Imagines/Smuts

Tom Holland/Peter Parker

Creds to: peterbparkerr on Tumblr :-)

The first time you painted your fingernails, you were three. You remembered seeing the highlighter yellow in the nail salon along the walls, sitting crisply on the top shelf, untouched by dust. It was a new, unopened bottle, and with the childhood mindset, you begged to hold it. The clean glass sat weighted between your toddler hands, and with a hard grasp, you twirled the cap off. Next thing you knew, yellow dripped down your hands and arms, staining your skin and cuticles for nearly a month.

From three to thirteen, painting your nails became a weekly routine. Your mom would take you to the nearest convenience store, walk the isles and find the prettiest (and cheapest) varnish for your nails. Green, brown, purple, glittery rainbow puke, it was all on your fingers. It was beautiful in your eyes.

One day, at the same convenience store, you and your mom were staring at the nail polish collection. You picked at the red on your nails, ripping off the crumbles hanging by a thread. In the other isle, a conversation caught your ear.

"From the day you were born, you immediately synced with your soulmate. Everything they do happens to you. Feel pain, take a breathe, dream, it's all linked. It's why your fingernails turn shades of blue or pink, and your arms were stained years ago. Your soulmate and you are one, connected by skin."

From that day on, it became your mission to test the Soulmate theory. When you turned fifteen, your grandfather bought you colored contacts. No idea why, because he adored your (Y/E/C) eyes, but he felt you should try red. When you slipped them on, you felt the connection. A shift in personal ties, ones that supposedly connected to your soulmate. Whoever they were now had red eyes, like you. Pulling them off, you smirked in the mirror, ready to plot your newest alteration.

"Peter, c'mon! You have to help me tonight!"

You dragged your best friend, Peter, though the tightly packed hallway of Midtown High. For your sixteenth birthday, you had the bright idea to grab some hair bleach, in attempts to find your soulmate. It might be easier to just shave your head, but you weren't that desperate.

"Why? Can't we just invite Ned or MJ over to watch Star Wars?"

Stopping at your locker, you looked at Peter over your shoulder.

"It would just be Ned, MJ and I because you would leave for a Stark Emergency. If it's just us, then you'll be too guilty to go, especially on my birthday."

Peter groaned, leaning against your locker.

"Please, Peter. I really want you to be with me tonight."

You whispered, begging Peter with your eyes. Your hand slipped back into Peter's, squeezing his fingers.

"Mr. Stark can be fine for one night, Pete."

Peter knew when you called him Pete, you weren't bluffing.

"One night can't hurt, I guess."

You sighed heavily.

"Oh, thank the stars! I finally get to see my best friend outside of school. See you tonight, Peter."

Pushing him gently, you closed your locker and walked towards the school door.

"We have another period, (Y/N)! You can't just leave now!"

It was 10:25 when you gave up on waiting for Peter Parker. You sighed, tears falling into your cold pizza. The bleach was all washed out of your hair, and it looked great for a store brand, single-handed job. You stood up and began cleaning up, the Star Wars movie trailing behind you as you walked to the kitchen. Throwing away the plates and cups, the door knocked rapidly.

Sighing and wiping away any lost dignity, you walked to the door, and quickly turned the handle.

"Listen, (Y/N), I am so sorry, there was a Stark-"

"Peter!"

You fell back from the doorframe. Suddenly, breathing became impossible. This was never the possible outcome, and it never creeped into your mind. Clutching your mouth, you slowly sat on the arm of the couch.

"Wait, what? What's wrong? Is there something on me?"

Looking up, you saw the panic pure on Peter's face.

"Y-Your..."

Peter ran past you and into the bathroom, turning on the lights.

"My hair!"

Sprinting back to you, Peter ran his fingers through his pure blond hair. The bleach looked sloppy, as bits of brown peaked at the back of his neck and the crown of his head. His curls flopped against his brows, and it flowed as he puffed heavily.

"You."

"Me?"

Peter sighed as he sat down on the other side of the couch, avoiding eye contact.

"I bet you're disappointed."

You scoffed, pushing yourself onto the cushion next to him.

"What do you mean?"

Peter fiddled with his fingers, breathing deeply.

"If anything, I'm glad. Overjoyed. Blessed. Relieved!"

He looked up confused, half smiling.

"Why? I'm just Pen-"

You pulled Peter off the couch by his hands, taking his face into yours. The dim TV still playing Star Wars illuminated your faces while the soundtrack still drifted through the room.

"Pete. You're my best friend. And soulmate... How are you not happy? It's you. I get to spend my life with you! Peter Parker, boy genius, crazy dorky and kind. A hero. A son, a friend, a soulmate..."

Peter softly laughed.

"Do you really mean you aren't disappointed by me?"

Your thumbs ran softly on his cheekbones while you stared into his eyes. Softly, you pulled Peter to your lips, connecting right when the music cut. His hands fell to the dip of your waist, holding you as if you were glass. Slowly parting, you leaned on his forehead.

"Does that answer your question?"

Peter smiled brighter, and pulled you into another kiss as the intro played once again.