tumblr anon: hello!! can you please do one with mcu peter parker where reader survived a bad mass sh00ting, and they're somewhere in the city, someone pops fireworks and reader gets scared cuz it kinda resembles gunshots and peter comforts her? thanks 🫶
summary: the pain of the past is a tricky thing, even more so when it's traumatic.
warnings: mass sh00ting, themes of vi0lence,mentions of bl00d, g#ns/g#nshots, panic attack, ptsd
pairing: comfort!peter parker x hurt!reader
word count: 2.3k+ words
the festival is big, it's bustling with life. happy couples, children, and families roam the area, food in hand, smiles on faces.
lights stream from booth-to-booth, which there are row and rows of. you're walking hand in hand with peter, giggling about something he said.
after a long couple weeks, this is exactly what the two of you need. alone time (well, not really alone). just something to bring spirits up.
you pass by another couple, where a girl is holding the cutest . it's a soft beige, with darker laced bow around it's neck. he sees you eyeing it, grin on his face.
peter is thinking exactly this; "i'm winning that for her."
he drop your hand, to which you complain, and strides up to the couple. "hey, man. what booth did you get that from?"
the man looks up at peter, smile on his face, "all the way in the back, it's red, last row, i think."
peter nods, thanking the guy. he walks back over to you, grabbing your hand again. by the look on your face, he can tell you didn't hear.
he kisses your cheek, then pecks your lips. "wanna come find out?"
you nod like it's obvious, but peter likes teasing.
he's always liked teasing you- no, loved. he fell in love with the way your cheeks turned pink when he did so, all that power in his hands. somewhere along the line, he fell in love with you too.
if someone were to ask him when, he wouldn't know. he's always had that feeling for you, since the day you met. it just got stronger as time went on.
peter pulls you to the back of the large park where the festival is set up, all the way to the back. "peter!" you laugh, "slow down!"
you bump into many people along the way, apologizing to each one. but after a while, you give up.
he takes you to where the guy said it would be, and sure enough, there's a red booth, a row of teddy-bears in the prize cabinet. "i," peter declared to you, "am winning you that."
you squeal; you've got no doubt he can. "really?"
"yep."
you're already thinking of where to put it. the nightstand by your bed would look nice, or maybe the bookshelf. finally, you decide you'll keep it in bed with you.
peter steps up to the booth, and it's one of those ping-pong-in-the-cup ones. his spidey senses won't even make him break a sweat. he pays and the lady gives him three small balls. he weighs them in his hand, calculating how much force he'll need to use.
you're clearing excited, making him equally giddy. "ready, baby?" he asks, stealing a kiss for good luck.
"yeah!" you exclaim, with a clap of your hands.
peter glances at the cups, then back at the balls. he squints, aims, and makes the shot.
that's one.
"go, peter!" you cheer.
aims, and then makes the shot. it's almost too easy.
that's two.
he makes the shot.
that's three.
it's over so quickly, that the lady is suprised. nevertheless, she takes the bear out of the cabinet and hands it to peter, who in turn, hands it to you.
"aww!" you gush, "it's so cute!" throwing your arms arounf him, "thanks, petey," you nuzzle your nose to his.
"anything for my angel."
you kiss him, and hold the bear close to you. there's a small group of patio chairs and tables, and for the most part, it's empty. "can we sit down for a bit?" you asked, and then smiling, "not everyone has spider-man stamina."
he laughs, and you're sure it's the prettiest noise you've ever heard. you and peter move over there, and he pulls of your chair. "god," you half-swoon, "may really did raise you right."
"didn't she? i'm so charming. and chivalrous. and-"
"good in bed," you say, it's off-handedly, he can't help but blush. met by his silence, you over at him from across the table. "oh, sorry. i though we were listing things. you can't forget the most important one, can you?"
peter rolls his eyes, still flustered, "so you wouldn't be with me if it weren't for that?"
"hmm," you joke, drawing this out. it's fun, it's a distraction; you love it, and you love him. "well, it's cool you know tony stark."
"then go date him," peter says, playing along.
