only one of these is actually gonna happen
Peter, affronted: I can be intimidating when I want to be.
Tony: Sure. Like a newborn bunny
Peter: You’re mean
Tony: And you’re adorable- now go get me that coffee
Tony and Howard having that one conversation that goes “i hope you get cursed with having a child just like you so you can see how much I struggled”
And then Peter turns to be JUST LIKE HIM, in all the best ways, he is just a mini version of Tony. And Tony's like "wow,,, he lied!" because Peter is the easiest person to love.
Summary: Peter is feeling sick during movie night and after originally deciding not to tell Tony the information comes out either way. Unfortunately, we're not dealing with the basic stomach flu
Sicktember prompts:
5. Rogue Organ (tonsils, spleen, appendix, gall bladder ect…)
12. “You’re not fine, you’re throwing up/coughing up a lung”
14. Clean Sheets/Fresh Pajamas
Word count: 1609
Warnings: vomiting (not extreme though)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
●◇●◇●◇●◇●◇
There was nothing wrong with him. He was fine. The constant ache that had settled in his stomach was just an inconvenience. A mild discomfort at best. He could handle it and finish movie night with Mr. Stark. Peter just had to sit through another 40 minutes, and he’d have a free pass.
Mr. Stark was already giving him worried glances ever since he’d declined dessert—a rare event. The excuse of being full from dinner was weak, at best. Quoting Mr. Stark, Peter was never not hungry. Except tonight, when his stomach was aching, and he was swallowing the feeling of nausea.
Another bout of it attacked him, distracting him from whatever was happening on screen. He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling softly. He had to stay quiet. No attracting attention. He could practically feel Mr. Stark’s gaze flicking toward him every few minutes, so Peter straightened up and forced a smile.
But oh, crap. He was going to vomit. All over the stupid fancy couch and the soft grey blanket Mr. Stark had thrown over him earlier when he’d started shivering. He steadied himself with a hand, pulling himself upright.
“Bathroom,” was all he said before leaving Tony behind, walking as casually as he could. Don’t throw up here. Not here. Wait.
The pain wasn’t just a dull throb anymore. It was sharp, searing. It felt like someone was jamming a hot knife into his side, twisting it until all he could think about was the burn. He clenched his fists, swallowing down bile as he reached the bathroom.
The bathroom was lit with a soft white glow as he threw the door shut and dropped to his knees at the toilet bowl. He emptied his stomach until there was nothing left. When he finally felt as if he was running on empty, Peter rested his head against the cold ceramic, his hands protectively wrapped around his stomach.
Ouch. That hurt. Why did it hurt so much? Even the stomach flu he’d had last season hadn’t been this bad. What horrible food poisoning was this? Maybe that hot dog from patrol? Ugh, just thinking about food made his stomach churn again.
“I must inform my boss that you are unwell,” Friday’s voice floated across the room, and Peter froze. He didn’t even want to know how the AI knew he was sick—there weren’t any cameras in the bathroom.
“Please, Fri, I'll tell him as soon as it gets worse.”
“I must inform you against this as you already have a fever over a 100 degrees, but I will stick to your wishes until I find them unreasonable.”
Peter forced a smile at the ceiling. “Thanks, Fri. I owe you one.”
A fever? That wasn’t sounding good at all.
After taking a deep breath to steady himself, Peter made his way back to the living room. He felt the tremble in his legs as he walked, but forced his expression into something neutral, hoping the dim lighting from the TV would hide his pale face.
Mr. Stark twisted to look at him, and Peter prayed his discomfort wasn’t too obvious.
“Kid, I was starting to wonder where you disappeared to. Wanna finish?”
“I, uh… actually, I thought I should go to bed. School day tomorrow and everything, you know?”
Peter leaned against the doorway, trying to look casual, even as he used it to support his weight. The pain was getting worse. He had to get out of there.
“Eh, it’s only like 10. Aren’t you usually up much later with patrol?”
Peter could almost feel the raised eyebrow from across the room.“I’m tired. And an early bedtime is, like, super good.” His voice wavered, panic creeping in. He couldn’t stand here much longer. It hurt.
“Sure you’re okay, kiddo? First, the ice cream, and now an early bedtime? Not turning into a responsible adult, are you?”
Peter forced a smile, trying to play it off. This was good. He was going to pull this off. No problem.
