#moralesanhour
Text
pretty
hobie x reader
summary: you wake up with a nasty hangover. you know the rest.
wc: ~500
A/N: if I'm using UK slang wrong pls beat my ass about it I tried 💀
Edit: made minor edits bc I did, in fact, use UK slang wrong 👍🏾
The light from the morning sun bounces off of the peeling white paint on the surrounding walls of the tiny apartment, forcing you to open your eyes. You squint as they adjust; It feels like someone is currently inside your head and repeatedly taking a sledgehammer to your skull.
The familiar cracked corners of the ceiling tell you that you're at Hobie's place. You grunt as you lift yourself into a sitting position, which doesn't help the headache.
What does, though, is the smell of cinnamon and cornmeal wafting beneath your nose from the kitchen. The sudden rumbling in your stomach makes you curious enough to swing your legs off of the couch and rise to your feet.
Bad idea.
Hobie enters the room just as you stumble backwards onto the couch, and barely holds back a loud cackle so that he doesn't drop the two bowls of porridge he'd just made.
You don't see it, of course, because the ceiling is currently spinning.
"Not so fun dealing with those fourteen shots the morning after, eh?"
Hobie's diamond-shaped face came into view, his wicks sticking out from every direction like the halos in those medieval paintings he liked to make fun of. He'd replaced his vest and usual get-up with a white tank top.
You groan, "How long was I out?"
" 'Bout twelve hours,"
Hobie set the two bowls down on the coffee table in front of you. "Had to call a cab just to get you here all in one piece."
You finally look down once you feel the couch sink next to you. He smells of hard soap and nutmeg.
"You cook?"
He shrugs, picking up his bowl and shoveling the contents into his mouth. He nods, deeming his work satisfactory.
"From time to time," he glances at you from the corner of his eye. "You don't get over a hangover on an empty stomach, yeah?"
He chuckles when you immediately grab your bowl without a word, and soon begin to absolutely destroy it.
Just as Hobie said, the hammering has begun to subside by the time you scrape the last bit of golden liquid from the bowl. He still has yet to finish his own meal, so you watch him.
You silently admire the way his lashes almost brush his cheek when his eyes are downcast. The sunrise reflected off of mahogany-smooth skin, and you envy how he did almost nothing to it to get it that way.
"You're pretty," you think out loud, and Hobie nearly chokes on his porridge before his head snaps to face you.
"S-sorry, who?"
Your brows shoot up on surprise momentarily, unaware that he'd actually heard you. There was no one else you could have possibly been referring to, giving you no choice but to double down.
You laugh nervously, “Well, you are.”
His full lips quirked up at the corners, as if he was trying to figure out if this was a bit or not. But you kept staring at him, no joke in your expression.
“Yeah, I think you’re still hammered, man.”
#hobie brown x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse#atsv hobie#moralesanhour#first hobie fic woohoo
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Could you maybe write something with Miles G. where the reader is kind of shy? Like they go to her house and room for the first time and the reader is nervous about it?
Your house was across the street from the basketball court where Miles first saw you.
When the court was empty, you liked to sit on a bench and doodle in an old composition notebook. No one could look over your shoulder here.
Miles had had a game coming up and felt that his shooting accuracy had been off lately, so he stopped here after school to get in some extra practice. You tensed when you heard his sneakers approaching the entrance, keeping your eyes down and praying that he wouldn't make you leave.
He walked right past you and said nothing.
Only the sound of his footsteps and the basketball he was carrying bouncing across the asphalt could be heard for the entire time he was there until he left.
At some point, Miles came to the same conclusion you did previously and started practicing around the same time every day. You drew, he hooped, the two of you left without a word. A careful routine.
Occasionally, you held your breath and dared to look up to watch him play. Miles' long cornrows brushed his shoulders and flew behind him with every shot, you noticed with amusement. It wasn't long before he made a few appearances in your notebook.
