Clinging(Peter Parker/Spider-man x Male Reader)

Chapter II

So. . . Yeet. I hope my grammar and spelling aren't too bad in my story XD.
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Five hours later, I was done my homework. I stood from my desk and collapsed on my bed, which was right beside. My school ended at 4:00pm, so it was about 9:00pm. Shit. I probably missed dinner. Oh well, I wasn't hungry anyway.

Grabbing my laptop from my desk, I went on and instantly to Skype. Skyping Kyle was the best thing I could do at the moment. Clicking on his contact number, it beeped once and he responded.
"Yo, yo, yo! It's my dude," he said with a slight British accent. I rolled my eyes.

"Hey," I said and propped myself up on my elbows, "So, what are you doing?" That's when I felt a weird crawling sensation on my back. I ignored it.

"Just finished homework," he paused for dramatic effect, "You?" I shrugged in response.

"Same," I said, not wanting to talk, really. The good thing about Ky was that he could just ramble for hours and hours about shit that he found out on the internet.

That's when he did what I'd hoped, and started talking about some random new info about Ironman supposedly having some kind of 'arc reactor'.

Leaning my head forward on my bed, I slowly fell asleep to the sound of Kyle's voice.

A while later, mom came in and I vaguely remember her saying bye to Kyle and turning off my computer, putting it on my desk. She kissed my forehead and I passed out completely.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm. Nearly falling off my bed, I slammed my hand onto it. Sitting up, I realized it was 10:10am.

"Shit!" I yelled, "I'm gonna be late for football practice!" I shot up, running over to mu closet. Throwing open the doors, I grabbed my uniform and threw it on hurriedly. On Saturdays I had football from 10:30 am to 12:00.

"Mom," I said, rushing down the stairs, "Mom!" She poked her head around the kitchen door frame, smiling at me.

"Yes—"

"Breakfast!" I said, cutting her off. She sighed, and I sprinted into the kitchen. There, was a beautiful few pancakes.

"Thanks," I said, stuffing my face full of them.

Once I finished stuffing my face, I ran, grabbed my bag and keys, and ran out of the door. The next thing I knew, I was on the road to football.

A few hours later, I was back in my truck. The sky-grey Toyota Tundra was fairing well for me. It was only three years old, as my dad (who works for Toyota) had had it for two years, and then given it to me.

"Mother fuck—" I yelled before slamming on the breaks. I nearly hit another car as they went across the street. On a red light.

One more thing, let me summarize my road rage for you.
  
Terrible. I legit would yell at anything. That, I got from my mom. She was as stubborn and short-tempered as I was. My dad, on the other hand, was patient and kind.
  
Finally, I got home. I waved to my mom as I walked in, and went straight to the shower. Feeling the warm water on my back was comforting. Weirdly, my thought stream went to Parker. My imagination created a scene in my head where he pushed me up against a wall and kissed me. . .
 
My eyes snapped opened, and I was so startled by myself, I went to step forwards, but slipped sideways.
  
"Fuck. . ." I muttered, looking at my bruising shoulder, after sitting up. Thank god I played football, or it would probably have had a worse injury. My cheeks were reddening. "What the hell brain?"
  
"Are you okay, {Y/N}?" Mom's muffled voice came. I didn't hear the knock.
  
"Yeah," I said, and heard her sigh, "Mom. Seriously."
  
"Alright, alright." She said before I heard her leave.
  
I shuffled myself out of the shower (I turned it off, through.) I stood and looked at my {H/C} hair, {E/C} eyes, and everything that made me, me, appearance wise, in the mirror.

"Fuck you Parker!" I said, and slammed my fist on the sink. "I'm not gay, especially for you!"

I snatched a towel off of a hook, and waltzed out of the washroom. My bedroom door managed not to slam when I closed it, and I threw on some comfy clothes.
  
The rest of the day and Sunday was very passive, me spending most of my time in my room, reading, or FaceTiming/Skyping with Kyle.