Festivities
You took the subway to Harry's area. A cab would've cost quadruple the amount and just as long with the Saturday night traffic to take you all the way. It let you out on the other side of the neighborhood, and you began the trek to Harry's penthouse. Never before had you wished more that flying or teleporting was one of your powers. Of course, stamina wasn't the problem for you, you'd somehow gained even more during your weeks of intense training with A.I.M. It was the cold wind that was bothering you. You could tell that soon, maybe not tonight, but soon enough, it would start snowing.
Head down and hands in your pockets, you trudged forward. You could see Harry's building just a few blocks away, and just ahead there was a shortcut, an alleyway—you glanced around to check that nobody was following you, and turned down the alley, squeezing past a dumpster, careful not to touch the brick wall, shiny with an unknown substance. The alley was empty, aside from the litter and damp cardboard boxes. And it was warmer, the wind turning into just a gentle breeze between the tall close walls. You emerged on the other side, one block closer already. You decided to keep with the alleys and get there sooner, and keep avoiding the wind.
Jogging across the empty street, you entered the next alley, and strode quickly through. You were passing a second dumpster, when a rustling sound caught your ear, and you whipped your head around just in time to get hit across the face and shoved back against the wall by a young white man a year or two your junior, scraggly mustache in need of a shave.
“What's in the pur-?”
You were already shifting into position to strike back, when he was yanked off of you by a long, white cord.
“What the-?!” He fell backwards onto his ass, landing in a puddle, and Spider-Man dropped from above, jumping forward and webbing the young man up.
You jumped forward, away from the alley wall, and straightened your coat. Spider-Man turned around, leaving the young man on the ground.
“Are you okay?” He stepped forward, voice a bit anxious. “Your cheek-”
“What?”
Spider-Man gestured at your face, stepping forward. “Can I see?”
You raised your hand to your face and winced at the cut on your cheekbone. “Ah, fuck. Is it bleeding?”
Spider-Man gently touched your face and turned your head to the side. “Ah, just a little. It looks okay. Gonna bruise, for sure though.” He dropped his hands to his sides, and stepped back from you. “I gotta go drop this guy off, are you gonna be okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Thanks.”
He nodded. “Will you stick on the main streets for me?”
You nodded again, looking at him. There was something so familiar... You chalked it up to having fought him a handful of times before.
“I'll see ya 'round, Spidey.”
He picked up the man and shot a web up high. “Stay safe. Stay out of any alleys for me, no matter how creepy and fun they look!” And then he swung away, the webbed up mugger's muffled screaming disappearing quickly.
The wind numbed your now throbbing cheek the rest of the way to Harry's building. The doorman recognizing you as 'Parker's young lady' and letting you in straight away. You kept your cheek covered with your hand, pretending it was because of the cold. In the elevator you loosened your scarf and took off your hat, tidying yourself up in the mirrored walls of the elevator. It slowed and stopped with a gentle lurch and cheerful ding, the doors opening into a small hallway, the door at one end leading to Harry's penthouse, the other to the stairs. You could already hear the music through the walls. Harry had apparently even hired a butler to let guests in.
“Hello, miss,” the man greeted you.
“Hi, I'm here for Harry's party.”
“Very good, name?”
“Y/n Y/l/n, I'm with his best friend Peter-”
“Parker, ah yes. You've beat him here.” A pause, as he eyed your cheek. “That looks fresh, would you care for an icepack?”
“I can find one inside, thank you.”
“Should I call the authorities for you miss, to-?”
“Spider-Man took care of it.”
“Very good. Please enjoy the party, Miss Y/l/n.” He bowed and opened the door for you, closing it behind you once you were inside.
You hadn't ever seen Harry's place when it was in party mode. The lights were half-dimmed, the music was loud, and Harry had hired a bartender to man his kitchen. You blinked as a light flashed across your eyes—was that seriously a disco ball?
A woman took your coat, hat, and scarf for you and disappeared down the hall and you promptly squeezed your way to the kitchen.
