peter parker/tom holland imagines

the worst christmas ever | p.p.

"May! Don't tell me you actually cooked," he called out with a disbelieving laugh.

Soon he could hear footsteps approaching before Aunt May passed through the doorway with you in tow. Peter caught your eye. Those kind eyes he always got lost in. He forgot to breath for a second. After three years together, you still managed to steal his breath.

"Damn right I've cooked," Aunt May replied, a teasing lilt to her tone, "Don't sound so surprised, Peter."

"I'm not surprised– I'm impressed," he teased, lifting the lid of one of the simmering pots.

A teasing pinch to his side made him yelp as Aunt May shooed him away from her stove.

Your sweet giggle filled the kitchen and Peter's heart. He turned his head sheepishly to look at you where you were leaning against the door frame. An overwhelming urge to touch you came over him. You'd dressed up a little, it being Christmas Eve and all, and Peter thought you looked so pretty. Walking over to you he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You looked at him with a smile, one that felt warm around his heart.

"Hi, rude boy," you teased.

Knitting his eyebrows together he gave you his best fake-offended look, "Hey."

Your only response was that same sweet giggle he loved to hear. Your eyes were soft, with smiling crinkles around your eyes. He loved when you looked at him like that– so much that he couldn't help but press a soft kiss to your lips. It was short (to spare Aunt May of your PDA), but still tender. When he leaned back to look at you again your smile had grown even wider.

Aunt May's dinner was surprisingly good. She'd been diligently watching some cooking show every night and gotten inspired to try to start cooking– for real. So, the dinner was great. The laughter hung in the air the whole night, making Peter almost forget about his earlier failure and nagging guilt.

While getting ready for bed, an idea popped into Peter's head. He finished brushing his teeth in record speed, spitting harshly in the sink.

"Ew," you mumbled through toothpaste, "Ook at that ig blob," you pointed to the toothpaste he'd spat out that stuck to the porcelain. He locked eyes with you in the mirror – your teasing smile through the swipe of your toothbrush.

"Shut up," he laughed and bumped his hip against yours before wiping the toothpaste away with his finger.

"Just making sure you're not leaving poor Aunt May to clean up your mess," you winked after spitting out your own toothpaste.

Sneaking away was the hardest part. You loved to snuggle before bed, never able to fall asleep until you'd laid in his arms and talked for at least half an hour. But Peter was patient – even if his eyelids felt heavier than the train he'd stopped that one time. When he started to hear your breathing start to get heavier and those small noises you always made escaped you; Peter crawled as gently as he could out of bed.

The living room of Aunt May's apartment was bathed in a soft yellow glow coming from the Christmas tree in the corner. A strange forgotten feeling of the past clouded Peter for a moment. Memories of waking up in the middle of the night to sneak into the living room to see if Santa had come pushed their way to the forefront of his mind. This time though, he had to make sure Santa had left some presents for someone else.

........

"Who's next?" Aunt May asked.

Outside a Christmas miracle was falling from the sky shaped as heavy white snowflakes.

"I have no presents left," Peter said from where he sat at the edge of the lounge chair, his Christmas presents taking up most of the space.

"I have one left," you said from where you sat pretty on the floor. The plaid pajamas adorning your body matched ones he was wearing. Peter watched with a bated breath as you picked up the homemade envelope.

"To my baby, from Peter," you read his chicken scratch.

"Aw," Aunt May cooed from the couch.

Peter had to fight the urge to cringe as he watched you open the envelope. His heart drummed in his chest, and it made him feel ridiculous. Digging your hands into the envelope you pulled out a handful of small paper squares. Watching your eyebrows knit together in confusion, Peter pressed his lips harder together.

"What's this?" you asked, curious hands picking up a paper square to read. "Oh!" you laughed, slightly embarrassed but still sending Peter a mischievous smile.

"What is it?" Aunt May asked.

"It's..." you laughed again, eyes dancing over the paper squares.

Curiosity killed the kat – or in this case Aunt May – as she leaned forward to snatch a paper square to read. You jumped at her movements before you chased after her.

"No, May," you pressed, managing to steal the paper before she could read it, "Read this one instead!" You handed her another paper square before sending Peter a chastising but grateful look.

"Oh, it's love coupons!" May exclaimed, "That's such a good gift idea, Peter! So thoughtful of you.'1 movie night where you pick the movie'," May read loudly from the paper coupon.

Dropping all the coupons back into the envelope, you stood to your feet and made your way over to Peter. You cupped his head in your hands and tilted his head to look up at you. Then you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Thank you, Peter," you said against his lips before placing another kiss to his lips.

"You liked them?" he asked with uncertainty.

You just smiled before you gave him a nod, "I loved them," you clarified and sealed it with another kiss. When you broke away you wrapped your arms around him to pull him in for a hug. A relieving warmth spread throughout his chest as he nuzzled his face in your neck. He felt you press a tender kiss to the spot behind his ear that made him weak.

"Can't wait to cash them in," you whispered in his ear, "Especially the ones who'll put you on Santa's naughty list."