You looked up from your doodling one day and noticed him glancing in your direction. He made another shot, then did it again. And again. After a particularly smooth lay-up, Miles looked back with a grin playing on his face. Once it dawned on you that he was making direct eye-contact, you didn't know what else to do other than smile back.
"You don't talk much, do you?" He would ask you while leaving the court together just before curfew.
"I guess not," you responded in a near whisper.
Miles looked up in thought, then nodded.
"That's alright. Means you think a lot."
Smiles soon turned into winks which turned into short conversations and banter, and now you were both standing in front of the door to your room.
"You gonna go inside?" Miles asked when you hesitantly placed a hand on the doorknob.
"Y-yeah, we could go in."
"I think you need to open the door for that."
"...Right."
With a deep breath, you turned the knob.
The door opened up to a small bedroom with lopsided blinds only up halfway. You winced at the small pile of clothes you had left sitting on a swivel chair as you passed it. What a relief that you hadn't forgotten to make your bed this morning like you usually do.
Miles kicked his sneakers off at the entrance before following behind you. The way he scanned the room made you shift uncomfortably. Suddenly you noticed all of the tiny cracks in the ceiling and blemishes on the walls.
"Cool lights," he remarked, referring to the repurposed Christmas lights strung across your walls.
You relaxed a bit, and grabbed a tiny remote that had been sitting on your desk with an awkward smile. "I can turn them on if you want. They've got a buncha different patterns."
"Knock yourself out. Can I sit?"
"Sure."
You joined him on your bed as you pressed a button on the remote that caused the string lights to twinkle softly. They added a cozy contrast to the harsh neon lights from the towering skyscrapers outside that were visible from your window. It almost felt like a separate world.
The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, entranced by the different patterns blinking above you. It might've been the closest you would ever get to seeing fireworks up close.
"Sorry I don't have any games or anything," you spoke up suddenly. "You must be bored."
Miles turned to face you, closer than he had ever been before today. Close enough for you to realize that his right eye wasn't the same hazel brown as the left, but rather a warm green. He tilted his head quizzically.
"If I was bored, I'd be at home right now."
"But we haven't said anything in like, twenty minutes," you started to laugh.
"You think I like you for bein' a chatterbox?" he parried back.
You shrugged, then leaned your head on his shoulder. "Fair enough."
#earth 42 miles morales#earth 42 miles morales x reader#miles morales x reader#miles morales x black!reader#earth 42 miles morales x black!reader#requests#moralesanhour#miles morales x gn reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
teamwork (makes the dream work...?) epilogue
summary: they ass is NOT doing homework 🤣
wc: 1k+
A/N: That's a wrap, guys! tysm for reading and enjoying!
prev 'if you believe in me'
“Miles, what is this emo shit you got me listening to?” you laughed.
Miles was currently in the middle of an imaginary drumming solo next to you, with two mechanical pencils as drumsticks. Once the final cymbal crashed, he turned to you to respond.
“I don’t give a fuck if it’s emo, that beat goes crazy. You done with your conclusion yet?”
You rolled your eyes.
“No, but I’ve got all my body paragraphs together.”
“That shit is due Monday,” the boy adjusted his glasses, “Mr. Padilla don’t do extensions.”
Shutting your laptop in protest, you got up and stretched your arms. “Can we take, like, a ten-minute break?”
Miles smirked. “The last half hour felt like a ‘break’, but sure.”
The smirk fell from his face when he noticed you staring at something on his desk.
“Aye, don’t touch nothing–”
“Is this me?”
Too late.
Miles’ notebook was already in your hands, flipped to a page full of sketches of your face. There were little lines scratched out next to each sketch, as if he were measuring the proportions of your eyes, nose, ears...
His lines were sharp and geometrical, as always, but they softened at your hair and lips. Speaking of lips, there was an oddly-detailed sketch of them off to the side. He’d even managed to include the suggestion of gloss.
You looked up to see Miles standing in front of you with his arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“You done invading my privacy yet?”