“Mr. Stark, how could you?” Peter shot back, mock-offended. “I’m not eating my vegetables tomorrow, just because.”
But then Mr. Stark stood up, stretching, and Peter realized he was running out of time. If Tony came any closer, he’d notice the fever for sure.
You could just tell him you don’t feel good, a voice in Peter’s head reasoned. You don’t have to suffer. That felt like something Friday would say. He really should tell him. At that moment, his stomach decided for him, and Peter vomited all over his clothes and the floor. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.
"Peter!” Tony yelped, rushing over. It was clear Peter was about to be fussed over. He just knew it.
“I’m fine…”
“You’re not fine. You just threw up. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Friday?”
Tony was already ushering him toward his bedroom, keeping a hand hovering inches from Peter’s back, not quite touching him. Which, fair, Peter thought, he was feeling gross and covered in vomit.
The smell of it curled around his senses, almost causing him to gag again. Definitely gross.
Friday’s voice chimed in: “A fever of 101 degrees, sir.”
“Friday!” Peter whined. “I trusted you.”Tony raised an eyebrow. “My AI, my loyalty,” he teased, though there was worry etched into his features. Peter wasn’t too scared about being murdered for not telling him earlier.
“Okay, kid, let’s get you cleaned up and in bed. Sound good?”
“Yeah...” Peter mumbled as they walked into his room. He really didn’t want to shower right now. More like curl into a pathetic ball of patheticness, but he had to clean up.
“I don’t feel very good…”
“Yeah, kid. Vomiting over everything kind of gives that away.”
“Not everything,” Peter muttered, his embarrassment flaring up again. Tony’s expression softened as he ruffled Peter’s hair affectionately.
“I know, bud. I’m just joking.”
With a grumble, Peter wiggled out of his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. Without it and his trousers, he was technically clean. No need for a shower. He could deal with that tomorrow. Probably.
“Pyjamas, kid. I’m getting something to help with the nausea. Guessing you have a stomach bug again?”
Peter only shrugged in response before Tony left him alone. He exhaled sharply, trying to chase away the shitty feeling clinging to him like a second blanket.
Pyjamas. He could get dressed. Easy.
Sure.He stumbled to the dresser, staring unimpressed at the contents. Everything felt irritating—like it would rub his skin the wrong way. After what felt like forever, he finally settled on a pair of bottoms and one of Tony’s MIT hoodies draped over his chair. It was definitely comfortable.
****
A few hours later, Peter’s peaceful rest was shattered by stabbing pains in his stomach. He groaned, curling up tighter in his desired ball, hugging the ache away. He thought he was better after the medicine Tony had given him, but now it hurt even more.
The movement stirred Tony awake. The man had insisted on staying the whole night, for emotional support or something, but Peter hadn’t cared. He could hardly breathe, his breath coming out in ragged pants.
“Pete?” Tony mumbled, half-asleep. Peter wanted to answer, but the words wouldn’t form, and only a whimper slipped out.
"Kid?” Now Tony was awake, switching on the light and flooding the room with brightness. Peter squinted against it, his eyes tearing up from the pain.
“Where does it hurt, baby?” Tony brushed a hand through Peter’s hair, trying to comfort him. Peter panted out, “Stomach.”
“Uncurl for me, kiddo. I want to check something.” Peter moved slowly, each shift making the pain flare. He cried out, but did as asked, uncurling completely, tears welling in his eyes.
Tony’s hands pressed gently on Peter’s stomach, testing different spots. “Does it hurt here?” He pressed a bit above the middle. Peter shook his head. The prodding continued until Tony’s fingers hit the lower right side, and Peter yelped in pain.
“Shit. Kid, I think we need to get you to the medbay. Friday, call Bruce for me. Tell him it’s an emergency.”
“What? No! I’m fine,” Peter tried to argue, even as he lay there, unable to move.
“I think your appendix might disagree with you on that one.” Peter’s eyes widened in panic, groaning again. Would he always have bad luck?
****
Tony leaned his head against the wall, appendicitis. Of course his kid would get it the one week he was staying over at the compound. And of course he would keep it to himself for some time too.
He would probably have to call Aunt Hottie sometime today. A basic requirement to fill in Peter’s aunt but first he needed some time to chill out.
Gosh. Appendicitis.
