#I WAS SO INSPIRED YESTERDAY? and i tried to draw to do smth else and i

[tortademaracuya]

girl i cant fucking draw

[killcapitalizm]

the idea of you; peter parker

summary: reader is overly-dramatic about being in love with peter parker and someone has to do something about it.

word count: 3,700 yo 

warnings: the overuse of the name peter parker, an unnecessarily long fic, terrible writing, some swearing, and the fact that i didn’t bother editing this.

a/n: inspired by the song idea of you by mxmtoon! i wrote half of this at midnight and the other half is just me trying to come up with a decent ending. the last part is so rushed i'm sorry. lmk if i need to fix anything or smth. i don’t even know how to write peter parker. this is the first thing i’ve written in a year.

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You stared at the back of Peter Parker’s head as you probably missed really important information about your next biology project. Being in love is so uncomfortable.

Or, at least you think it's love. Maybe? It's been a few weeks and you still don't know.

Peter Parker is a pretty close friend of yours. His heart is gold and you're dirt poor. You don't know why you're considering the idea of loving someone as rare and precious as Peter Parker, you clearly aren't anyone special so just the idea of loving him is a dangerous thing to touch.

But the idea is so appealing that you can't help but lay your hands all over it and you even dare to dream of it. You might be completely wrong about what it's like to love Peter Parker (specifically when he loves you back) but the idea you've made is too golden to not fall in love with. And the real-life Peter Parker? He's just as lovely as your daydreams of him. Far less romantic, though. You've been stuck on the boy for so long now that you can't distinguish whether you're in love with him or the idea of him. It's hard to tell.

A sharp ring of the school bell rips you from your brain and your eyes from Peter Parker’s curly hair. He turns around in his seat and faces you. Smiles at you.

“We’re still going to meet at your place, right?” He shoves his textbook into his bag as he looks up at you. You, him, and Ned were going to have a movie marathon at your house and the boys were going to sleepover since your parents were out for a few days.

You smile back at him. You just smile at him. “Definitely.”

You wish you tried to talk to him more because he immediately swings his backpack on and stands up. “Okay, see ya’ there,” and he runs from the classroom and off to work. Or half-work? I wonder what an internship is. I wonder how I even got into high school, god, I’m stupid-

You sweep your notebook into your bag and head out of the classroom, feeling incredibly immature for wasting and entire class period on your little love-crisis. You also feel immature for telling yourself that it’s Peter Parker, therefore it’s not wasting. With your internal struggle clear on your face, you weave your way towards the school’s exit. Michelle would probably draw you if you were in the detention room.

You’re not in love with Peter Parker, probably.

You and Ned had already managed to finish watching Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith and Star Wars: A New Hope before Peter Parker showed up. Four hours late was a new record, and it was much more disappointing when you both remembered that it wasn’t you guys that set the arrival time to 7:30. Even with 5 hours to do whatever he does every day at his internship, he still managed to show up four hours late. When you finally heard the doorbell at 11:45, Ned had to run to the door before you to make sure you didn’t lock Peter Parker out.

“Four hours, Parker.” You did your best to show you weren't amused by his tardiness. “Are you trying to set a world record?”

“Sorry, sorry.” He peeled off his shoes. “Mr. Stark had to keep me for a while longer, then I lost track of time and-“

“What in the fuck does he need to keep you for? You’re there daily and he’s a billionaire that can easily hire someone else for at least one night.” You stopped yourself from saying anything more. You sounded hurt enough already. You doubted every sweet thing you’ve thought of him. Maybe he was untrustworthy all along. Or maybe he doesn’t like you and Ned anymore.

Peter Parker made eye contact with you and in that moment you realized his eyes were more of a nut-brown than an amber brown, but Ned intervened before anyone could reply. “Guys, c’mon- I brought over the blu-ray for The Force Awakens. Let’s watch it before we get too tired.”

So you told yourself that Peter Parker was lucky, not because you love him but because he’s your friend. It’s not love if he doesn’t try for you anymore. He doesn’t try for Ned, either. Well, maybe he tried but you’re too upset and hurt to think of anything except blaming Peter Parker and telling yourself that you never loved him in the first place.

You let yourself keep the idea of loving him, though. You’d trash it in the morning because it’s meaningless. You still liked to compare his eyes to amber because it sounds better than nuts or chocolate. When you went to sleep with the boys that night, you dreamt of earlier when you said that Rey was cute and Peter Parker said you’re cuter and blushed.