“Nope,” you placed a finger on the page. “How long did you need to stare at my face for this?”
You held back a laugh when he tensed visibly.
“Not long enough for it to matter,” he deadpanned, finally snatching the notebook out of your hand. “It was just a study.”
“Oh, so you’ve been ‘studying’ my lips? Got it.”
Miles’ eyes flickered down at them as you spoke before he returned to his spot on the bed. “Whatever. Break’s over.”
“Aw, don’t be like that,” you teased as you followed him, “the drawings are nice! You made me look prettier.”
The boy looked at you like he wanted to say something - to argue - but he remained silent. You elbowed him playfully in the side.
“What, you think I’m ugly, then? I’m telling you, Morales, one day we gon’ fight–”
“No,” he interrupted.
“Complete sentences, please,” you mimicked, laughing when the boy sucked his teeth in response.
“Fine. No, you’re not ugly, and I like drawing you. Can we move on?”
With a triumphant smile, you finally cracked open your laptop again. “Yes, yes we can. I need your genius powers to proofread this for me.”
Miles leaned in to get a good look at your screen, hitting you with the crisp scent of sports deodorant and some generic brand of lotion. You watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read your work out loud to himself in a low mutter. While he read, your gaze drifted away from the screen and landed on his side profile. His ears were now delightfully occupied by tiny gold studs that you would’ve missed at a farther distance. Past his jawline at the nape of his neck, a thin gold chain peeked out at you from beneath his black graphic tee.
Your eyes met Miles’ the moment you brought them back up to his face, amusement playing on his features.
“Yo, are you good? There something on my shirt?”
“Nope,” you shook your head. “Go back to reading.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m done. I just said you need to switch these two body paragraphs so they flow better.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’,” he laughed, dimples on display. “I’m scared I’mma get my face stolen one day. Do you stare at everybody like that?”
A beat of silence passed as you considered whether to say something bold a second time, if not just for a reaction.
“...Nah, it’s just you.”
Miles blinked, the smile dropping from his face. “Huh?”
“You’re nice to look at, and I can’t draw you in my notebook to make it last longer,” you tilted your head comically. “Staring will have to do.”
Like clockwork, the boy’s hand shot up to his ear to toy with his piercing. He glanced out of the window.
“The sun’s setting, you should really get that essay done,” he blurted out before narrowing his eyes at you. “What’s so funny?”
You had a hand over your mouth to stifle the laughter. “I’m sorry,” you giggled, “it’s funny when you’re nervous.”
Miles scoffed.
“I’m not nervous.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you sang, beginning to type your conclusion paragraph.
There was no response.
Your typing slowed as the silence grew long, feeling Miles’ eyes on you until you finally stopped to look at him quizzically.
“Yes?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
He leaned in closer until your noses were in danger of brushing each other, looking determined despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest. You met his gaze with a challenge.
“Well? You just gon’ sit there?”
Miles couldn’t hear anything above the heartbeat pounding in his ears, his eyes squeezed shut as he closed the distance between you.
No one told him that kissing would feel this weird.
For one, your lip gloss wasn’t half as sticky as he’d anticipated it to be, tasting like artificial fruit flavoring. Your sweaty palm came up to rest on the side of his face and kept him anchored as his breath stuttered. Having no idea where he would put his hands (another thing no one had explained to him), he kept them flat on the mattress for support as you deepened the kiss and he leaned back.
Your hand was gripping his chin now to guide his face. Having kissed at least two other boys before, you had a vague idea of where it was supposed to go. Unlike the other two, Miles was tense, almost unmoving, despite being the initiator.
Miles’ head buzzed when you pulled away, chuckling softly.
What the hell was so funny? The boy felt white hot blood rapidly coursing through all of the veins in his body at once. He thought he might start floating, like a hot air balloon. Or explode. Or vomit. Preferably the first one.
“Are you okay?” you asked, dropping your hand. “You look like you’re about to faint.”