After nearly a decade of struggling, he got Peter to the medbay. The kid wanted to be cooperative, Tony was sure, but walking proved to be a challenge. And keeping body fluids inside oneself. The elevator took the causality of being drenched in vomit this time.
At least Peter was well on his way to recovery, sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed after Brucie helped out and removed certain rogue organs.
Tony breathed out, rubbing a hand across his face. The kid was fine. An organ lighter, sure, but fine. Tony didn’t need to worry about him that much. A few hours under, and he would have his hyper spider kid back, still the anxiety gnawed at his chest.
Loving people come with this. Worrying. Because he really did love the kid. The honesty settled in a part deep inside of him.
Summary: Y/n is sick (although she won't admit it) and steals Bucky’s hoodie. He wants it back. No can do. Let's argue about breakfast food instead?
Prompts used:
7. Borrowed Hoodie
15.” Who decided __is ‘sick person food?”
25. Summer flu
Word count: 1028
Warnings: none
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
●◇●◇●◇●◇●◇
Sweltering hot temperatures all week long. That’s what the weather app said. That’s what everyone was warning against. Drink plenty of fluids. Sunscreen. Stay inside. All the usual warnings for a normal temperature spike. So why exactly was Y/n shivering like crazy wrapped in one of her thickest blankets?
She wasn’t completely sure, just that the sun was shining through her bedroom window in greeting, and she was in no mood to stand up. Or get out of her blanket burrito. But all that said, her stomach had a dull ache that she was blaming on hunger, meaning she had to eat something.
Her body gave one more shiver as she placed her feet on the floor and hauled herself up. She wasn’t sick. Really, she wasn’t. She had too much stuff to do, like enjoying the nice weather outside. Because it was nice, and her body was just late on getting the memo. She glared at the blanket that dropped on the ground. Her lazy ass decided it was too much effort to pick it up again, so she left it. Stupid blanket.
Walking down the hallway, her summer pyjamas did nothing to help her mismatched body temperature, leaving goosebumps prickling her skin. Scowling, she stomped only slightly into the living room, gaze tracking for any movement.
No one.
Good.
Her gaze landed on an oversized hoodie that was thrown over one of the couches, and she inched closer for a better inspection. Definitely not hers... but big, black, and warm. It met all her requirements. Who cared who it belonged to?
She slipped it on, hands disappearing in the too-long sleeves. The oversized hoodie hung far enough to completely cover her shorts. She allowed a smile to cross her face. Perfect.
Except for a certain super soldier who didn’t share her feelings. Bucky glowered at her, arms crossed, “Cute. 10, 9, 8.” His voice was calm, but his eyes were narrowing in warning. Y/n knew Bucky hated when people touched his things, but by the time she realized it was his, she was already too comfortable to care.
“You’re really going to count down?”
“Take it off.” Was his only response, his irritation obvious. Y/n let out a huff, folding her arms right back at him, “No.”
“Y/n” He warned, taking a step forward. She narrowed her eyes at him, “I’m not scared.”
“My hoodie. You have your own, don’t you?”
“They’re not as comfortable! And they’re all the way in my room!” Y/n complained, pouting at him. He muttered something to himself, rubbing a finger across his brow, eyes closed, “Stop that” He snapped.
“What?”
“Pouting. Makes you too damn cute.” She smiled slightly, but before saying anything, he continued, “Why do you need a hoodie anyway? Isn’t it like 30° or something?”
"I’m cold. No, leave me alone. I want to make breakfast.”
“You’re cold?” His frown deepened, concern flickering in his eyes, only to be replaced by frustration, “And I’ll leave you alone as soon as you return my hoodie.”
“Make me.”
He lifted a surprised eyebrow at her, but there was a playful glint in his eyes now.
“You sure you want that, doll?”
“I could take you,” Y/n said, still defiant.
He walked towards her, slowly at first, and the pace made a brief flash of fear settle in her stomach. Oh, shit. She was still shivering, albeit less, and her muscles were sore. He was a super soldier with decades of training—and a metal arm to back it up.
“Wait, I didn’t mean right now,” she blurted, trying to keep the nervousness out of her tone. She forced herself not to step backwards. It would be ridiculous if she couldn’t meet her own stubbornness.
“I think now is perfect. You still have something that belongs to me.” Before she could react, he scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder with ease. Y/n shrieked in surprise, hands scrambling to find balance as the world tilted beneath her.