“What can I get for ya, little lady there?”
“An icepack from Harry's freezer, please. And just a soda for now.”
“Ah, yeah, that's a fresh one there innit? How'd you get that?”
“Mugger on the way over.”
“You don't look too frazzled, took care of him yerself didja?”
You grinned in response as he handed over an electric blue ice-cold packet of frozen gel. “Thanks. I'll be back for a real drink in a bit.” You slipped away from the kitchen and off to the side, scanning the room for Harry as you held the icepack to your cheek.
Finally you found him, coming in from his large balcony, laughing with a drink in hand. He closed the door behind him, and mingled for a few minutes before he spotted you. You saw his enthusiastic welcoming grin transform the second he saw your icepack and he wormed his way over.
“What the hell happened?”
“Some tool tried to jump me on my way over, but I'm fine. I'm just waiting for Peter to get here to drink so he's not left out.”
“Thank fuck, I thought maybe you got beat on the job again. Glad you're okay, but Peter's gonna flip his lid. Good luck getting five seconds away from him after he gets here,” he laughed, you smiled. “He's running late, huh?”
You shrugged, nodding. “I guess he was visiting his Aunt May today or something.”
Harry nodded. “Come on, I'll introduce you to—Ahh, speak of the devil!” He opened his arms up to receive a hug from someone approaching from behind your left shoulder. You turned, and saw Peter unbuttoning his black coat with a grin on his face as he approached the two of you. He gave Harry a warm hug and pat on the back.
“Hey, man, sorry I'm late,” Peter let go of Harry and turned to you. “Hey, I'm so—oh my god, Y/n what happened? Are you okay?!” Peter took your face in his hands and gently pulled away the icepack from your cheek to see it for himself.
“Just bad luck on the way over, I'm fine, Peter,” you tried to smile reassuringly. “I promise, it's not that bad.”
“What happened?”
“Some dumbass tried to jump me, it was my bad, I took a shortcut through an alley without checking around me. I promise, I'm fine-”
“Did you call the police?”
“Didn't have to, Spider-Man was there.”
“Wh—Spider-Man?”
“He took care of it, I'm fine. He even checked to make sure I wasn't hurt bad before he left.”
“Harry, you still have the first aid kit in your bathroom, right?” Peter had an arm around you, and he turned to Harry.
“Yeah. Same spot in the cabinet.” Harry was frowning, tense.
“C'mon Y/n, let's go clean that up and put something on it before we get shitfaced,” Peter squeezed his arm around you softly and grinned.
“Alright, sounds good,” you laughed, letting him steer you down the hallway, leaving Harry with the party.
Peter seated you on the edge of Harry's massive tub and dug out the first aid kit from a tall cabinet standing in the corner. He placed the box on the marble counter by the sink and got out a handful of small things. You watched him wash his hands and then carefully rip open a little square and take out a damp sterilizing cloth. He turned towards you and crouched in front of you. You silently lowered the icepack and held it in your lap, watching Peter's eyes as he tenderly dabbed the cloth along the cut and then wiped the now dry small smear of blood from your cheek. You only slightly winced. His eyes flicked to yours and he smiled widely as he stood up and went back to the counter to get a small bottle of salve.
“What are you staring at me like that for?”
“Nothing,” you tried not to grin back at him.
“Nothing?” He teased.
“You're just cute when you concentrate, is all,” you smiled as he knelt down to dab a tiny bit of salve onto the cut with his middle finger.
“Stop staring Y/n, you're giving me performance anxiety.”
You laughed. “Like you ever have that problem, you love the attention.”
He chuckled, returning back to the first aid kit. “I'm gonna use a butterfly closure for your cheek, I think it's too close to your eye for a bandaid to be comfortable. It'll be kinda awkward getting it on there.”
“Okay.”
“How does the rest of your cheek feel? Bruising yet?”
“It's sore, but not bruise-y.”
