#caring peter

[starker-sorbet]

🌹Yellow rose🌹- symbolizes friendship and caring

Peter diligently caring for Tony when he ends up catching what for many would be a simple cold but with his weakened immune system due to the arc reactor makes it much harder on the older man.

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Family Comes First

Werewolves are meant to be invulnerable, but it’s just Derek’s luck that he should fall sick. Battling mistletoe poisoning, the last person he expects to take care of him is Peter, and yet—there he is.

 For chanelle (AO3): I really want a fic where Derek is sick or injured and just needing babied in general! Doesn't matter to me what kind of sick/injury. Vomiting fever etc. As for who I want to see mother henning... I'd like it to be Uncle Peter! Not a slash pairing at all but just where uncle loves and cares for his nephew! I feel like there really aren't enough fics out there that show this side of Peter. Also I really believe Peter does care in his own way.

          Derek felt the world spin around him, his stomach churning as he found it harder and harder to swallow past the rising bile in his throat. His body felt heavy, his legs dragging across the floor as he struggled to make his way to the kitchen. He staggered and slumped against the benchtop, bracing himself on his trembling arms as the urge to vomit overtook him. Bursts of light blinded his vision as he collapsed against the sink and hurled.

Inky black sludge splattered against the steel sink. He turned the tap on, washing it down the drain. He cupped his hands and drank the water, spitting out the remnants of the mistletoe and black fluid in his mouth. He splashed the cool water across his face, feeling clarity ease his mind as he shut off the water and straightened his back.

“Derek?” a voice called from the living room.

Derek let out a heavy sigh, grabbing the dish towel and drying his face before staggering over to the doorway and glaring at the man standing in the larger space of the loft.

“Good god, you look like hell,” Peter remarked.

Derek narrowed his glare. “Thanks,” he said sarcastically, still clutching the towel in his hand.

“What happened to you?” Peter asked.

“Got in a fight with a Darach,” Derek explained. “They used mistletoe spores.”

“Okay, you need to lie down,” Peter said, rushing over to his nephew’s side and gently escorting him towards his bed.

Derek brushed Peter’s hands away. “I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”

“Look, we’ve had our issues in the past, there’s no denying that,” Peter said. “But you are my nephew.”

“Peter,” Derek said firmly. He looked his uncle in the eye as he insisted, “I’m fine.”

“Will you please just lie down?” Peter said pleadingly.

“If I lie down, I’m not going to get up again,” Derek pointed out.

“Then let me help you,” Peter insisted.

“You’re not going to leave me alone unless I say yes, are you?”

Peter smirked. “You know me too well.”

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he huffed, dragging his lethargic body over to the bed and collapsing among the sheets. He felt his energy drain away, so exhausted that he didn’t even try to fight Peter off as his uncle pulled the blanket up over him.

He let his eyes drift shut as sleep overcame him.

When he woke, he heard noises in the kitchen. He let to a weak grunt as he forced himself to sit up in bed.

Peter seemed to hear him, because he came rushing out of the kitchen with a glass of water and a packet of crackers.

“Here,” Peter said, passing the glass of water to Derek. “Drink up. And when you’re feeling well enough to eat, have some of these.”

He set the crackers down on the bed-side table.

“I’ve called Deaton and he’s going to bring over some herbs and stuff to help get the mistletoe out of your system,” he explained.

Derek watched as Peter reached over to the bed-side table, picking up a small towel that sat in a bowl of cool water, ringing it out before placing it against Derek’s forehead.

Derek pulled back slightly, squinting suspiciously at his uncle.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”

“If you were in my place, would you trust you?” Derek asked.

Peter’s brow knitted together for a moment as he looked at his nephew. He shook his head slightly, his face relaxing as he looked at Derek. “You are my sister’s son, my nephew. Believe it or not, I care about you. You’re the only family I have.”

Derek paused for a moment, shocked by his uncle’s sincerity.

“I guess I’m just not used to you mother-henning me,” Derek croaked. “You were always more of a ‘survival of the fittest’ kind of person.”

“I know, but things tend to change when there’s only two of us left,” Peter admitted. He sat still for a second before setting the towel back in the bowl and rising to his feet. “Deaton won’t be here for a couple more hours, so just try and get some more sleep. I’ll make soup.”