“Bucky! Put me down!” He ignored her protests, walking towards the kitchen counter. Only then did he lightly place her on the marble surface, hands hovering a few inches from her waist until she caught her balance. The sudden shift upwards again made her head spin, black spots dancing in the corners of her eyes.
“Nop,” she muttered, closing her eyes, leaning her head against Bucky’s chest.
“Doll?” Concern was evident in his tone. He placed a kiss on the top of her head, hands wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer. “Yeah?” She hummed back.
“Why are you cold?”
“Flu?” she said back, almost too quiet for him to catch. He nodded along, “You planning on ignoring it?”
“I’m not sick.”
“Fine. Let me make you breakfast.”
“Just cereal.”
“Oats.” He argued, shaking his head at her choice, “You need better nutrition than that sugary stuff.”
“Yuck.” She leaned back from him, her nose scrunched up in distaste, “Who decided oats were good for sick people?”
“It’s nutrition values.”
“Could be fake,” she reasoned.
“Could be. Toast then?” He bopped her nose playfully, smiling as she swatted away his hand.
“Why do you hate me so much? I need sugar to survive,” she said dramatically.
“I mean, you did steal my hoodie.” He answered back, raising an accusing eyebrow.
“If I give it back, will you love me again?”
“Mmm no.”
“What? Why?” She gaped at him, a brief look of confusion on her face. He smiled, “It’s full of your germs now. Don’t want it anymore.”
“Hypocrite. You just hugged me.”
**
They settled on toast with jam in the end. On the couch, they watched some silly comedy, Y/n still wearing his hoodie, an extra blanket lying nearby. The water and medicine were only a precaution for when she stopped ignoring the facts.
Bucky chose to stay indoors today, and Y/n simply joined him to keep him company. No other reason. The other Avengers didn’t need extra information, even when pool day turned into movie watching instead. Nat had joined them later, settling comfortably next to Y/n and only stealing her food when she thought Y/n wasn’t looking.
Summary: Y/n is sick and goes to Bucky’s room for some comfort
Sicktember prompts used:
1. I’m not hungover, I’m just sick”
Alts 2. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Word count: 1014
Warnings: none
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
●◇●◇●◇●◇●◇
Y/n stumbled down the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall in an attempt to catch her breath. Soft pants echoed around the hall as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to stop the pounding in her head.
Her muscles ached pathetically as she took another step forward, swaying slightly when she inched away from the wall. She raised her hand, missing the door by a few inches on her first try. She breathed out through her mouth in frustration, trying to focus her vision back into a single view. She touched the wood this time, knocking on the door. A voice floated towards her, meeting her in an embrace of comfort.
“Y/n?” Her name was gruff on Bucky’s lips, his voice coated in sleep. She tried smiling, opening her eyes again, the bright light digging into her vision as the rays of light shone from beneath his door. “Hi, Buck,” she murmured, aware of the ruffling of his sheets as he stood up. The door swung open to reveal his worried gaze. It swept over her, trying to locate a reason for her being there in the middle of the night.
“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” He was worried. She hated herself in that moment for causing such emotions. He shouldn’t need to think about her. He had enough problems sleeping without her adding to his worries.
"Nothing’s wrong.” She grinned at him, a little lop-sided. Her words came out more slurred than she was hoping, and she could see the slight look of bewilderment on Bucky’s face as he gaped at her. “Are you drunk?”
"Am I drunk?” She repeated, voice edging to a whisper as her throat burned as she swallowed.
"That’s what I asked, isn’t it?” He didn’t seem irritated yet. The grin on her face grew. “’m not drunk... silly Bucky. Did I wake you up? Sorry. I didn’ mean to...” she continued, a frown filling her features now.
"It’s fine, I was awake anywa—” He trailed off, a hand going to touch her forehead. It was cold enough to make her shiver, and she didn’t seem otherwise fazed even as Bucky swore under his breath,
"Shit, you’re burning up.”
She nodded along. “I knowww,” she said in a sing-song tone. He pulled at her arm, mindful of her stumbling, before leading her to his bed. “How long? Y/n.” He tried to keep her focus on him as he watched her glazed eyes flicker over his room.
“Sorry for the mess,” he muttered, steering her until she flopped onto his mattress. She grinned up at the ceiling. “Um, maybe since today?”
"Maybe?” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Definitely,” she hummed back.
