Spider-Man Imagines I

Home Alone | Harry Osborn [JF]

Harry was fragile since the death of his father. You were positive that, if not for you or his butler, he wouldn't take care of himself. So you took it upon yourself to assure he had the best.

Ever since the funeral, you hung around him. You became more like a caregiver than a friend, but you loved Harry. You needed him to be happy and cared for.

"So, what are your Thanksgiving plans?" you asked Harry, checking the cookies that were baking in the oven.

"I, uh," he paused, sitting down on a stool in front of the kitchen island, "don't have any."

Your head snapped towards him. "Huh? Thanksgiving is in two days, Harry."

He shrugged. "I'll be alone," he said. "Which is... better."

"Better how?" you asked. You shook your head. "No. No way. Harry, you're having Thanksgiving with me."

"No, I won't be," he said. "You have family. You should spend time with them while you still have them."

"Harry, please," you scoffed, crossing your arms. "Thanksgiving is different now that all the kids in my family are grown and people have moved on. Besides, my parents have plans with friends."

"___-"

"This is nonnegotiable," you said. "Okay, you get the cookies out of the oven when they're done. I'm going to do some food shopping."

"___," he sighed, turning in the stool as you grabbed your purse and walked towards the foyer. "___, really-"

"See you soon!" you called out, ignoring his protests.

...

You weren't sure how you managed to scrape up some food with the high crowd levels inside of stores and the empty shelves, but you managed to leave with a small turkey, box of stuffing, box of instant mashed potatoes, couple cans of green beans, a box of macaroni and cheese, and a pumpkin pie from the bakery.

You brought it all into the house, where Harry was sitting miserably on the couch, mug of hot cocoa in hands. He looked beyond sad. Your heart broke a little.

"Oh good," he said, "you're home."

Your heart skipped a beat at the word home. "Uh, y-yeah," you stammered. "Did the cookies turn out?"

"Uh-huh," he replied, staring at the fireplace.

You dropped the groceries onto the kitchen counter and walked back into the living room. "Harry," you began, standing behind his chair. He turned his head slightly. "If you don't want a Thanksgiving, I won't force you to have one. All that matters is whether or not you're happy."

You heard him sniff, and then he grabbed your hand. He brought it to the side of his damp face. He did not speak, but as he fell apart, you couldn't help but believe he was healing bit by bit.

...

Thanksgiving morning was light and cheerful.

Harry woke up bright and early, and waited on the doorstep for you as you pulled in, scarf around his mouth, a bag of bakery donuts he'd had ordered in his hands. He wished you a happy Thanksgiving and hugged you, making you blush and feel warm.

After stuffing yourselves with donuts and coffee, you and Harry got the turkey ready and stuffed for the oven. The entire house was warm from preheating in the beginning of the morning, and you had to shed two of the three sweaters you'd put on.

Harry made fun of you for only buying the boxed stuff, which you didn't mind. Made from scratch or from a recipe on the back of a box and with the ingredients all measured out already, it was still food.

With the turkey cooking in the oven, you and Harry went to laze around on the couch, your second cup of coffee in hand, shoulder pressed up against his. You watched the parade on TV and then turned on Home Alone.

"It's a crime to watch Christmas movies on Thanksgiving," he declared, shaking his head as the movie started.

"What's so bad about celebrating two holidays at once? The more the merrier!" you said.

He laughed. "That's not what that saying means, ___." He took your free hand, pulling it onto his lap. You blushed, making him smile a crinkley eyed smile.

After a few hours of relaxation, you and Harry forced yourselves up and into the kitchen. You started on the stuffing while Harry opened the cans of green beans and poured our measurements for the mashed potatoes.

He played music for you both to sing and dance to while things were pored into pans and mixed into pots. After you slid the pan of stuffing into the oven, he pulled you into his arms, hands gripping yours tight as he spun you into a circle, making you laugh loudly.

"Harry!" you yelped, "Stop, I'm going to get dizzy!"

He stopped spinning but kept hold of you anyway, dropping your hands to just pull you into his arms, where he hugged you close. You didn't pull away until the kitchen timer chimed out.

He grabbed oven mits and pulled everything out of the oven and off the stovetop while you got out plates and forks and spoons and napkins. You set the table, he spooned out portions, and then you both sat down at the too long table, choosing two seats next to one another.

You cut into the small turkey, plopping slices down on his plate. He folded his napkin on his lap and poured ice water into glasses.

"I think we should say what we are thankful for," he said.

"Okay." You smiled. "What are you thankful for?"

He held out his hand. "You go first."

You took his hand. "Um, okay... um. I am thankful for this food, and that I was able to get what I grabbed at such short notice-" You laughed. "And I'm thankful for my best friend and his dance moves, because I can't dance."

He laughed and squeezed your hand. "Okay, okay. Not bad."

"What are you thankful for?" you asked.

He looked at you and smiled, lips closed. "You."

Your heart fluttered and your eyebrows raised. The way he said it, the word in itself was filled with so much love-

He shook his head slowly and closed his eyes for a moment. "I cannot express how thankful I am for you."

"Harry," you whispered.

"I love you," he said.

Your heart was on the brink of bursting. You leaned in and pressed a light kiss to the side of his mouth, pulling back to stare at him.

He held your hand throughout all of dinner.

Feeling stuffed, you and Harry leaned back in your seats. "We should cut the pie," you murmured.

"Ugh, I'm so full," he groaned.

"It's pumpkin pie, though." You forced yourself out of the chair and ran to the kitchen, bringing back the dessert and a knife.

Harry watched you cut it, dropping a slice on his plate and a slice on yours. You both took a bite at the same time, smiling at one another like love-struck idiots.

"How's the pie?" you asked.

"So good," he grinned.

You kissed him on the cheek this time.