Spider-Man Imagines I

First Merry Christmas | Flash Thompson [TR]

"You're not going to be alone on Christmas," you insisted.

Flash sighed, reaching to grab a tray and a couple of chocolate milks from the lunch line. He gave you a tired look. "I am, because my dad is going to London."

"For what?" you asked.

"I don't know," he said. He didn't. "And honestly, I don't care!"

You frowned. "Babe, Christmas is awesome. And it's important to spend it with your family! No should be home alone for Christmas."

For the last fifteen minutes, you have been begging him to spend Christmas with you. He would want to, only he didn't like holidays and he didn't like half of your family and they didn't care for him much, either.

He grabbed a wrapped turkey sandwich and a bag of potato chips. "In case you didn't hear me," he snapped, "I have no family to celebrate with."

You flinched, looking away to grab a sandwich for yourself. "I'm your family, Flash." Your voice was hesitant and soft.

"That is not what I meant and you know it," he muttered, cheeks flaming. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help me, but-"

"But you're stubborn," you finished. "You don't want people to cater to you. It makes you feel weak if someone takes care of you."

"Stop," he hissed. "I just don't want to have a miserable holiday, okay?"

Hurt flashed across your eyes. "What is it about me spending the day with you that would make your holiday so miserable? What makes being alone so much better than being with me?"

"___," he breathed.

"Well, I hope you're happy, because I'm done with trying to take care of you." You dropped your tray on the counter and walked away from it.

"Babe," he called after you. "Babe!"

You ignored him. He sighed, picked up your tray, and silently cursing himself for always pushing you away.

He paid for your food and racked his mind for reasons to be so cruel to you.

As he approached the lunch table, his friends (and yours) looked up at him. He felt dread settle in the pit of his stomach, knowing those looks all too well now.

"She left crying," your best friend said, anger in her eyes. "What is wrong with you, Flash? You know how much Christmas means to her, especially since she's met you."

He slammed the trays down. "I screwed up, okay? Get off my back."

"You sure have been screwing up a lot lately," one of your other friends pointed out.

"I know," he snapped. "Get off my back, okay?"

"Flash," your best friend said, "you mean the absolute world to her. I know you have trust issues, but she is someone you can trust. She proves it to you day after day. Why do you always push her away?"

...

With those words echoing in his mind, he searched for you in a busy hallway. He saw the back of your head and called out your name, pushing his way between people he didn't care about.

You turned your head and smiled, but your eyes were red and your skin had lost a bit of your usual warm glow. You hugged a red wrapped gift to your chest.

"___, baby," he whispered, placing a hand on your arm. "I am so sorry."

You sniffed and nodded. "S'okay," you mumbled.

"No, it isn't," he said. His eyes were wet and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying. "I was such a jerk. I am so sorry, baby, and I'd be so happy to spend Christmas with you-"

"Flash, you don't have to pretend," you breathed. "You don't have to fake wanting to come just to make me feel better."

"No, I want to," he insisted. His other hand touched your arm. "Just- please? I-I haven't had a real Christmas in so long. I'm sorry. I'm scared of letting people in, you know that- but that isn't a good excuse. I should never be mean to you. You're... Y-you're my world, you know that? My world. And I am so sorry."

You stared at him for a second. "Dinner is at six. My mom's mom is going to be there, so dress nice."

He smiled.

...

Flash showed up twenty minutes early in one of his nicest outfits. When you opened the door, he took in a sharp intake of breath, the smell of ham and rolls filling his nose. You were so pretty with your hair down and perfect, your dress black and simple, your winter boots laced all the way up, and your lips perfectly colored with red gloss.

"Merry Christmas," you said.

"Merry Christmas," he responded. "My gosh, you're gorgeous."

You blushed and reached your hand out to slide your fingers between his. You brought him inside and pulled him into the dining room, where your family stood scattered around. Some scowled when they saw him, others smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Flash," your mother said.

"Hello," he said politely. "Merry Christmas."

Everyone was launched into their own conversations as the table was set and covered with platters of food. Deviled eggs, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, corn, macaroni and cheese, piles of rolls and slices of bread - and finally a ham, cut perfectly by your father.

You sat by Flash, not letting go of his hand, even when he was trying to scoop some potatoes out onto his plate. You giggled at his one-handed efforts and he smiled.

As your uncles talked about their new cars, you leaned in and whispered into Flash's ear, "Are you having a good time?"

"I am," he whispered back. "I always have a good time with you."

"Okay, good," you said. "Christmas dinner would literally suck without you here. I can't talk about cars."

He laughed. "I know, babe. But I can, so let me get in on this conversation and impress your family. Maybe by the time our wedding day comes around, they won't hate me so much."

Your eyes widened and he panicked inside, but his fears were silenced when you leaned in and kissed his cheek. He remembered what your best friend had said about you thinking the world of him.

"I can't express how thankful I am for you," you told him, tears in your eyes. "I am in love with you, Flash Thompson."

"I'm in love with you," he said. He had tears in his eyes, too. He didn't want to cry, so he kissed your cheek. "Thank you for giving me a Merry Christmas, baby."