He blinked slowly, three times. “Yeah, I’m…fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. That was, um…”
Hand on the neck. “Interesting.”
“A good interesting, I hope,” you laughed.
Miles tilted his head, a small grin spreading across his lips.
“I don’t think I’d mind doing that again.”
Handing the boy your phone, you said, “I think you’d need my number for that.”
-
#miles morales#spiderman across the spiderverse#earth 42 miles morales#miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales x black!reader#miles morales x black!reader#moralesanhour
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
teamwork (makes the dream work...?)
genre: enemies to lovers I guess? I'm bad at these 😭
summary: one week, your usual work partner is absent, so instead you are seated next to a genius with attitude problems. it happens.
wc: ~500
A/N: if i can manage to be consistent for once, this will probably be a series because I haven't done one in a while. pls feel free to leave your reactions in the tags or comments! happy reading 🫶🏾
next see all parts in my masterlist!
Sunlight filtered through the large classroom window. Usually, you'd be seated right by it, letting the rays warm your face in the air-conditioned room.
Not today. Your usual partner was out sick, so you were moved to the back of the classroom. Blocking out the sunshine was the silhouette of a boy you had only seen in the hallways once or twice.
He had deep brown skin, with two neat cornrows cascading down either side of his neck and brushing his shoulders. You also made out an undercut, faded cleanly beneath the braids. There was a case meant for holding glasses sitting at the front of his desk, but no spectacles sitting on his prominent nose.
The boy was bent over his worksheet already, arm covering the page.
"Hey," you said with a pleasant upturn in your voice. A full thirty seconds passed. He didn't answer, so you try again.
"Um, excuse me-"
"I heard you."
The boy kept his eyes on his desk, brows knitted together with focus. He was making broad, sharp strokes with his pencil. His elbow moved for a moment, revealing not a sheet of math problems, but a piece of printer paper filled with intricate geometric designs. Precise lines come together to create the form of a caped figure. It has large, mechanical claws and a mask with sharp, wide eyes.
"That's a cool drawing," you commented. The boy's shoulders jumped to his ears as if he'd been caught before dropping back down. He finally looked up from the page and paused. Wide, brown eyes flickered across your face, trying to determine what to make of you.
"Thanks," was all that the boy said before returning to his sketching. It wasn't long before you interrupted him again.
"You not gonna finish your work?"
"I'm already done, that's why Ms. Jones put me back here and let me rock."
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Well, excuse the fuck outta me," you muttered to yourself.
You messed with the sleeve of your royal blue uniform blazer in silence, weighing your options. Ms. Jones wasn't going to let you turn in another incomplete assignment, and this kid couldn't even be assed to say 'hello'. A deep sigh escapes your lips.
"Can I get your name, at least?"
The boy set his pen down with a slam, and looked up at you as if he'd just been asked what color the sky was.
"Morales," he deadpanned, with a slight roll on the 'r'.
"Which Morales?"
"Miles."
You hummed in slight recognition, having heard the name somewhere before, murmured next to you in passing.
"You Dominican?"
"Puerto Rican."
"Oh, cool."
"M-hm."
He picked up his pen again and began to twirl it between his pointer and middle finger, but held your gaze. You looked like you were finally about to get to the actual question.
"Well, Morales," you began with a smile.
Here it comes.
"Since you're done, can you help me with-"
"No."
You scoffed, "What's the point of being partners, then?"
Miles had already returned to his original position, scribbling away. He didn't look at you, this time.
"We not partners, ma."
...And so began the longest school week of your life.
#miles morales#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spider verse spoilers#earth 42 miles morales#earth 42 miles morales x reader#moralesanhour
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello!!! How are you? I’ve been a follower for the past few days and was wondering if I could request something.
I was hoping to request a fic or like give you a prompt for something for miles42 × femreader
So it goes like this- yk those super corny reads that are like the reader's pinning for miles and like sometimes miles finds them annoying but in a cute way but he don't know that her yk? So he's talking to his homeboys about her, talm about some how she's so "annoying, a nuisance" and guess who's behind the wall listening? The reader herself.