He nodded, opening something and dropping the wrapper on the ground. “Alright, turn your cheek towards the light so I can see it properly and get this thing on there,” he kneeled down, tapping your chin. “Up just a little—perfect.”
You could see the back of his head in the full mirror across from you, and his fingers carefully pinching the small cut shut and placing the little white strip over it.
“Hey, Peter?” You swallowed, nervous.
“All done.” He patted your knee, but didn't move away from you. “What's up?”
You turned and looked at him straight in his eyes.
“What? Are you oka-?”
“I love you too, Peter.”
His eyes jumped back and forth between yours, and his mouth split into the biggest grin you'd ever seen on his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You nodded.
One hand gently resting on your knee and with the other he cupped the hurt side of your face, he leaned closer. “Yeah?”
“Now you're just teasing me, Peter!”
He laughed. “I love you too, Y/n.”
You grinned and mockingly replied with a sarcastic “Yeah?”
“Oh, my god, stop it,” he laughed and kissed you firmly. You could feel him trying not to smile. He pulled away. “I'll clean up all the wrappers, and then let's go have some celebratory drinks, yeah?”
“That sounds great. I'll put the kit away.”
You put the kit back on the shelf as Peter grabbed all of the wrappers and put them in the trash. You opened the door to go back out, but he grabbed your arm and stole a long kiss before you could leave. You laughed, and hand in his, dragged him back out to the party.
“There you two are! Come on, you need to have some drinks!” Harry found the two of you almost immediately and pushed you both over to the kitchen. “Bartender! My good man, get these two the most delicious, strongest drinks you can! They've got catching up to do!” Harry clapped a hand on your shoulder and his other on Peter's. “I want Peter so drunk that he gives Y/n a lap dance in front of the whole party!”
Peter laughed. “Harry, that's not gonna happen-”
“Not even for me, Peter?” You couldn't help but laugh at the image of your dorky boyfriend trying to give a lap dance.
“Well, maybe for you,” he admitted, squeezing your hand and pulling you closer to his side.
“Here ya are, two very strong but delicious drinks for Harry's best pals,” the bartender announced, placing two dark colored carbonated and vaguely red drinks on the kitchen island in front of the three of you. “Refill on yours, Harry?”
“Yessir, keep it comin'!”
You picked up your drink, and took a sip. “Holy shit, that's delicious! What's in this?”
Peter sipped his. “No idea! Cheers,” he clinked his against your glass and pulled you out to the party to dance.
Harry kept pumping the two of you full of drinks. Even with all the dancing and spinning and laughing, Peter never once let go of your hand.
Except to give you a lap dance.
Sunday found you and Peter both nursing hangovers in Harry's penthouse, where you had apparently stayed the night in one of the guest rooms together. You woke in bed with Peter, neither of you wearing much clothes, and grimaced upon becoming aware of the taste of your mouth.
“Oh, my god. That's fucking gross,” you sat up groaning heavily with your eyes squeezed shut. “I haven't been that drunk in a while.”
“Shhhhh.....” Peter buried his face in his pillow, arm waiving in your general direction, fingertips grazing your bare back. “No talking. It's quiet time.”
“I'm getting some mouthwash and some food. Are these party sunglasses?” You picked up a bright yellow pair of knock-off Ray Ban's off the floor, putting them on. “Much better. It's fucking bright.” You looked around, stumbling slightly. “Peter, where's my clothes?”
Peter just groaned into his pillow, pulling the blanket up further over his head.
“Fine, 'm going out in your shirt. I'll be back,” you slipped his dark gray henley on over your head. Peter being taller than you, it just barely covered your rear. Too hungover to care much about modesty, you wandered out of the guest room and into the living room of the penthouse, which was surprisingly already clean.
“Looking good, Y/n,” Harry called over from his seat on the couch, teasing you with a friendly voice. “Real classy look you got going on.”
“Shut up, Harry,” you stopped in the doorway. “What time is it?”
“I'd say about-” he paused to look at his watch. “Seven thirty-five. I've been watching the sunrise.”