Derek sat still watching his uncle make his way back to the kitchen, his eyes darkened by pain and his sullen face falling into an expression of sorrow. He waited for a little while before reaching for the packet of crackers, nibbling on them until he felt he couldn’t eat any more. He set the box down on the drawer and shuffled back under the blankets, pulling them back up around his face and letting himself settle into sleep again.

    He woke to the smell of chicken soup, blinking he eyes open. He kicked the blankets off and threw his legs off the side of the bed, struggling to his feet. He staggered into the kitchen, collapsing on one of the chairs by the table.

“You know I would have brought it to you if you had stayed in bed, right?” Peter scolded him.

“I didn’t want to stay in bed,” Derek muttered.

Derek could almost hear Peter roll his eyes. He watched as his uncle dished the soup into bowls and brought it over to the table.

He picked up three small vials that sat on the counter, sitting down at the table across from Derek. He set the vials down in front of Derek, pointing at the first two as he explained, “Ginger for nausea and cumin extract for abdominal pain, constipation and diarrhea.” He pointed at the third vial. “And a mixture of dandelion, red clover and cilantro to flush the toxins out of your system. Deaton says you can put the last two in your soup and the ginger in your tea.”

Derek nodded, unscrewing the small lids on the vials and sprinkling the herbs into his soup. He stirred them in before lifting a spoonful to his lips. His heart fluttered as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He couldn’t help but smile as he said, “It’s just like mum used to make it.”

Peter smiled at him, but his smile fell as a glint of pain filled his eyes. He lowered his head and began to eat his soup.

Derek didn’t say anything else.

They sat in silence as they ate.

Derek’s heart ache as Peter’s words returned to him: it was only the two of them.

When he finished, he let Peter clear away the dishes and help him back to bed, letting his uncle take care of him.

[AO3] - [Ko-fi] - [PayPal]

[starkerforlife6969]

Alpha Tony, Omega Peter sickfic ‘Howard buys Tony an Omega Part 3’

Read the rest here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

You don’t need to have read those to understand this lil fic :) x 

Tony wakes up slowly, to sharp pain in his throat and an inability to breathe through his nose.

He groans when he realises he’s sick.

That’s great, that’s just what he needs. First week home for summer from college, and he’s contracted some delayed flu-virus that makes swallowing feel like his throat’s swollen to a degree that should make breathing completely impossible.

He goes to sit up when something brilliantly ice-cold presses against his forehead and he sinks back into the pillows with a moan of relief. He opens his eyes to see Peter, of course, his little angel, with a gentle smile, holding the icy wet flannel over his Alpha’s forehead. “Don’t get up, Alpha,” Peter says gently, “you’re sick.”

Tony sighs. “I think you’re right,” he manages, his throat convulsing painfully with every word. “God, Peter can I have something to dri-“

There’s fine china gently nudging at his lips and he would roll his eyes if he didn’t think it would make him dizzy, and he holds his head as steady as he can as Peter tips the cup. It’s tea, Tony thinks, with an unusual taste and it soothes momentarily as it goes down- just a little too hot, which makes him feel like the germs in his throat are getting a good kicking. “It’s ginger and leaf tea,” Peter informs him, pulling the cup away once Tony’s drained half of it, and picking up a napkin to dab at his mouth.

Tony pulls away from the pampering, struggling to piece it all together. How does Peter have everything all ready?- how did he- he sits up, the icy flannel slipping down his face while Peter’s dainty hands fret to push him back down, but Tony doesn’t stop until he’s propped up by the headboard and he can see his room.

The windows are all open, and the warm summer sunshine seeps in through the early morning. There’s- he blinks, there’s medicine and nasal drops and lozenges and fresh sheets all folded on his desk. And on the bedside table- there’s tea and soup and sparsely buttered toast- little warm bread rolls too, tucked into the side and almost bursting with meat filling. “Did you- baby, when did you get this all ready?” Every word hurts to choke out.

Peter shushes him. “I woke up a few hours ago,” he admits, “you were really hot, and I knew you were gunna be sick and I wanted to be ready.” Peter winks at him cheekily, “be a good little Alpha and lemmie take care of you.”

Tony swats at him but misses by a mile.

Peter coos at him delightedly, before lifting up the tea. “Drink.” He insists lovingly, and Tony does.