"maybe i will," you pull the bear to your chest.
peter makes a face, kicking you gently from under the table. "he's, like, 50!"
"well, maybe i like that. he can be my sugar-"
"okay, yeah, we're done. no- we're done."
"you sound jealousss..."
"no, i'm throughly concerned. mr. starks' about 30 years older than you!"
you sigh, "what about captain america?"
"that's worse! wait, you know he's a hundred-something, right?"
"even better. and he doesn't even look it."
"y/n. no."
"fine, fine- oh, wait! have you seen bucky? god, i just want him to bend me-"
"i don't wanna hear the rest of that sentence."
"i suppose i'll settle for spider-man," you say. "too bad he's not super-old and rich."
he kicks you again, and you giggle, falling into silence. you're having something of a staring contest with him, but you lost ages ago. your eyes trace his facial feature, and he's so pretty. you open your mouth-
"you're so pretty," peter says, leaning against his hand.
"aw. you stole my compliment. i was gonna tell you that."
"well, y'know, you still can."
"okay. you're more prettier."
"seriously? 'more prettier?' aren't you literally majoring in creative writing?"
"it's my off-day. now take the compliment."
"thank you. but you're the prettiest."
"you're max pretty times infinity. so... take that."
"and that's why you aren't a math major."
"boo-hoo. i win."
he sighs, long and exaggerated, "i can't argue with the basic, ever-true fundamentals of math."
"no, you can't."
you bicker back and forth, before you know it, it's gotten dark. peter scoots his chair next to you, arm slung around you. "isn't it nice?"
"what?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.
"spending some nice time together."
"oh. yeah. it is. it's been some time since we've had this much fun."
"mm. after this, do you-"
and it's so quick and unprecedented, you don't even notice it. it's a short pop, and instantly you've broken into a cool sweat.
because, god, it sounds so much like-
there's screaming. so much of it. it's never-ending, buring into your ears. it's everywhere, coming from everyone, and now it just sounds like a one big siren-y noise.
it feels like you're back there in a blink, feet glued to one spot as people run away.
"pe-peter," you choke, "you said- you said there wouldn't be fireworks!"
he looked around, almost frantic. "no, hey, breathe. the website said there wouldn't, and i double checked with the staff. it might be some kids-" he thinks that was the only one, but just a second later, loud pops and crackles go off - a whole series of them.
peter figures that it's some stupid teenagers down by the dock, which isn't far from here, but that's not his main priority right now.
his main priority is you.
you tune it out, the rest of his sentence because suddenly, it's not fireworks anymore.
you can see the bodies from where you're standing, darky, inky, red liquid spilling. they aren't bodies, not really, but lumps of clothing, a corpse inside.
you think you might be sick, but you can't feel anything.
or maybe you're feeling everything, but it's too much, so it doesn't feel like anything.
peter's holding you tight, you're aware of that, but you can't breathe. it's like your stomach twists itself into knots, like a rubberband being stretched and pulled.
your hands are clammy, your heart rate is speeding up, and your breath is getting shallow. you feel like you're going to burst.
honestly, it's not a great sensation. it's sickening.
you want to focus on what peter's saying to you - something along the lines of breathe - but you can't. you're sucked up into the past. but it doesn't feel like the past. it feels like the present.
someone knocks into you, and you fall onto your shoulder. you're wearing a sleeveless shirt, and your shoulder is rubbed up against the hard granite of the ground. you can faintly feel the blood that's there. though, you can't get it out of your mind that it's nothing like the body just 50 feet away.
you should move, probably, get up.
you can't.
you're frozen, all but for you're trembling breath, just as you were then.
peter grabs your chin, making you look at him. "y/n - can -" it's choppy, not enough to ground you.
and just like that he's gone again.
you never looked at any news reports, but you're sure that there were hundreds killed.
why weren't you one of them? it wasn't that you wanted to die that day, but it didn't seem fair.
children, parents, significant others, grandparents, babies...
they told you that you were lucky.
you don't feel lucky.
he squeezes your shoulders, "hey, hey, can you tell me three things you hear?"
you knows he's trying to help, but you want him to shut up. he seems to know this, but presses on, "three things you hear, angel,"
you're hyperventilating, "music," you choke out, it's the cheesy tunes, "the- the-" you're trying to think, "laughing, there's laughing. i h-i hear you."