You lifted the sunglasses slightly to look at the color of the light, a deep fiery orange filling the room. “Is it like this every day?” You let the sunglasses fall back down to cover your eyes.
“Sunny ones, yeah. Bloody Mary?” He gestured at the kitchen, where a tray of deep red juicy drinks sat with green veggie-looking kebabs across the tops of the cups.
“Yes, please.” You walked over, taking two. “Please tell me you got a video of Peter dancing last night,” you said, sipping one of the drinks and walking back towards the hallway.
“Please say you didn't,” came Peter's dreary hungover voice as he entered the room, shirtless but wearing his pants. “Why is it so earlyyy? And why is everything so much right now?”
You handed him a drink. “Because you're hungover and the world is conspiring to make you suffer. Drink up.”
Peter grimaced, taking a big drink from his cup. “Tasty. Harry, can I borrow a shirt?”
“Yeah, go crazy.”
The three of you spent Sunday morning lounging around Harry's penthouse, even eating lunch in the hot-tub on the balcony. Harry sent the two of you home around four in his private car, and you just slept the afternoon away at your place, waking up around sunset and just cuddling on the couch and watching movies until dinner.
“Y/n what's this up here?” You heard Peter call, a hint of laughter in his voice.
“What's what?” You got up and came into the kitchen, to find Peter looking at a picture frame of-
“Oh my god. I thought she was joking! I can't believe she hung that trash up-”
“I didn't know you were dating Tony Stark on the side,” he elbowed you playfully, teasing. “Honey, I'm so proud of you for aiming high!”
“Stuff it, Peter,” you playfully shoved him away, laughing.
“So you finally had a job interview, huh?” He nodded his head at the picture. “You going back for another one, or did you already get it?”
“I got it!” You grinned, bouncing slightly. “We negotiated details over food, I got the job!”
Peter gave you a big one armed hug, his other hand full of hangover tea. “That's amazing!”
The future was looking good.
The next few weeks were consumed with work and the holiday season coming up. Even if you weren't much of a celebrator of anything, you still had to deal with the whole rest of the city falling into a strange frenzy over gifts and carols and decorations. You had almost no time to yourself, but even so, you were floating on cloud nine. You were in love with Peter, you had started a new job at Stark Industries working directly under Tony Stark himself, and you hadn't needed to do any work as Black Light since the whole exploding cargo boat incident.
And then it was two days before Christmas. Stacy was out of town, Peter was staying at your place, and he wanted you to meet his Aunt May. Apparently Christmas was a big deal in Peter's family, and Peter didn't want his Aunt May spending it alone, so you agreed to participate and go meet her, even though you'd never really celebrated the holiday growing up.
“I swear, Y/n, she's gonna love you,” he called from his spot in the living room while you put the finishing touches on your appearance in the bathroom mirror. The cut from your alley-way run-in had faded into a thin, small paler-than-you line that shone when light hit it at just the right angle. Another month and it would be nearly invisible to anyone not looking for it.
“So you've said, Peter, but what if-”
“Stop stressing! She'll just be glad I'm finally bringing someone by that isn't Harry.”
“Gah, fine, you're probably right.” You exited the bathroom. “Ready to go?”
Peter sat up from his spot lounging on the couch, where he had just been throwing something into the air and then catching it. His hair stuck up in the back, and he grinned. “Yup.”
You shrugged on your coat and watched as he did the same. “C'mere, you've got a little bit sticking up in the back-”
“Hm?” He reached back absentmindedly, a vague deer-in-headlights expression on his face.
“Wrong spot, just let me do it,” you laughed, smoothing his ruffled hair down. He kissed your cheek in thanks and grabbed the paper bag of presents off the dining table, following you out the door and waiting while you locked it behind you. “And Harry said he was lending us a car?”
“Yup. He knows how expensive rates get around the holidays, so he wanted to do me a favor.”
“That's pretty nice of him. Driver and all?”