You forgot to forget about the idea of loving Peter Parker. It’s been a week and you invited just him over to work on a project for biology that you desperately needed his help on because you were back to daydreaming about being in love with him during that class.

And now you’re telling yourself that this moment confirms you’re not in love with Peter Parker because it isn’t love when you’re the only one waiting. You’re more hurt than you know when an hour and a half past 5:30 brings Peter Parker to your door. You didn’t think he’d hear you when you muttered “If you think I’m so boring, just say so.” But he did hear you and now you’re in love with the real Peter Parker that told you that you aren’t boring, that he loves spending time with you, that he trusts you, that you mean more to him than you could ever imagine.

You’re also in love with the real Peter Parker that didn’t say I love you (too). You can’t live for very long with just the kiss on your head that he gave you when he made you laugh so hard that you accidentally slammed your head against the wall.

Another week and you’re trying not to love Peter Parker anymore because you know that you’ll be crushed when you realize there’s no chance of him ever saying I love you (too). So you’re going back to fantasies and empty dreams, you’re going back to that one dream you had of him spinning you around your room to the tune of a The 1975 song that you can’t remember now on a loud city evening. There’s a lot to come back to when you’re just in love with the idea of him. When you’re in love with the real Peter Parker, there’s not much to hold on to. It’s a lot more exciting when you do find something to hold on to, like yesterday when he was bored in World History during the movie your teacher played and Peter Parker instead opted to doodle all over your left hand in his favorite blue sharpie (you haven’t tried to wash it all off yet).

And now, Saturday. You have today to yourself and you’re using it to re-watch season four of The Office and text Ned about how great Star Wars: The Last Jedi is going to be, but mostly you’re using it to think about Peter Parker.

No, you tell yourself, I’m only thinking about the idea of him. You go over a little spider doodle with your own blue sharpie, making sure to use the same shade of blue so you don’t completely ruin the drawings on your hand. You try not to remember how his hand felt holding yours and instead you think of an imaginary scenario where Peter Parker writes “I love you too” on your hand instead of “Spider-man!!!”.

Half-distracted, you answer Ned’s text and slyly add btw wheres peter? he hasn't answered me today to the end. You sent Peter Parker a text this morning but there’s been no reply so far.

When Ned reads the text, he doesn’t type an answer. Instead, he tries to call you on FaceTime. You decline it and text him hoe i look gross. He answers, bitch me too, now pick up. Ned calls you again and you accept it.

You’re greeted with the pixellated sight of Peter Parker with a Wii remote in his hand, dancing violently with Katy Perry’s California Gurls playing. Ned’s amused voice comes, “He didn’t charge his phone overnight so it died this morning. He came over to my place and has played this all day.”

You let out a loud laugh. “I hate this because he’s good at it!”

You hear a faint “thanks!” from Peter Parker and you can’t help but think about how he’s actually a pretty good dancer and that’s adorable. It’s getting to be progressively more difficult to be in love with only the idea of him. You have to remind yourself that there’s a near-zero percent chance that he’d ever feel the same way.

“Y/N, dude, you look so crushed right now,” says Ned, and Peter Parker momentarily stops dancing and looks over to Ned with a concerned expression.

“I’m realizing that I’ll never look as hot as Peter when I’m playing Just Dance.” You force a laugh and it sounds real. Peter Parker resumes his dancing with a red face.

“Gross; if you were here, you’d see how sweaty he is.”

“Not many people look hot even when sweating.”

“Ew, I’m hanging up if you call that smelly piece of garbage hot again.”

You are an absolute child. Only a child would worry so much for so long over love. You still don’t know what you’re in love with: your imagination or the reality. You also don’t know why you keep inviting Peter Parker over while you’re having your mid-life crisis.

He sits next to you on your couch as the two of you watch Star Trek. You’re really not watching it, instead you look at the TV as you bury yourself in thought. Only one thing keeps you grounded in reality, and it’s Peter Parker’s arm around you. That’s romantic, right?

You had only recently realized you you were being incredibly immature by only worrying where to direct your love and you had spent no time thinking about any possibility of Peter Parker loving you back. You try not to think about how sure you are that he doesn’t and instead try to give yourself a reason that he does. In case you slip up one day and admit your feelings, he won’t be completely blown away and you’d have something to defend yourself with.

