💫🧚‍♀️Spiderman/mcu oneshots🧚‍♀️💫 (Book 1)

it's no big suprise you turned out this way

Hey....hey y'all,,,,,, sorry I like disappeared out of nowhere lol 😃 I'm still very into the MCU/irondad/spiderman but I cannot write for the life of me AND happy 100th chapter to me 😌😩 I really wanted to do something special for this chapter (that's why I held it off for so long) but then I simply did not <3 so instead you're getting something that was already posted to AO3 (Newt_Parker) and is now being posted here <3 I just wanted to write angst and something about hallucinations <3 do I know how sick hallucinations work? No. Do I care? No <3 but yes,, anyway I hope you enjoy and I will TRY to update more (cuz yay summer 😩😩😩) but yes happy 100 chapters 💪💪

Also,, spoilers for Spider-Man NWH, this will be the last time I put spoilers for that movie, so yeas <3 (Newt stop using '<3' challenge)
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Peter knew he was sick, so sick it hurt to move and breathe. He's been shaking and sniffling for the past week and his worried coworkers had advised him to go home, but he couldn't. Days off weren't an option now. He was barely paying rent as it is, living paycheck to paycheck was draining and scary. Peter couldn't remember the last meal that he had that wasn't cheap pasta or something near its expiration date.

17 years-old and he was barley living. He was surviving.

Peter always imagined being able to live somewhat comfortably, at least not worry when his next meal was coming, he never imagined that he'd be alone. Forgotten. Struggling. He hated it. He hated being alone.

Peter Parker was never meant to be alone but Spider-Man was. Was there even a line between Peter Parker and Spider-Man or had that vanished long ago? Had it mixed and twisted until there was no chance in recognizing either one ever again?

Some days Peter felt like the only reason he was living was for Spider-Man, because as Spider-Man he was wanted, he was useful, helpful, loved, remembered. He wasn't as Peter Parker. No one knew Peter Parker, no one and that was his fault. It was all his fault, so he shouldn't complain, right? It was his fault after all. His fault.

But Peter couldn't be Spider-Man if he was sick. So sick that his boss had sent him home out of concern. Peter didn't want to go home. Home was a small, empty, cold apartment. Nothing like May's that now lay empty. God he missed May. He'd do anything to go back in time and relish in his old life, to appreciate every hug and smile that was sent his way. Back then, if he was sick he'd have May there, she'd keep him home from school and take care of him. But now, he had to scrape up as much money as he could to get the cheapest, over the counter medicine he could find and just hope that he had hot water at home.

Peter walked into his apartment, a shiver going down his spine. His body ached as he slowly took off his shoes and coat. All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep for a hundred years, maybe even more then that. He trudged into the kitchen space and took the cheap medicine, not even bothering to chase it down with water even though his throat burned. He wasn't exactly sure if the medicine worked due to his enhanced metabolism, but it was better then nothing.

Finally he flopped down onto his bed, his joints screaming for rest. God he felt like he was 40 or something. With a sigh he finally relaxed onto the firm mattress, trying to sleep. But one thing kept him awake.

The noises. The noises had been keeping him up ever since he got sick. Random taps and footsteps and whenever he asked if anyone else had heard it they looked at him like he was crazy. Peter swore he heard them though. He even started hearing someone humming. A deep, raspy voice humming in short bursts. A voice he some what recognized. Peter even kept seeing things in the corner of his eyes. Things like people.

Another shiver wracked his body, he could never tell if he was cold or hot, his face felt like it was on fire but his body felt agonizingly cold. he hated this.

As his eyes finally drooped close he heard a voice. A voice he knew very well.

"Peter."

He shot up into a sitting position, ignoring his body's protest to lay down. His spidey sense had been amped up all week so he couldn't even relay on them. He scanned over his apartment, his hands tightened into fists, ready to fight. But no one was there. His apartment was empty, besides him obviously.

He relaxed and flexed his stiff hands until he heard it again.

"Peter."

Peter, once again, looked around the apartment, fear swelling up in his gut. He felt his hands shake, either from being sick or from being afraid, he couldn't tell. He shook his head and took a deep breath. There was no way what he was hearing was real. He was dead, this isn't real.

'I know this isn't real!'

'Do you though?'

The memory sent a shiver down his spine and goosebumps up his arms. Peter rubbed his arms up and down, something to keep him grounded. He looked back down at his pillow with longing to just fall asleep. Nausea and dizziness kept him from moving though.

"Poor, poor Peter."

This time he let out a gasp at the sudden voice, the voice of Quentin Beck. Which should be impossible, he's dead.

He's dead. He's dead. He's dead.

Peter slapped his hands over his ears and leaned forward. He wasn't hearing him, he wasn't hearing him. This isn't real.

"Oh it's very real, Peter."

Peter let out a small whine as he spoke.

"Stop.. you're not real."

"Pathetic. It's amazing how pathetic you are."

Peter shook his head back and fourth causing a new wave of nausea to wash over him. This was a sick hallucination, it had to be. A dream, a nightmare, something.

"Who knew your life would end up like this?"

Becks voice boomed through his skull. It felt like the room was shaking purely from his words. His deep voice causing Peter's headache to worsen. It felt like he was in the middle of the room and only inside his head all at the same time.

"But, it's no big surprise you turned out this way. You always knew deep down it'd be like this."

Tears pricked Peter's eyes he wanted this to stop. He wanted this to be all over. Quentin Beck ruined his life and now, here he was, hallucination or whatever else, taunting him. The man wasn't wrong either, in fact Peter agreed with him. Maybe this was no surprise at all, maybe he had it coming to him since birth.

Maybe Peter Parker was meant to end up alone.

Peter let his body collapse to it's side on his bed, his hands still covering his ears as he cried. He cried till he had no tears left, till he was a sobbing, sick mess on the bed and till he finally fell asleep.
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So yeas <3 so slay <3 I hope you enjoyed the 100th chapter of this one-shot book 💪😩 anotha day anotha slay,, anyways yeas sorry I keep disappearing. I'm trying to write like actual fics (like long ones/multi chapter) and other one-shot books (still MCU/Peter centric) that are in the works 😎 so yeah <3 make sure to check out my AO3 or like my insta or something idk lol
AO3: Newt_Parker
Insta: Newtdrawz
Tiktok: Newtdrawz
Edit insta account: spi.deyparker
Ya anyway have a good day/night/evening <3