Peter pulled his hand out of his pocket, beaming, and revealed a set of keys.
“I didn't know you had a license!”
“Had to get one a while back because Harry decided to do this whole thing with race cars—I'll tell you all about it on the drive.” Peter pocketed the keys and took your hand, pulling you into the elevator.
Peter was a surprisingly good driver for a kid who grew up in the city. Not a single detail escaped him, he broke absolutely zero rules, and never went too fast of too slow. And he talked and teased and joked with you the whole way to his Aunt's house all the way across the city.
Aunt May still lived in Peter's childhood home, you learned on the way over. And you were surprised to see that it was an actual suburban-esque two-story house. The house was simple, the small yard and rooftop covered in snow. The front windows were lined with string lights, with paper snowflakes taped to the glass.
“I like your Aunt's decorations,” you said, closing the car door behind you and adjusting the bag of presents in your arms.
“Good, because I helped put them up,” Peter smiled at you over the top of the car, closing his own door. “Ready?”
“I'm ready.” And you followed Peter up to the front door.
He rapped his knuckles on the door, smiling at you, and then the door swung open moments later to reveal a thin older woman, much shorter than Peter, with gray hair and wearing a white knit sweater decorated with two large wooden buttons by the neck.
“Peter!” Her face lit up brighter than a firework. “Was that you parking out front? I thought you'd be coming in a cab! Come in, come in!”
Peter stepped in, giving May a quick hug, you following through the door close behind him.
“And this must be the young lady who's stolen my nephew's heart,” she said, closing the door behind the two of you. “Let me get a look at you!”
“Hi, I'm Y/n-”
Peter stood behind you as Aunt may approached you, hands on her hips. “Well you certainly are pretty, isn't she Peter?” She tilted her head up, and cocked it to the side as if by doing so she could judge your character. “And look at those eyes! I can tell you're smart. Peter needs smart.”
“Aunt May, come on-” Peter was getting embarrassed, and then you realized Aunt May was doing this just to mess with him.
Aunt May's face spread into a broad grin, smile lines deepening. “Tell me Y/n, how many times have you had to stop Peter here from doing something stupid so far?”
“None, really, I think he's still trying to impress me.”
Peter groaned, taking the bag of presents from you. “Oh, here we go-”
“Peter, when you were in school you would be gone all hours of the night, God knows where-” Peter wandered away into the house, Aunt May in tow, you bringing up the rear and giggling at the comical sight. “For a time your Uncle Ben and I were worried you were getting into drugs! Of course, we should have realized you were so much of a bookworm that you were too busy for such things, but—Oh, Y/n, if you'd like to take off your coat you can hang it in the front hallway by the door—honestly Peter, I still don't know what you were doing out so much!”
“It was just absentminded teenage boy stuff, Aunt May, I promise. I never got into any trouble! Come on, I know you made a ton of food, what do you need me to bring out and set up?”
You turned back around, shrugging off your coat and hanging it up in the hallway on a hook along with your scarf and hat. Peter appeared beside you to hang up his.
“So you were a troublemaker in school, huh?”
“Oh, not you too!” He gave you a quick kiss. “Aunt May you've gone and given Y/n the idea that I was some kind of troublemaking bad-boy! What if she doesn't like me now because she's not into bad-boys?”
You followed him back into the living room, teasing. “Actually, I almost exclusively liked bad-boys before I met you.”
“Y/n, you're killing me here.” Peter said dramatically, taking both of your hands in his and adopting a dramatic sort of hunched over pleading posture.
Aunt May laughed.
You spent the whole day at Peter's childhood home, listening to Aunt May tell stories about younger Peter and drinking eggnog, eating lunch and then an astonishingly delicious dinner before bed.
You had honestly never been happier.
The next morning you woke up in Peter's old bedroom, the morning light outside soft and dulled by the gray sky and thick falling snow. It was exactly what you'd expect—movie posters for various obscure sci-fi flicks, odd gadgets scattered about, etc. You had to lay half on top of him to fit into his old bed, but neither of you were going to complain. Peter was still asleep on his back, mouth open slightly, one arm wrapped around you under the comforter, the other across his stomach. You shifted, trying to get a better angle to look at him and maintain your comfort level.
