#yes her neighbor is famous no she does not know this
perfect timing doesn’t exist
pairing: peter parker x f!reader
warnings: some angst, not much else!
summary: Christmas Eve is a mixture of things for reader this year, and Peter preps for her to meet Aunt May.
notes: oof this took longer than i intended TT_TT sorry! some weird dream stuff and some magic stuff and some little tidbits about reader here. i also just love cameos u wu take the greek with a grain of salt, if you would ; ;
taglist:@goyimphobic
moth & spider masterlist
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Christmas Eve came, and found Peter and [Y/N] meeting at her apartment in the afternoon. She was feeling better—after three days of Aunt May’s soup, her grandmother’s recipes, and a firm regimen of cold/flu combo meds, she was sniffle-free and out and about again (if bundled up a little more, since their plan was to go walking and look at the Christmas lights). She met Peter at the door, wrapped in a number of dark layers, a thick beanie and bulky knit scarf, boots, and gloves warmly in place, and Peter in his layers and his parka and pom-pom hat grinned at her from the steps as she emerged and locked up, smiling.
“Well you look much better!”
“It’s the lipstick,” she joked, “makes me look like myself again.” He leaned in to give her a quick kiss while she was right at eye-level on the steps with him.
“You looked like yourself without the makeup,” he replied earnestly, smiling at her affectionately, “just, y’know, a very sniffly and sneezy version of yourself.” She snorted, rolling her eyes, but took his arm when he offered and trotted down the sidewalk with him.
“Well, you look a little like a marshmallow right now, so I guess I’ll let that slide.” He laughed, and as she leaned against his side, Peter thought nothing had felt so normal or so comfortable for so long now, part of him wasn’t even sure how to react. But [Y/N] was warm against him and the air was cold and crisp, and the day was gray but otherwise nice, and he was happy.
They made their way down Bleecker and [Y/N] filled him in on a few of her neighbors, and the neighborhood stories she knew. That building had burned down some years ago, this apartment was supposed to be haunted, that shop’s owner was secretly with the mob…they window shopped, passing a few boutiques and she took a picture of him next to a weirdly youthful-looking Santa painted on a shop window that she said looked like him.
“I used to walk with Nona to get groceries and run errands,” she explained as they walked, now hand-in-hand, under a few trees strung with white lights. “She knew everybody. I—oh,” she spotted the doctor heading up his stoop up as they passed, and he cast a glance at her, smiling a bit wryly to himself.
“Good to see you out and about again,” he remarked, and she grinned.
“I should send you the bill for my cold meds,” she joked, and he got his door open, heading in.
“And I wouldn’t pay it. Enjoy your walk.”
“Peter, this is Doctor Stephen Strange, and if you ever need any help with your health he’s apparently no use.” Peter blinked, raising an eyebrow a little but gamely playing along.
“Oh, uh, it’s nice to meet you then Doct—”
“Not yet,” the man cut him off, and promptly shut his door on the two of them. [Y/N] blinked a few times, but shrugged it off and led Peter along again.
“What was that about?”
“Oh I have no idea,” she replied, “I’m pretty sure he’s psychic or something, but I also know if I ask him, he’s just going to say ‘no’ whether it’s the truth or not, so I don’t bother. But I’m still sure he’s psychic.” Peter’s brow knit a little as they walked, digesting this, and he decided it was better to just accept it at face value.
“Wait, his name is actually Doctor Strange?”
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The park was busy as usual, but mostly with people traveling through on their way shopping or to parties—they spotted more than one group of people in formalwear or approximations of it taking pictures together. They themselves got some warm coffees to hold onto and sip while they peoplewatched, and took a few of their own photos. Night fell, the lights glowed bright around them, and they walked on through the park together, rosy-faced and grinning as snow tried its best to fall.
“So you’ll be at May’s tomorrow?” Peter asked as they strolled down a lane of lit-up trees, walking backwards to face her. [Y/N] smiled, nodding.
“I will be at May’s tomorrow. I even got her a present.” He skidded to a stop, eyes wide.
“What! I thought we agreed to no gifts!” She breezed past him, smiling smugly to herself.
“We did agree no gifts. Aunt May did not.”