“You take any medicine yet? I don’t like how high the fever is. You should have told me you were sick!”
“No medicine... and why?”
“Why? Why did you come to my room tonight? Because you know I would care!”
Y/n glanced at him as he raised his voice. “‘m sorry,” she mumbled, closing her eyes again, snuggling into the covers. She buried her face in his pillow heap. “Smells like you.”
“I mean... they are my pillows?” he replied, scratching his neck nervously. She only made a humming noise in reply. “You can’t come into my room and steal my bed, doll. You need to drink something for that fever. And water. Water is good.”
She waved him off, with a weak lift of her hand. “Stay here,” was his reply before disappearing out of the doorway in search of his mentioned objects.
****
When he finally returned, she was fast asleep, taking up most of the bed and blankets. He moved closer, shaking her shoulder. “Doll,” he said softly, ignoring her attempt to shoo him away, “you need to drink this.” He showed the pill and glass of water to her in his attempt to make her reasonable. “‘m sleeping.”
“You can sleep afterward.”
She was silent for a moment before she tried sitting up, her hands bracing against his arm as she sat up completely, making a gimme motion with her hands as she glanced at the water. He dropped the pill into her open palm and waited until she put it in her mouth before handing the water to swallow it with. Once she was done, the glass was empty, and on his table, she was again making herself comfortable.
He shifted awkwardly, taking a step backwards. “I’ll just, uh, leave you here, ok? I’ll take the couch.” He switched off the light again, bathing the room in darkness. Her face was cast in shadow as she complained.
"No,” she said, grabbing on the first thing she could get her hands on, a piece of loose fabric on his sweatpants. Bucky paused, even if he could easily move away from her grip. “stay with me. Pretty please?” She whispered.
“I don’t know, doll... are you sure?”
“Get in.”
“You want me to sleep with you? In the same bed?”
“Mmm.”
“I—uh.”
“Bucky,” she whined, and he finally caved, climbing under the covers next to her, sticking to his own side, stiff. She wasn’t going to settle for that and rolled closer, burying her face in his chest.
“Doll,” he warned, an arm wrapping around her waist anyway.
“I won’t get you sick, promise,” her voice was slightly muffled as she talked, her overly warm face obvious even through his shirt.
“That’s not something you can promise me... and not what I was worried about.”
“What then?”
“Making you uncomfortable. I’m not a good guy for you, doll. Not like this.”
“Shh. I love you, I could never be uncomfortable.” He froze slightly, swallowing heavily. “You don’t mean that, doll. Take it back. You don’t—” He trailed off. She was already gone, sleeping soundly.
Bucky smiled slowly as her soft breaths brushed against him. Her heartbeat, a comforting touch. Alive. Sleeping. He could enjoy this while it lasted. Her fever-addled brain couldn’t be trusted, but he would hold onto this moment, even if her horrified look in the morning would haunt him.
Hey everyone! I just realized I never officially put out there that I’m accepting requests, so here it is! I'm open to writing basically anything you guys want. Just a heads up, I might need to put some requests on hold while I catch up on the MCU (still working my way through all the films), but I’m especially comfortable with Irondad and Spiderson. I'd also love to write a reader-insert one if that's what you're into!
If you send in a request and I’m not comfortable writing it or don’t think I can do it justice, I’ll let you know why and help clear up any confusion.
Rules, other information, and written out prompts under the cut
Rules + Other Information
NSFW works are welcome, just tag everything correctly on ao3 and hide anything explicit under a cut on tumblr
This is not fanfic exclusive, any form of work is welcome. If you think it suits the prompt go for it
Use tags marvel week or marvel week 24 on tumblr
If posting to ao3 add it to the collection Marvel Week
Alt prompts can be used in place of one of the main ones, in combination with main prompts, or done separately. They can be used as many times as you like.
I will be rebloging entries! To make this easier for me please tag me
I will use the tag sgmarvel 24 reblog in my reblogs
Have fun with it!
Prompts
Day 1. Team Bonding
Day 2. Scars
Day 3. "Trust me"
Day 4. Dancing
Day 5. Secret
Day 6. Hawk
Day 7. Rarepair
Alt 1. No Powers AU
Alt 2. Water
two extra things, a huge thank you to @steponmeyosano, and please please please share this around so more people see it!! If interest is high enough we'll consider doing more marvel events in the future :)
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
stormborns
janainaart