“Mm... Hey,” came Peter's quiet voice still thick with sleep. “Where ya goin'?”
You smiled. “Nowhere, just trying to get a better look at you,” you propped your chin up on the knuckles of your fist.
“Alright now I know I'm pretty but don't go pulling a Twilight on me,” he chuckled and reached out to stroke your arm mindlessly. “What time is it?”
You pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees and reached over Peter to check your phones, both plugged into the wall and resting on his old nightstand. “About nine twenty-eight A.M.,” you announced, pushing back from the nightstand into a sitting position by Peter's torso on the small mattress.
“Aunt May's probably already got breakfast made, we should go downstairs,” Peter stretched and sat up, pulling you towards him. “I apologize in advance.”
“I thought you said she was a great cook-”
Peter interrupted you with a thorough yet lazy kiss.
“I was talking about my morning breath,” he laughed as you wrinkled your nose. “Let's get dressed.”
The two of you dressed and made your way down the stairs and into the kitchen where Aunt May had made breakfast, different things set out on plates so you could all help yourselves. You and Aunt May sat at the table long after food was finished while Peter tidied up some of the plates and disappeared into the house somewhere with a vague explanation of fixing things. Aunt May quizzed you about how Peter was doing and what your plans were after school, you told her that Peter seemed to be doing really well and that the both of you had jobs with Tony Stark's company. She was impressed.
You learned a bit about Aunt May as well, what raising Peter was like, how much he changed and then subsequently grew after his Uncle Ben's death. And then, in classic girlfriend-meeting-the-family fashion, she brought out the picture albums.
“I didn't realize Peter used to wear glasses, he's so cute!”
You fawned with Aunt May over the pictures of younger Peter, a gangly kid with braces and glasses. He was all elbows and skinny limbs, and he only got skinnier as he grew taller. And then suddenly in the middle of what looked like his second year of high-school, he lost his glasses and filled out, now in the pictures was a tall lean and fit young man with what you thought in your head looked like the physique of a young superhero.
“Aunt May, no! I can't believe you're showing her those-”
“Oh shush! It's tradition. I'll be sent to the jail for terrible aunts if I don't show her your childhood photos!”
You laughed, flipping through. Here and there, pictures of Peter with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, and then a picture of Aunt May standing next to Peter, both wearing black and sad and serious. Uncle Ben's memorial leaflet on the reverse side of the page. You looked up at Peter, who just came and sat next to you, putting an arm around your shoulders.
You turned the pages, there seemed to be about a year's worth of no significant photos, there was a yearbook photo of Peter and a picture of him with Aunt May at a science fair thing, and then the pictures started to pick up again. Birthdays, holidays, yearbook, prom-
“Ooh, who's the redhead?” You teased, grinning. Peter was in a suit, sleek and fitted and perfect. Likely Harry's doing, you decided. He was with an absolutely gorgeous redhead, sparkling eyes, flawless makeup, flawless skin, not a blemish in sight.
He paused for a moment. “That's, uh, that's M.J.--Mary Jane Watson,” he added quickly.
“I almost forgot about Mary Jane!” Aunt May interjected. “She used to live next door, very sweet girl.”
“She's gorgeous,” you smiled and then looked at Peter. “What happened with her?”
“We uh... Got together around senior year, I'd liked her for a while-”
“A while? Ha! Peter here was pining after her for years on and off,” Aunt May laughed.
“She moved away to be an actress or something. We didn't want to do the whole long-distance thing so we broke it off and then just sort of drifted apart, and then I met... Then I started college and met Gwen.”
You took Peter's hand and squeezed it gently, he held on tightly.
Aunt May gently took the photo album from your lap. “Well, I guess that's enough of that. Peter, why don't you show Y/n around the neighborhood?”