spiderling ; reader imagines

Slip from my hands || P.P.

Pairing: roommate!peter parker x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, nightmare

~

Foot steps. Loud, heavy, and fast. They're quick and frantic, and as your foot hits another twig, another pile of leaves, another muddy puddle, your speed increases. With a spinning head and watery eyes, you shout out again, vocal cords frayed from overuse. Your once soothing voice is hoarse as another tear falls. You don't know where you are and why, but you're alone. You're alone and you hate it, because you didn't come alone, but now you're afraid you're going to leave alone. It's the worst feeling in the world, and you want it to stop.

You want it to stop right fucking now. But no matter how hard you try, it never leaves. It's nagging, like a fly or a nat, and you want to rip your hair out in frustration. Your back hits a massive tree, head turning in different directions while you look for that comforting mop of brown curls. They're nowhere in sight though, so you keep moving forward.

There's blood on your shirt and hands, dirt covering your face and your once clean converse. Inhaling, your lungs are relieved with fresh oxygen, and your blood is pumping quickly, heart pounding against your ribcage consistently. It's ringing in your eyes, constantly reminding you that you're alone in this life. It only moves you forward, motivates you to find him.

You've been here before. You can feel it, in your gut and in your bones, that you've been in this predicament before and you know how this ends.

The way this ends though, is not how you want it to end. You want things to be your way for once — you want control over this. It's ridiculous really, because nothing is ever truly in your control, but you want it anyways.

You're in the familiar forest of some random part of New York. It's a faint memory brought to life — this has already happened in your lifetime, except not with these people and these clothes and this knowledge. You're cursed with this knowledge.

Emerging from the woods, you're met with the front of a once comforting cabin. It's dark and run down, but your dad's car is parked in the driveway and you grip your chest with a sob. Spinning around, you find every clavicle and cranny, every groove and gap, searching for at least one person.

You near another path and your feet pick up, shoes hitting the dirt at an alarmingly fast rate. Just up ahead, in the moonlight, is the lake. Moonlight shines the night, reflecting the beauty of the moon. Just before the clearing of the lake is a fallen tree, laying in melancholy of old age and murder. You come to a slow, almost a stop, hesitant to see what lays beside the tree.

You mutter a "fuck" under your breath, body antsy with sweat and anxiety. Your palms are clammy, clenched at your sides, and the strings of your hoodie hit your chest at the last bouncy step. Damp with sweat, you take another step, a scream lodging in your throat, and suddenly you jolt awake, body upright in the dark room of your apartment. The curtains aren't completely drawn, moonlight seeping through the cracks and lighting up parts of your heavy blanket at the hardwood floor.

You wipe at your forehead, sweat dampening your hand while another tear falls from your soft face. You glance around your bedroom before removing the covers hastily, feet hitting the cold floor with a wince, and suddenly, you're weakly making your way out of the bedroom and towards the exit. You're subconsciously navigating towards your roommate's room, the door shut in peace. You can hear nothing but the calming in's and out's of his breaths, and you stop and clutch your chest in a heaving breath, eyes flooded in salty tears.

Your hand grips the door handle and the wooden gate gives way, swinging open and nearly banging the wall behind it. Another step forward, you realize you're shaking, and as the sweet boy in bed comes into your view, you exhale in relief.