There are a few things you can think of. You don’t know if they’re friendly things or romantic things, but you assume it’s romantic. He’s called you cute, and he’s also called you pretty. He’s kissed your head, and a month ago he kissed your forehead. Both instances were consensual on both ends. He blushes when you compliment him. He’s let you cuddle with him twice. Right now, he has his arm around your shoulders. The only thing that helps you tell if these things could be romantic is the faint memory of a romance novel you read when you were twelve years old.

You scream when you suddenly feel Peter Parker blow in your ear. You snap out of your thoughts and face him. “What was that for?”

“You weren’t answering me!” He defends, but lets you lightly punch his chest.

“Do you need something?” You lean back into the couch and remember his arm is still there, so you pretend to shift in your seat and lean forward.

“I was going to ask you if I could sleepover but if you’re too busy staring at the wall, then never mind.”

“Hey! Just because I’m spaced out, doesn’t mean I don’t want you here,” you say. “I’d love for you to stay overnight. But what about your internship? You’ve been with me all afternoon, are you sure Mr. Stark doesn’t need you?”

“I, uh, took care of my work this morning. That should be enough for at least today, right?” He looks at you as if you knew anything about what he does at the Stark Internship.

“How should I know? I say yes, you’re there every day and you work long hours. He should start paying you three times as much.” You get up from the couch and stretch. “Do you need to grab anything from home?”

“Yeah,” says he. “I’ll be back in ten?”

“Don’t sneak off to Mr. Stark, okay?”

He rolls his eyes at you, but he’s smiling. “Fine.”

And Peter Parker leaves you with the promise of his return in ten minutes. You turn off the Star Trek movie and decide to just leave the TV on a news channel so that you have some background noise. Wandering into the kitchen, you consider if he’d mind leftover spaghetti or if you should just order a pizza. You don’t have a lot of money left but you don’t plan on buying anything big anytime soon so a pizza should be good.

You pick up your phone after a while and call to order a pizza (one large, half pepperoni, half plain cheese, extra sauce) and sit down on the couch. Bored, you look over at the TV and find a burning building with the headline “Spider-man Saves Family from Fire” rolling along the bottom. Hanging up the phone- the pizza would arrive in twenty minutes- you drag your attention over to the news story. Across the screen swings the red and blue spier-themed hero, lowering a small child to the ground from the seventh story of an apartment. Firetrucks are all around and sirens are heard behind the voice of the reporter. Peter Parker was a fan of the hero, which made you take a liking to the person people call Spider-man. You liked that he wasn’t someone like Tony Stark, who you only saw in his Iron Man suit when he was doing something extremely important. Spider-man was like your city’s personal little hero. He took care of the city instead of his ego.

When commercials took over the TV, you turned away and looked at your phone. 9:15. The pizza would be getting cold soon. Peter Parker was late again. Only twenty minutes late so far, but you already knew he’d be at least half an hour late. You sank back into the couch, slouching down and propping your leg up to keep you from sliding right off.

Peter Parker was thirty-three minutes late.

You swing open the door, revealing him in his sleepwear and nothing in his hands but his phone. You glared at him tiredly.

“Ten minutes, huh? You shouldn’t have gotten me so excited.” You cross your arms, then uncrossed them when you started to smell something. “Peter, why do you smell like burning garbage?”

He fiddled with his phone. “Oh, well, um…”


“You weren’t at that big fire, were you?” You remembered the news story and just sputtered out something. “The one with Spider-man? I know you’re secretly in love with him but don’t go near a big fire just to see him-“


“No!” He raised his voice a little, then cleared his throat. “No, I’m not in love with him, I’m just- I just-“

“Ugh,” you stepped out of the doorway to let him in. “You should just take a shower before you stink up the entire building. Next time if you plan on being late, just say you need an hour.”

Peter Parker trudges in and heads straight for your bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him. You sigh and fall back onto the couch.

