"Really Into DP" (Spideypool)

Peter Parker, lucky? More Likely Than You'd Think

The next day was a Sunday. The third Sunday of the month, actually, which meant Peter could let himself wake up slowly, blissfully...

There were only a couple days of each month he took off from patrolling: those days he was too grievously injured to crawl out of bed, and the days he actually scheduled off. Third Sundays were always scheduled off, which meant whoever was filling in for him, Defender or Avenger or superbro, could handle crime for a day.

And, for the first time in forever, his day off was actually free. He didn't need to meet classmates to work on a group project, there weren't any world-ending threats to run off and fight (knock on wood), and, since he made enough money last night, he didn't need to drop off footage or photographs to the Bugle. Which meant he'd avoided a verbal beatdown from Mr. Bugle himself.

He could nap all day, or go shopping and get the expensive snacks he could never afford, or start working on a new suit design, or-

BangBangBang.

Peace was never an option.

"Parker!"

Peter mournfully sat up from his bed, watching as his beautiful day turned to dust in a blink of the eye.

It was the third day in a row that he was graced with his landlord's presence - bad things really do come in threes - so Peter reluctantly grabbed his wallet and slunk to the door.

"Finally!" The twenty was snatched from his hand. "I got three calls last night! Do you wanna know why?" Peter's nose scrunched up at his sour breath. "Apparently someone was having a one-sided screaming match at two in the morning." Spittle flew and Peter took a step back. "What was it, huh? You on a bad trip?"

A noise complaint... Because he was yelling in the early hours of the morning...

He probably should've expected that.

On the bright side, though, he lives in the shitty part of Queens. Not that it sounds like a bright side, but... Living in a nicer neighborhood would've definitely resulted in having the cops called on him.

"It's not that, sir, I was-" well, he couldn't actually say he was getting paid to scream at perverts online "- I was playing a multiplayer game and, um, I'm really bad at it?"

"Oh? 'Cause that sounded real convincing." The older man snorted and crowded further into Peter's space. "This is your second strike, Parker. So please, give me one more reason. Don't think I haven't noticed all your suspicious behavior. Or the bags under your eyes. Or the fact that you're always roughed up. Hell, if you weren't such a twig I'd assume you were part of a gang."

Peter stayed quiet, tongue bitten and desperately trying to control his breathing.

"Only redeeming quality is that you're working for that Jameson guy." Because of course this jackass follows the Daily Bugle. "So, give me one more reason Parker, and I'll make sure the cops get a tip about whatever shady business you're a part of." His landlord started to back off, then paused. "And make sure you pay me the correct amount the first time."

With a tight jaw, Peter gave a quick nod and started closing the door. "Of course, sir. I won't cause any more problems," Peter said, but what he meant was 'Please oh please just let me go, sir. If I have to continue this conversation I might throw up. Or throw fists. Or both. Simultaneously.' "Have a good rest of your day."

When the door closed with a quiet 'shick,' Peter slumped against the wall. He's the spider in the corner, and god is the scared white woman with a hairspray flamethrower. God, why? Why can't he ever just have a day to relax? Why did he have to jinx it?