So this goes one of two ways- she either matches up there, confronts him. And she's like "flipping fine, if that's how you feel then lemme get out of ur way- you won't hear a peep from me" and she like just ignores him and he learns how he feels about her, sees how his life is so boring without her and all that- goes to apologize happy ending..
Option number 2: silent treatment. Like just slowly drifting away until he once again comes to the realization that he needs her and all that happy ending yay!
Feel free to do whatever you want with this but I'm thinking of sending the same request to other authors to see what they come up with cause everyone has a style k? And i just love studying them and reading them cause evervtime- no matter how similar the prompt is- they always manage to invoke different feelings with in me.
Anyway- have fun doing this- but remember you don't have to cause this is kinda too much and I'm sorry😓
"I want my pen back."
wc: >1,200
A/N: okay so i got a bit carried away...this is a long one. (yes I am using this as an excuse to try out the gradient thing) thank you anon for this fun request! i also rlly like ur reasoning behind it and i hope i was able to do this prompt some type of justice lol
The gel pen clattered to the ground.
“I got it,” you said, grinning at Miles. You squat to grab it before the boy can act to get it himself, and he sighs as you hand it to him.
“Thanks.”
Miles turned the pen every which way between his fingers.
You had gifted it to him on the first day of school, with that same expectant grin. The little cartoon dogs that surrounded the perimeter had begun to fade with use because – admittedly – it had actually turned out to be a good ass pen.
He’d thought initially that you were just being nice; maybe you were handing shit out to everyone because it was the first day, understandable.
But then, it was highlighters (the erasable ones).
Pink sticky-notes on his locker, telling him to have a nice day with the ‘i’s dotted with hearts.
A new sketchbook for Secret Santa.
Miles’ pencil case had rapidly gotten bulkier, and when you rushed to grab a seat next to him during the one class without assigned seats, it finally clicked.
You were trying to get his attention. And he wasn’t sure what would happen if you got it.
“I like the new braids.”
He was snapped out of his thoughts, and turned to you.
“Huh?”
“The braids,” you laughed. “I like the pattern. Who did ‘em for you?”
A tiny smirk ghosted the boy’s lips.
“My mom. Just like the last time you asked me.”
He ran a hand instinctively over the meandering zig-zag pattern that his cornrows had been sectioned into. Miles looked at you from his periphery; you were still staring.
“Bitch, just ask him out already!”
Your friend smacked the back of your shoulder as the two of you took your sweet time getting back to your lockers.
“Alright, today, I swear,” you said, hand over your heart for emphasis.
A beat of silence passes. “But what if he says no?”
She groaned.
“Then he says no, and you can save your money. But say something, it’s getting embarrassing.”
Your friends’ encouragement landed you here, around the corner of a building where Miles and a gaggle of other boys from your homeroom were bursting into raucous laughter.
“Yo, why you ain’t bag her yet? She wants you bad,” one boy said.
Unsure if the ‘she’ in question was you, you stay where you are and keep listening.
“I dunno, she kinda annoying,”
Miles’ low voice makes your ears perk up.
“One day she gon’ run outta things to say about my hair, she has to!”
…Oh.
The buoyant feeling in your chest sinks as the group erupts into another laughing fit. If you asked him out now, you’d hear about it for the rest of the year.
Shoving your phone into your pocket, you turn back the way you came.
Miles knew something was off when you sat down the next morning without a word.
“You good?” he asked.
You glanced at him, then nodded before going back to playing with the beads in your hair. The excruciating silence stretched on for almost the entirety of class before it was broken again.
“Do you…wanna help me with my homework? I’ll really let you, this time.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Morales, you got an ‘A’ in every class.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Your name’s on every bulletin board.”
“Damn,” the boy muttered to himself as his leg bounced under the desk.