“That is not—“ he still smiled, catching up to her quickly. “You didn’t have to get her anything,” his voice was softer now, and more sincere. She shrugged, smiling.
“First impressions are important, and I’m looking forward to meeting her, and she sent that soup to me when she didn’t have to. Besides, it’s small anyways, it’s not like I really knew what to get her in the first place.” Peter stopped, and this time she stopped too, looking up at him as the few scattered people still out walking went around them. He looked almost disbelieving, smiling at her like it was the only thing he knew how to do. He moved close, taking her face in his hands, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “What did I say?”
“Nothing,” he breathed out, voice full of laughter, “everything. I think I love you, [Y/N//Y/L/N].”
[Y/N]’s eyes went wide and she felt herself go still, hearing this, and for a moment Peter looked terrified, realizing what he’d said, but [Y/N]’s eyes softened, her cheeks went just a little more pink, and she smiled, reaching her hands up to rest on top of his.
“I think I love you too, Peter Parker.” And maybe she meant it. Maybe it was okay, just then, even if neither one of them meant it out loud, because it was, for that minute, in the freezing park under the Christmas lights, snowflakes not quite clinging to their clothes and hair, what they both felt—and that was enough. Still, as he leaned in and kissed her, Peter hoped it was real, and lasting. After all the mistakes he’d made and the things he’d lost and done wrong, a small part of him felt like he didn’t deserve that, knew that he was hiding things from her, knew that maybe he couldn’t ever let her in on all of his secrets, and maybe that would be too much. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to accept that, maybe she would end up wanting more than he could give, maybe this would go horribly wrong. Her lips curled up into a smile against his, and he forgot about everything worrying him.
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Peter walked [Y/N] to her brownstone again, hand-in-hand and smiling ear to ear all the way there. Her antique porch lamp was on, but otherwise her apartment seemed dark inside; on the stoop, they stopped, and stood together outside her door.
“So.” She smiled a little, took a quick breath, and for the first time she looked nervous to him. “Christmas with Aunt May tomorrow.” Peter nodded, squeezing her gloved hands.
“You really want to come?”
“I-I really do,” she nodded, chewing her lips a little, and glancing down. Peter’s smile faltered some.
“…But, there’s something bothering you.” He leaned in, trying to catch her eyes and get her to look at him. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s wrong?” [Y/N] exhaled quietly, looking up at him.
“Peter, are you sure she’s going to be okay with me?”
There was a pause, and Peter took in what she’d said, his eyes briefly looking her over. In her thick black coat and her chunky black knit beanie and scarf, her torn black lace stockings over the dark purple ones, the knee-high black boots he called her pirate boots (which always got a giggle), her black gloves…and her dramatic dark eye makeup, her numerous earrings, and her black lipstick. She was no MJ, no Gwen Stacy, nothing like anybody he’d ever brought around Aunt May, and he definitely knew she understood that.
“I can…I can tone it down tomorrow, I mean I know it’s an important day to her, I don’t want—“
“—You don’t need to change anything,” he said firmly, meeting her eyes without hesitation, and rested a soft, mitten-covered hand on her cheek, smiling affectionately. “You’re beautiful. And you’re my girlfriend, and that’s what matters.” She smiled a little, but raised an eyebrow at him.
“Just that?” Peter seemed to realize his misstep and backtracked a little, smiling when he saw her smile and knew she was teasing anyways.
“No! No, of course not—you’re also—also very nice. And smart! And funny!” [Y/N] laughed at this, swinging their arms a little.
“I’mfunny??”
“You’re funny!”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been told that before—“
“You are! I’m laughing right now!”
“Oh my god…” She laughed, shaking her head, “Peter you’re such a dork…” but he leaned in, taking advantage of the uplift in her mood, and kissed her forehead.
“I’m a dork and I managed to get a girl as cool as you to like me. And my Aunt May is gonna think the same thing.”
“That you’re a big dork and I’m cool?” he laughed again.
“Yes!”
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but okay.” She smiled, and wrapped her arms around his waist, tilting her head back a little to look up at him. “You wanna give that another go?” He took her chin and kissed her, smiling against her lips, and when she leaned back again, her smile sobered. “I can at least wear normal makeup tomorrow,” she said softly, and he gave her another quick peck on the lips, leaning his forehead against hers.
