#tasm!peter parker x hothead!reader

[moonstruckme]

Hello again!! (How are u!!)

I saw this thing going around of characters being written with the prompt “who did this to you?” And I think that could be especially delicious with Peter (TASM ofc) 😋 could work as reader being the hurt one or even .. vice versa!! Mayhaps Peter got hurt and the reader is the one to bust someone up, and shows up to class with a broken nose lmao whatever interests you more

- Lots o love 🍁

Thanks for requesting ml!

cw: bloody noses

tasm!Peter Parker x hothead!reader ♡ 878 words

“Just give me a name, Peter!” You’re storming after him, no help at all as your boyfriend pinches his nose closed between his thumb and forefinger, looking around the kitchen for something to stop the bleeding. “Why won’t you tell me?” 

“Because—” Peter finds the paper towels, wadding one up and stuffing it under his nose. “—because I don’t need you running around Brooklyn with a baseball bat over my bruised nose.” 

“It could be broken!”

“I would know,” he says, oddly confident. Peter leans back against the counter, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Your heart aches to see him in pain, but the blood it’s pumping feels like fire, and you prefer to focus on that. “I appreciate that you want to avenge me, sweetheart, but I can handle myself.” 

You give him a deadpan look even though his eyes aren’t open to see it. “Pete, you know I love you just as you are, but you’re not exactly built like a fighter.” 

“I’m stronger than you think.” 

“Be that as it may,” you go on, rolling your eyes at his macho (and in your opinion, completely delusional) self-assessment, “I want to help.” You move closer to him, placing a hand under his head to support the awkward angle of his neck. Peter opens his eyes to give you a grateful look, and you take the paper towel from him, checking to make sure his nose is still bleeding before putting it gently back in place. “I just want to know who did this to you,” you say softly. “Please, honey?”

Peter eyes you, but you see the endearment taking effect, the slight softening in his features and the twitch his hand gives on the counter, instinctively reaching for you.

“It’s not a satisfying answer,” he says after a minute.

“That’s alright,” you encourage him. “I’ll take anything.” 

Peter sighs. “Alright, I didn’t want to tell you because it’s embarrassing.” You feel your eyebrows pinch, but stay quiet. “I saw some guy stealing a lady’s bike in Bushwick, and when I tried to grab it from him, I nailed myself in the face with the handlebars.”  

You feel your eyes go wide, and Peter’s mouth curves on one side in a sheepish half-smile.

“That’s not embarrassing,” you say. “You were trying to help. Anyway, it sounds to me like it was the bike thief’s fault.” 

Peter actually laughs, then grimaces, hand flinching toward his nose. “Yeah, I thought you might say something like that. Can’t give you a name there, baby. I was distracted, so all I saw was the back of his red beanie while he was running off.” 

You pout at him, stroking at the skin beside his nose tenderly. “Well what were you gonna do, chase him down? Then you might’ve really gotten beat up.” 

Peter’s cheeks color faintly pink. “Yeah, maybe. Anyway,” he moves on quickly, taking on a satisfied tone, “there’s no one to get revenge on. I did it to myself.” 

You hum noncommittally. “Well, I’m sorry you got hurt.” 

Peter grins, and when he removes the paper towel this time, the bleeding has stopped. “Thanks, pretty girl,” he says in a familiar tone, hands finding your hips and angling them against his. “If you wanna make me feel better, I’ve got some ideas.” 

You do make him feel better. And the next day, you come into class feeling a lot better too. 

“Shit,” Peter hisses when you sit down beside him, reaching over to turn your face towards the light so he can better make out the bruises around your nose and the dried blood still crusted around your nostrils. “What the hell happened to you?” 

You shrug, enjoying the feel of his hands on your face. “You should see the other guy,” you joke (though really, you wish you had thought to take a picture). “Anyway, now we’re matching.” 

“When I said it’d be fun to match at school someday, this is not what I meant,” Peter insists, thick eyebrows knit together worriedly. “And who’s the other guy? Did you find a bike to beat you up too?” 

“Better.” You smirk. “A bike thief.” 

It’s possible you get too much enjoyment out of watching Peter’s face as it slackens, eyebrows moving gradually upward as his eyes widen in realization. “Wha—but, sweetheart, there’s no way you found the same guy. Did you just pick a fight with some random bike thief?” 

“No, I think it was him.” You quirk an eyebrow. “Tall, red beanie, giant tattoo on his neck?”

Peter’s lips part in wonderment, and you have your confirmation.

“I figured those guys usually work in the same area every time. So when I saw a dude with a red beanie stealing a bike in Bushwick, I was pretty sure I had the right guy.” 

“So, what?” Peter scrubs a hand through his hair. “You went and riled him up until he punched you in the face? Baby, what were you thinking?” 

You roll your eyes. “I got even,” you clarify, leaning back in your seat as the bell rings. “Anyway, your nose might just be bruised, but his is definitely broken. Like I told you, you should see the other guy.”