Your beads clattered against your back as you rose from your seat. The bell had rung, finally. You didn’t even say ‘bye’.
Miles cracked open his locker. One of your sticky notes from last week had begun to un-stick and fluttered to the ground. There were no new ones. He bent to pick it up, noticing how neat and round your handwriting was on these compared to the way you wrote in class. The letters didn’t run together, like you were in a rush.
Neatly folding the note and sticking it in his pocket, Miles shut his locker to reveal your face. The boy nearly yelped in surprise.
“Where the hell did you come from? Scared the shit outta me,” he said with a grin.
“I want my pen back.”
Miles froze.
“Which pen?”
You tilted your chin up towards the one he was currently gripping in his left hand. He looked down at it like a wad of cash.
“Oh.”
He couldn’t just not give the pen back to you…
…but he didn’t want to give it to you, either.
“What you need it for? Don’t you have, like, a whole store full of these?”
“Miles, I gotta get to class. I’m not playing,” you reached for Miles’ hand, but he raised it high above his head.
Instead of a smirk or mocking sneer, something like worry was etched onto the boy’s features.
“Tell me what’s up witchu first.”
“What are you talking about? I’m about to be late, c’mon.”
“You ain’t said a word to me all day,” he dropped his hand momentarily. “Are you sick? Did I do something? What–hey!”
You had snatched the pen out of the boy’s hand when he wasn’t looking, throwing it into your bag.
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
You turn to retreat down the hallway, but stop with a huff when Miles calls after you.
“Wait!”
“I’m waiting.”
“Come see me after school?”
You kicked an empty can down the sidewalk in front of Miles’ apartment.
“Make this quick, I gotta go study.”
He looks everywhere else to avoid meeting your eyes, looking for the right words.
“You didn’t answer me earlier,” Miles awkwardly shuffled his feet. “Are you mad at me?”
“...Yeah, kinda.”
“For what?”
You stop to think for a moment, crossing your arms.
“For…for letting me hand you that pen, knowing you weren’t gonna give it back,” you began.
Miles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s it?”
You shook your head profusely, “N-no, I’m not done. You let me buy you all that stuff, put all that dumb shit in your locker, whole time you don’t even like me–”
“You don’t know that,” Miles interrupted. Your head snapped up to look at him, and you paused.
“I don’t?”
Neither of you say anything for a moment, then Miles remembers the note in his pocket. He takes it out and shows it to you.
“These? Are cute as fuck,”
He searches for more words, ten continues, "A-and I use that sketchbook every day. That pen? It’s like, my favorite,” he laughs. “I got half a mind to steal it back from you.”
Miles watches you expectantly. Your arms are still crossed, but the corners of your lips quirk up in amusement.
“So you like getting free stuff.”
“No-! I…”
The boy’s arms had begun to flail around in frustration. You hold back a giggle, never having seen him squirm like this before. It’s a nice change of pace.
“Alright, listen. I like hearing you talk to me every morning, and…”
He trailed off. He had begun slightly bouncing on his toes.
“...I like you.”
At some point while watching Miles struggle to explain himself, the float-y feeling in your chest had come back. You tilted your head to the side, and smiled.
“Okay. What are you gonna do about it?”
The boy’s eyes lit up.
“Where do you wanna go?”
#earth 42 miles morales#miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales x black!reader#earth 42 miles morales x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spider verse spoilers#moralesanhour#requests
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
teamwork (makes the dream work...?) pt. 2
summary: miles is not exactly a productive work partner
wc: ~800
A/N: not much plot movement here, but a tiny bit of exposition sort of. Miles will calm down in the following chapters...maybe 🥴
prev. next
"Oh Miles? He's in some of my AP classes. Honor student," Your friend's voice filtered through your phone speakers while on the FaceTime call. She popped a potato chip in her mouth as she sat in bed and sniffled, at home with a nasty cold.
"I've heard his name before. I think his dad died, that true?"
"Yeah, a couple years ago. Say he used to be really sweet, and now he don't talk no more."
