Peter Parker Imagines Book

Too Good To Be True

Surprisingly, being a college aged vigilante wasn't even the hardest part of your life—it was your too nice, too cute, dumbass genius of a roommate waking you up just before you had reached REM sleep by causing what sounded like an avalanche of furniture and trinkets in your living room.

And you wish this was only the first time. It was like Peter unknowingly just knew when you would get back from patrol, seven times out of ten always making some kind of noise or tripping or knocking over some kind of thing as you always try to get to sleep.

You heard a soft muttered curse as you let out an exasperated groan, dragging your hands down your face as sleep began to melt away, overtaken by the fear that had leapt in your chest at the sudden loud noises.

And at first, like all of the other times, you were debating on being content enough to let him sort it out. Usually, he always did—in the morning, you rarely saw any proof that he had caused a mess at all, spare maybe a chip in a flower pot or a missing LEGO piece or two. But tonight was different. You had reached the end of a rope you didn't even know you possessed, and you found yourself throwing off your covers and getting out of bed.

Your body ached. That particular patrol that night had absolutely kicked your ass; fight after fight dealing with what seemed like an endless slew of petty crimes. If it wasn't for your powers, you were sure you would be black and blue and probably be bleeding out. Luckily enough, you only came out tonight with a few new scars and a crap ton of strained muscles. Still, even you had limits. Both power wise, and patience wise.

You never thought you would be the type of person to go yell at a roommate like Peter Parker, yet here you were, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you flung open your bedroom door.

The way your apartment was set up was very much an open floor plan, save for the hallway to the bathroom, and the two bedrooms. There wasn't much large furniture other than the couch and a small bookshelf by the two central windows and the island counters that separated the kitchen bit from the living space. so it was easy to survey the entire room that made up the majority of the apartment. Easy, as in: nothing much to hide behind. Your entire line of sight would be completely unobstructed. When you had first started renting, it hadn't occurred to you that that might possibly cause some problems in your future. What had you signing your renters lease was the fact that rent was cheap and the apartment wasn't falling apart.

Keeping that in mind, you knew you wouldn't have to step much out of your room to get Peter's attention. You had planned to just roll your eyes, give Peter a Look, and probably receive one of his little apologetic smiles that always made you feel better, and maybe help him with the mess if it was a lot. It was too late to air your grievances—the more you thought about it, the more you realized how ridiculous it sounded. Yeah, Pete, do y'think you could stop getting a glass of water the moment I get in bed after fist fighting a carjacker in an abandoned parking lot at two in the morning? Thanks.

So when you opened the door to find Peter crouching over a pile of books and figurines on the ground, one hand desperately clutching at his side while the other tries to stack books as quickly as he could, soft  murmurs leaving his mouth as he strained to move fast and quietly, the window next to the bookshelf open, and dressed in the all too familiar blue and red webbed supersuit you oftentimes saw swinging through the sky from a distance, it was easy to assume that your mind went blank.

You were too tired for this.

His mask was off, so when his head snapped up the moment your door creaked open, you were met with his brown eyes wide in fear meeting your gaze in an instant; the picture of a deer caught in headlights—if the deer also had a busted lip, a darkening eye, and a few slash marks on their side dripping blood on the wooden panels of your living room floor.