“I like your makeup, no matter what you do. Just be yourself.”
“Okay.” She breathed out a soft little laugh, and nodded against his head, bumping foreheads a little before turning to unlock her door. “Go home before you freeze out here, my big darling dork.” Peter took a step or two down and turned to watch her get inside safely.
“You sure you’re okay? I’m gonna wait until your lights are on.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, clicking on her front room lights for good measure and smiling. “See?” He gave her a lopsided grin.
“I just worry,” he admitted, “Big empty house, you all alone in there…”
“I’m okay,” she smiled at him affectionately, “Promise. I have a phone, and a taser, and a baseball bat, and a bunch of nosy neighbors,” she grinned. He smiled.
“Not even afraid of ghosts?” [Y/N], instead of laughing like he’d imagined, just smiled.
“There are no ghosts here,” she said gently, “They’ve all moved on by now.” And that caught him off-guard enough for her to swoop down and kiss him one more time before hopping back up the steps, smiling. “Now go home, my dear. Your aunt is gonna hate me if you get sick too!”
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[Y/N] showered and put on a load of laundry before deciding to head to bed at last; making sure the place was locked up and her lights were all off took a minute, and as she headed up her staircase, she thought about what Peter had said.
Upstairs, the hallway to her bedroom passed a storage closet, her upstairs study, and the doors to her grandmother’s old room, and the room that had been her mother’s, years and years ago. Her own bedroom was technically an attic, but to reach those stairs, you had to first traverse the hallway, and [Y/N] sighed softly to herself at the closed doors. She hadn’t been able to go into her mother’s old room. That door remained shut, and she could feel the emptiness there even from outside. Her mother hadn’t used that room in years—since before she herself was born—but her grandmother had left it alone even after she’d moved in, too. [Y/N] knew that even her strong nona hadn’t been able to really face that wound on such a regular basis, and she couldn’t blame her. Tonight, she thought of ghosts, and for the briefest moment standing there in her empty brownstone in front of a room that had been empty longer than she could remember, she felt inescapably sad.
“No, you didn’t stay.” she said quietly, to no one at all.
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It was 3:13 on the dot when [Y/N] woke up in a wild bubble of clarity.
She hadn’t had a dream like this in years. Rushing with startling precision, she slipped out of bed in her nightgown, didn’t bother with slippers or robe, and barefoot, she first tossed an old journal and pen onto her bed, and then went for her shelves. She grabbed her little old cauldron and quickly lit a charcoal tab, rummaging for the herbs she wanted, whispering to herself all the while to keep track of the dream. The adrenaline rush from waking so suddenly and so completely would likely wear off soon enough, and chill would settle into her bare skin, but right now she was determined to take care of this. Shorthand would do for now. A few rosemary leaves, a few rose petals. A ground juniper berry, a drop of dragon’s blood. Sage. The dry herbs and oil caught and began to smolder, and as the tendrils of smoke wafted up out of the little cauldron’s pot, she breathed deep and shut her eyes, recalling the dream. Her hands went blindly for one chest of stones that she knew, even sightless, and she let herself be drawn to what she would be, holding the stone in her palm and steadying her breathing.
Her grandmother. She’d seen her grandmother—she was standing on a high, grassy hill, in the moonlight, overlooking some ancient temple, and before she could tread down the hill to investigate, her grandmother had been there, beside her.
“Do you think you’re ready for that?” she’d asked, her aged face lined with concern. Nona had always encouraged her to follow her intuition, to believe in her own power, in her own ability, but now, she looked quietly worried. [Y/N] had paused, torn for a moment between the temple, and wanting to embrace her grandmother. She felt tears in her eyes, and turned back to the strange stone building, watching the light from strange fires inside of it.
“I can always come back,” she’d said, but when she looked back, her grandmother was no longer there, and she was standing on the hill facing her mother. Her throat constricted and her chest felt tight; her mother smiled at her, dark hair and dark eyes, just like she could remember her, but somehow different too.
“No,” she said gently, “You can’t. But I think you’ll be all right, [Y/N/N].”