"That's sad," you remark. "Maybe that's why I'm only seeing him now."
"You actually saw him in class?!?"
Your friend's face was the picture of disbelief, eyes wide as saucers as if this was a rare event.
"Yeah, he's my partner for the week cuz you decided to go and get yo ass sick!" you explained, dramatically jabbing a finger at your phone screen.
"It's not my fault that kid from AP Chem sneezed on me, damn!"
"He's really smart, but his attitude fucking sucks. He draws good, though," you think out loud.
“It’s just a week, sis, give it four more days, you’ll be fine.”
“You’d better hope so, for your sake.”
-
The following afternoon saw you asking around, trying to piece together a picture of this kid that everyone simultaneously knew and didn’t know. By the time lunchtime ended and Ms. Jones’ calculus class rolled around, you had heard the following:
‘Almost flunked out of school…on purpose’.
‘Did graffiti on the school walls once.’
‘Freakishly quiet’.
‘Secretly joined a gang’.
That last bit made your stomach turn a little as you approached your new temporary seat. Sure enough, Miles was already slouched at his desk, twirling that same pen between his fingers like a drumstick. You didn’t bother to say ‘hi’ this time. He didn’t bother to look up, either.
Miles didn’t say a word during the lecture portion of class, not even to answer questions. Would explain why you’d hardly noticed him until this week.
As the heavy-set math teacher scanned the classroom, she frequently craned her neck and made brief eye contact with Miles, but never cold-called him.
Her skin was a chestnut shade, and she kept her dark hair pinned back in a tight, slick bun. The way she pressed her lips together as she moved on suggested that they’d been through this before, and she'd be sorely disappointed.
When her lecture ended, Miles suddenly stood to his full height.
You weren’t able to tell by the way he sat, but the boy was quite lanky. Even with his awkwardly-broad shoulders slumped, he likely was a half a head taller than you. Ms. Jones stopped her slow pacing around the classroom and sighed.
“Miles, sweetie, what did I say yesterday?”
Miles looked up at the ceiling and sighed in exasperation before plopping back down into his chair. He raised his hand as if it pained him to do so.
“Yes, Mr. Morales?”
“May I please use the restroom?”
A few snickers could be heard erupting around the classroom, and the woman rolled her eyes. An innocent smile was plastered over Miles’ face, revealing two deep dimples in his cheeks. If the smile had actually reached his eyes, you would’ve thought he was cute.
“Go ahead,” Jones relented.
The boy dropped the smile and noisily pushed his chair aside; As he shot back up from his seat and strolled past your desk towards the door, Jones narrowed her eyes at him.
“Hold it. Sir, where are your glasses?”
Miles stopped in his tracks, groaning loudly.
“Oh my god, I don’t need glasses to go potty, Ms. Jones. I can aim, I promise.”
“Make sure you put them on as soon as you get back, your mother told me to remind you. Go,” Jones said, waving her hand dismissively.
“Uh-huh, thank you, ma’am!” The boy was already in the hallway, letting the door slam behind him.
Today's partner work was just a packet of long equations to simplify, so you were only mildly irritated that Miles never seemed to return from his impromptu bathroom trip until the last fifteen minutes of class.
You looked up as he sauntered over to his desk, hands in his pockets.
“Where were you? Class is almost over,” you demanded.
Miles ignored you and sat down, picking up his pen to work at a long string of equations at lightning speed.
Suddenly, you reached over and snapped your fingers in front of him. The boy looked up with his lips curled into a grimace.
"What's good witchu? You got through the work, didn't you?" Miles hissed in a low whisper to avoid catching Ms. Jones' attention.
You frowned deeply. "And what if I didn't? I'd be struggling while you were off running around the damn school-"
"I needed time to myself," he interrupted. "To think."
" 'Think' about what?"
"Personal shit," Miles resumed his problem-solving. "Any more questions, officer?"
