𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

His Last Sanctuary

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Breakdown, Post-No Way Home, Grief, Mentions of Injuries, Nudity (Non-Explicit), Fluff, Established Relationship

Summary → After seeing Ned and MJ move on, Peter comes home shattered, where your quiet embrace reminds him he's still loved and never alone.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

The rain of New York City always had a way of drumming a rhythmic, melancholic beat against the grime-streaked window of Peter Parker's studio apartment. It was a tiny, cramped space near the Empire State University campus-just enough room for a sagging bed, a cluttered desk overflowing with circuit boards and textbooks, and a makeshift kitchen setup. But tonight, the ambient noise of the city and the soft hum of the old refrigerator were completely eclipsed by the quiet rhythm of your breathing.

You were completely asleep, buried beneath a tangle of dark, worn blankets. The radiator clicked and hissed in the corner, throwing just enough warmth into the drafty room that you had kicked the heavy comforter down, lying completely bare underneath the soft top sheet. Your skin caught the faint, amber glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds, casting soft shadows across your shoulders and the gentle curve of your back.

To anyone else, this room was a forgotten corner of a loud, uncaring city. To Peter, it was the only sanctuary he had left in the entire world.

He had met you at ESU, a casual collision of dropped notebooks and shared exhaustion in the library during midterms. What started as quiet studying evolved into coffee runs, which turned into late-night walks, which inevitably turned into something Peter hadn't thought he'd ever be allowed to have again: love.

You didn't like your loud, inconsiderate dormmate who blasted music at three in the morning, so you had gradually drifted into his space. Your toothbrush was in his cracked ceramic mug; your favorite oversized sweater hung over his single chair.

On your six-month anniversary, trembling and terrified that the truth would drive you away or put you in danger, he had sat you down on this very bed and told you everything. He told you about the bite, the responsibilities, the masks, and the ghosts of a past that a spell had erased from everyone else's minds but his own. You hadn't run. You had just held his face, kissed his eyelids, and told him you weren't going anywhere.

But tonight, the weight of those ghosts was crushing him.

Peter had slipped out for a late-night patrol after you fell asleep, leaving the warmth of your body for the biting chill of the midnight air. It had been a routine night-a few broken up carjackings, a mugging stopped in an alleyway-leaving him with nothing more than a bruised rib and a shallow cut along his cheekbone. Nothing big. Nothing he couldn't handle.

But it wasn't the physical toll that brought him to his knees. It was what he had seen on the roof of a coffee shop near the center of town.

He had been perched on a brick ledge, mask pulled up just past his nose to catch his breath, when he saw them. Ned and MJ. They were laughing under the awning of a late-night diner, vibrant and full of life, completely untouched by the darkness that constantly hovered over Peter's shoulders. They were happy. They were safe.

And there was someone else with them. Another guy, laughing at a joke Ned made, casually resting his hand on MJ's waist. MJ didn't pull away. She smiled up at him, a bright, easy smile that Peter used to know by heart. She had changed. Her hair was styled differently, her laugh carried a different cadence, and the space Peter once occupied in her life was seamlessly, completely filled. The universe had moved on without him, leaving him behind like a ghost haunting the periphery of a life he used to own.