Peter Parker. He was hard to be in love with. You bet that if you had fallen in love with him last year, it would have been much easier. Ever since his trip to Berlin and this Stark Internship thing, it’s been hard to even be friends with him. You may not know anything about being in love with him, but you know a lot about being his friend and you wouldn’t trade that in for anything. You’re starting to suspect that you really do want to be in love with him, though, and you don’t like it. It’s been making your life way harder than it needs to be. Loving someone that almost never has time for you, obviously keeps secrets from you, and almost never keeps promises isn’t very fun. But you suppose that the daydreams about him was enough to make you love the real him. And maybe the little things that you decided earlier were romantic advances helped too. Or maybe Peter Parker really does just have a heart of gold and you’re desperate to keep him by your side. Thinking about this as a whole is making you doubt what little confirmations you’ve made, now you’re back to the stupid him-versus-the-idea-of-him thing.

Who do you love, Y/N? Do you love Peter Parker or do you love your fantasy of Peter Parker? You need to decide now or it’s going to keep you up at night for another week. You haven’t been sleeping much. If you stayed in your little pretend world, it would be easier to interact with the real Peter Parker, but if you love the real him then you wouldn’t feel as creepy, plus you’d maybe have a chance at being with him.

No, I wouldn’t. He’d never dare feel that way about me. You lean your head back and stare at the ceiling, switching back and forth from thinking about how stupid you feel to thinking about Peter Parker. Eventually you stopped thinking about Peter Parker for a while and just thought about how you could be doing something productive with your life right now but instead you spend your time worrying about a boy in the dumbest way possible. Not that love wasn’t something to worry about, but maybe you could have used the time that you wasted on your own dilemma to study or even just think about something more important. Maybe think about why Peter Parker has been being distant. Or maybe even think about college, anything but your stupid problem with love-

You scream when Peter Parker slams the door open loudly, jumping out of your seat and falling to the floor in panic. He slowly shuts the door being him with a guilty look on his face.

“Uh… sorry.” He placed his phone on the couch and sat next to you on the ground.

You shoved him lightly. “My gosh, I don’t care what you do to your house, but try not to break my doors.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just in a good mood and I, I guess I got excited.” He waved his hands around. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You shrugged and got up, sitting back down on the couch. “Well, now that you’re here and you don’t smell gross anymore, I have a movie that I want to watch and therefore you need to watch it, too. I hope you didn’t eat yet because I ordered pizza for us.”

You tried not to look at Peter Parker as he slept because that would be incredibly creepy of you. He really is adorable, though.

Sighing, you turn over in your bed. Peter Parker is an amazing friend, a hard worker, a pure soul, and you might as well accept that you’re in love with him.

“Uh, Y/N?”

You scream again, shooting up in your bed. Your head snaps over to Peter Parker. “You fucker, I thought you were asleep!”

“Is it true?” He asks. You blink very slowly at him.

“Is what true?” Then your heart drops. “Oh my god. Did I say that out loud?”

“Please tell me if it’s true.” He sits up in the sleeping bag you gave him, nut brown eyes staring up at you. You’ve gotten used to saying nut brown instead of amber. The moonlight coming through your window makes him look especially soft and childish.

It feels like your heart is seizing and beating way too fast at the same time. “You- I, why do I need to say it? I mean, you, you heard- if I thought you were asleep, then why would I lie out loud?”

Peter Parker fucking gets up and sits next to you on your bed. You slide away, but he follows you. He never once breaks eye contact, an impressive feat considering the situation.

“Y/N.” He’s too close to you. You don’t want to breathe. “Tell me, please.”

Well, Y/N, too damn late to go back now. Your brain and heart are screaming bloody murder as you finally give him his answer, “Yes. It’s- It’s true.”

Peter Parker gives you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. You’ve only seen him this happy when he told you he got to meet Tony Stark.

“Can I- Can I kiss you?” He asks excitedly. You blush and start to sputter.

“Wait, no- no! I don’t mean no, but- you, um, what?” You try to correct yourself before he speaks again. “You… You didn’t say it back!”

Oh my god, Y/N, stop losing your shit is all you can hear in your head but Peter Parker grins even wider. He leans in fast and presses his lips to yours. It’s weird and exhilarating, your chins bump together and you both awkwardly try to hold hands, lips fumbling just as much as your fingers were. When he pulls back, he looks into your eyes with emotions so intense you wanted to turn away in disbelief. Again, he grins, unable to hide his joy. Slowly, your brain quiets down and lets you enjoy this moment, and you’re glad that it does because the next think Peter Parker says is something you’ll remember for the rest of your life and then more.

“I love you too.”