Omegas are made to care, and it’s clear Peter’s in his element. Luckily, Omegas can’t catch the same viruses as Alphas, so Peter’s happy enough to come in and out of his room, and snuggle right up to him, while Howard calls good morning from the safety of the hallway. Tony drifts in and out of deep sleeps, but every time he wakes up, be it dark outside, or the heat of the afternoon, Peter is there with some new delicacy, and there’s a freshly cut bouquet of flowers on his desk (he’ll find out, when he’s better, that Peter would roam the Stark gardens picking out flowers he thought were even a hundredth as beautiful as Tony).

He wakes up and it’s pitch black outside, but the lamp in his bedroom is on and casts a warm golden glow over them. He snuffles a little, and sees Peter put down his book and smile, carding his finger’s through Tony’s hair. He leans into the caress. “I made you some warm, nutmeg cookies,” he murmurs, and Tony’s mouth waters, “you can’t have chocolate, but these are sweet and yummy, just like you.”

Tony feels lips kiss his cheek, and then in a haze of wonderment he’s fed bitesize pieces of cookie that melts on his tongue- flavours like chestnut and oak bursting across his mouth, and he notices with some small relief that it hurts to swallow just a little bit less.

After the cookies, Peter gives him a spoonful of medicine that’s sharp like lemons but it numbs him, and then through muffled ears, he hears his boy reading to him.

Old Omega fairytales, about omegas lost in the woods, tempted by evil, only to be saved by an Alpha. Of Alpha’s crooning to fair omegas trapped in towers- he dreams of spires and dense forests and Peter in a crown.

Everything aches, and he feels remarkably feeble considering he’s been lying in bed and sleeping for the past three days, as he shuffles to the bathroom. Peter keeps licking his neck apologetically, calling him big and strong and brave and it should be patronising, but it’s not. It’s just lovely. He feels like he’s in a nice warm embrace.

There’s already a hot bath run for him. The water is pink and Peter’s obviously put something in it. It smells like strawberries.

As his omega helps him strip, he manages to give him a little wink and Peter nuzzles him and says coyly: When you’re better.

He’s left alone for a while, to sink into the bliss of the liquid. It soothes him, and he’s almost back to sleep when Peter comes back, deliciously naked though Tony realises sadly that he can’t even get an erection in this state-

The boy climbs into the bath with him, and bathes his Alpha.

His hands are like magic, they work into every muscle, they run through his hair, tangling and untangling in tantalising strokes. The steam helps him breathe better, and Peter rinses him off, doing all of the work, before towelling him dry. Peter looks in his element like this, his face happy and pleased at getting to care for his alpha, at helping him get better.

It’s the same look that Peter gets whenever Tony comes top of the class, or punches another Alpha in the face for murmuring suggestive things to his boy. It’s pleased, and proud, and completely in love.

When he gets back to his bedroom, the sheets have been changed, and they’re crisp and cool underneath him. Peter snuggles up to him and feeds him sourdough and chicken soaked in gravy, and then steamed carrots all with his dainty little fingers, and Tony hopes his boy knows how much he loves him. He loves him so much and-

“I know, Alpha,” Peter giggles, a little shy, as he lifts some fruit cake he make to Tony’s lips.

Ah, he’s been talking out loud.

He sucks on a lozenge and falls asleep, and knows that whatever happens, Peter will  be right there beside him when he wakes up.

Read the rest here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

To those who wanted to be tagged, i’m honoured and love you all :) x @catastropheismyfirstname @peterparkers-sparkles @djspooky-jim @godlovesstarker @harmonystarker @atypicalmeposts @betty-bloom @that-tiny-dumb-artist @laughing-oreo @thatmarvelstan @book-lover-k @haylove5 @scarletsoldierrr @smidnite @buckettbarnes @hoe4parker @w1nters-stark  

[triscuitsandsoup]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Chris Argent, Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Fluff, Sickfic, Sick Character, Sick Stiles Stilinski, WebMD, Good Peter, Good Peter Hale, Caring Peter, Caring Peter Hale, Sick Chris Argent, Polyamory, Sneezing, Coughing, Common Cold Summary:

During a battle with some changelings Stiles and Chris are pushed into a lake and wind up getting themselves sick, leaving Peter to take care of them. Too bad Peters never had a cold before.