"brave darling," he says, "can you do another on for me? two things you smell?"
"um," is it working? you can't tell. "food- food?"
"that's right," peter coos. "one more."
"your cologne."
"last thing, last one, lovie. one thing you taste."
"blood." it's short, you bite it out.
wait- blood?
"blood?" peter asks. he's concerned.
you swipe your tongue over your teeth, there's that distinct metallic taste. you bit your tongue, and you didn't even realize how hard.
he gently grabs your jaw, "no- hey, don't do that, my love."
you press your tougue against the roof of your mouth, trying to will the blood away.
peter wipes away a hot tear you didn't even know was there, "my love, breathe. you're safe, you're okay."
you bury your face into his chest, clutching his shirt. your hands are sweaty, but your lungs are doing there job better.
your breathing slows, and you're left sobbing. he tells you that it's okay, he tells you that you're safe. you know that in spider-man's arms you are, but it doesn't slow the cries.
his heart aches, seeing you like this. you've been getting help, but the hurt doesn't go away all at once.
peter knows this better than most.
he also knows that sometimes there isn't anything anyone can do to help (even though this is all he wants to do).
all he can do is sit there and hold you, let you know you'll be okay.
your crying stops, leaving you with hiccups. you're beyond glad that there isn't really anyone here, expect for an eldery pair. out of the corner of your eye, you can see they're concerned.
you feel like you can sense the dried blood on your shoulder, and you want nothing more than to scratch it away. you feel so filthy.
on impluse, you pull away from peter slightly, brushing that shoulder off. you can see the scar that it left, making you want to throw up. there's a patch of warm saliva that coats your toungue, and you can feel the burn in your throat, but barfing in public is the last thing you want to do, so you swallow it, gagging.
your head hurts, and suddenly, the festival isn't fun.
"oh, pretty girl, i'm so sorry," your tucked back into the safety of his hold, silent. "'s some dumb kids. i promise you, i had-"
"i know," you sniff. you're tried, exhausted.
"do you wanna go home?"
he reads you well, you think.
in response, you nod meekly. "okay, honey, we can go home. do you want a second?"
you shake your head; you wanna get outta here.
he helps you up, arm wrapped around your waist.
his main priority is to get you home, where you'll be content tangled in sheets. it's a quiet ride home, his hand is on your thigh, you're holding on tight.
you're asleep by the time he gets home, so he gently scoops you up, making his way inside.
peter sets you on the bed, going to the bathroom to get makeup wipes. he's sure you don't want to sleep in that.
it's the cool wipe that wakes you up, your eyelids fluttering open.
"petey?"
"hm? you're okay. we're home. 'm taking off your makeup." he pulls one of his shirts out from his drawer, moving back over to you.
"help me take this off?" he askes, tugging on the hem of your shirt.
you comply, and he takes it off, replacing it with one of his. you shimmy out of your shorts, and he tosses them somewhere, along with his own shirt. he quickly changes into something comfier, sliding into bed with you.
"feeling better?"
"yeah. i'm sorry- i-"
"don't you dare apologize," peter lightly scolds you, there's a soft type of stern in his voice.
you let your mouth fall shit, you aren't winning this. instead, you tuck yourself into his side, shielded from all your pain. when your so close to peter, all you can focus on is his scent, his love, leaving no room for everything else.
you sigh into his touch, and he holds you softly. "do you feel better?"
you're quiet, you don't have to put up a wall with him, because it's easy around peter. "yeah," you reply after a moment. "i feel better. 'm just tired now."
"okay," peter kisses your forehead, "then we can go to sleep, pretty girl."
to you it's a simple thing to say, it's sensible. to him? no.
to peter, it's a promise.
it's a promise that he'll always be by your side, that he's gonna be here to work it out, to put a smile on your face.
yeah, it's a promise.