“M-mom…” she’d breathed it out, feeling the tears falling down her cheeks, but still rooted to her spot.
“You’re gonna be okay,” her mother said, and just smiled. “Σκώρος. καθρέπτης. Δύο φλόγες. ἰχώρ.” [Y/N] felt something strange come over herself, watched as her mother swept close and took her face in her hands, felt wind come rushing up the hill around them, billowing her mother’s dark hair like a flag. “Hecate, Hecate, Hecate,” her mother chanted softly, “Final of three. You’ll be okay. Remember. The mirror is a door.” [Y/N] shook her head, holding onto her mother’s hands on either side of her face as if to keep her there, tears still falling.
“Mom—I don’t understand,” she got out, sniffling some, “I miss you.” Her mother’s smile was kind as she stroked her daughter’s cheek.
“I’m always with you, honey. You know that.” She let out a soft, sweet laugh, and leaned in to kiss [Y/N]’s forehead. “You can trust the spider, little moth.”
In [Y/N]’s hand was a palm stone, soft purple and mottled with a lacy white, lepidolite. She had to wipe at her face with her free hand, sniffing quietly and wetting her lips.
“You finally show up when I call you out about it, huh mom?” She whispered, swiping at her damp cheeks. “And I have no idea what you’re even talking about.” She swallowed, taking a deep breath and letting her eyes find her statuette of Hecate in the low light. That detail she did understand. Her eyes met the eyes of the little statue, and she turned the lepidolite over in her hand a few times. “Hecate, Hecate, Hecate,” she murmured, recalling how her mother had said it in the dream, “‘The mirror is a door’? Mom, what the hell…”
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Christmas morning was cheery and warm at Aunt May’s; Peter was over early every year with presents and a kiss on the cheek, and already May’s apartment smelled like baked goods and Christmas dinner.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” She gasped, seeing Peter by himself, and he looked a little sheepish.
“She’s coming in a little bit! She said she’d be here around noon, I just always come early and I thought—”
“Peter! You should have come along with her!” Peter let Aunt May toddle into the kitchen with him, settling at her little table and setting his gifts down.
“Well, I also…I wanted to talk about her before she’s here,” he admitted, and May gave him a curious look from her place back at the stove.
“And why is that?”
“Well she’s…she’s just nervous about meeting you,” he got out, rubbing the back of his neck, “And I mean, I understand, she’s not—she’s just—“ May put a hand on her hip and waved a wooden spoon at Peter.
“Now Peter, did you make this girl think I’m that scary?”
“No! No, what—no, you’re not scary, May, it’s just…”
“Just what?”
“[Y/N] is…she’s not like anybody else I’ve had around. She’s definitely no Mary Jane.”
“Well, the way you’ve talked about her, I’m sure she’s a nice girl.”
“She is! She just doesn’t look—”
“Peter Parker, I know I raised you better than that. I’m sure she’s perfectly lovely. Tell me something important about her.” Peter smiled a little lopsided smile at this, gazing out at nothing and thinking of [Y/N].
“She’ssmart. She’s in an internship with a scientist that was in the paper, and she’s just…she’s so smart. And she likes taking pictures—she might be better than me at it! She’s nice, too. She always tips when we get anything to eat. The baristas at the coffee shop we like all know her. The little old lady in the park that feeds the birds, the one with the little dog? She knows her by name! Her name is Florence, and her dog’s name is Tippy, and [Y/N] brings Tippy dog treats and has birdseed for Florence.” He smiled to himself, thinking about all of this. “She knows her neighbors, and talks to them. She’s funny, but she doesn’t mean to be sometimes, I think. She lives by herself in this big brownstone in Greenwich and she likes to read and I think she believes in ghosts, and she makes her own tea…” Aunt May was looking at him fondly when he looked up again, smiling broadly.
“Peter, I don’t think it matters what this young lady looks like.” She came up in her apron and patted his cheek affectionately, “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you look this way. How could I not like someone who makes you this happy, hmm?” And Peter ducked his head a little, laughing softly as May headed back to her pots and pans.
“I really like her, Aunt May.”
“I can tell,” May replied sagely, smiling to herself.
“I think I’m in love with her.”
“Then I’d better make sure all of this food tastes good!”