The school bell rang, pulling from you a sigh of relief that you wouldn't have to see him again for another 24 hours.
#miles morales#earth 42 miles morales#earth 42 miles morales x reader#miles morales x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse#moralesanhour
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
My second time writing a request foe someone rlly nervous lol
Can you do a
reader x earth 42 miles
Where reader wants to buy things for themselves but miles keeps buying stuff for them like anything we look at or love next thing Yk he’s buying it?
I rlly hope you can understand this bc im not sure if it made sense 💀
-sincerely sorry miller
Oh don't be nervous I understand perfectly fine!! (Under the cut as usual)
"See you, Carol!" You wiped the sweat forming around your hairline as you untied your apron with haste. You had taken extra shifts at the diner this week for extra spending money, and it had you counting down the days until Friday.
Slinging your bag over your shoulder, the bell jingled as you pushed open the glass door with a grunt.
Right next door to the run-down diner was a small clothing shop, one of the few that managed to stay open. You had made it a habit to check the window for the mannequin that had your jeans on: A flaired, denim number that was optimal for weekend block parties.
"Come Friday, you're mine, baby." You say to yourself with a hand on the plexiglass display.
"I thought I was already yours," a familiar voice nearly made you jump out of your skin.
Miles' footsteps could almost never be heard, you swore he was a ninja in his spare time.
"Don't fuckin scare me like that!" You whined, smacking his shoulder as an amused grin spread across his lips.
He ignored your outburst and pointed towards the mannequin. "You want that?"
You gave him a warning look. "I'm gonna go shopping this weekend. When I get paid."
"You didn't answer the question."
"No comment," you said, spinning on your heel to walk away with Miles' gentle laughter following behind you.
When you don't stop, he jogs after you and traps you in a bear hug.
"Fuck off, Miles!" You laughed, fake struggling to escape.
"Alright, tell me what I did."
"Nothing!"
He let you go and opted to walk next to you, his long legs making it easy to keep up with you.
"Okay look, whatever you're mad at me for, I got a surprise waiting for you," Miles poked his head in front of you as you both walked, twin braids dangling over his shoulder. "Come over?"
You sighed, "Fine."
He gently took your hand and started tugging you along, presumably in the direction of his mom's apartment. "Thank you."
-
Miles' brow furrowed as he fumbled with his keys a bit before quietly unlocking the door. He turned to you and placed his index finger over his lips, and you nodded in understanding.
The familiar smell of yellow rice and scented candles engulfed the both of you when you entered the empty apartment. Rio was at work, and Uncle Aaron was likely napping in the living room, as it was only the late afternoon.
"So, where's the surprise?" You whispered.
"My room. Been up there for about a week."
You rushed up the stairs as quietly as your feet could carry you to catch up to your boyfriend, who was already halfway there and glancing down at you with an impish grin. You roll your eyes playfully. Typical.
"Lemme take that," Miles stuck his hand out for your work bag as he removed his sneakers.
Deeply inhaling the cool air of his room, you let him take it off your shoulders. You were sure that thing was starting to leave a mark from carrying it on the same side every day.
Miles sat on his bed for a moment to rummage through his black knapsack, and produced a small, pink plastic bag no bigger than the hand that held it. This confirmed one of your suspicions, and you gave him a tired smile as he stood to place it gently in your palm. He was a funny sight, hands clasped together in anticipation like a parent at Christmas.
Inside the bag was a little white box, which held a small necklace cushioned in the middle. You recognized the teardrop pendant from the mall. You had practically dragged Miles along, looking bored and scrolling through his phone the entire time. Or so you thought.
Now, he looked about ready to run a marathon from here to Manhattan as you removed the delicate necklace, the silver chain catching the little light that Miles allowed into his room in shiny strips.
"Thank you baby, I love it," you bit your bottom lip, "It's just that-"
"I could put it on you?"
You sighed, and held out the necklace. "Of course."
He damn near snatched the piece of jewelry from you to unclasp it, rushing to get behind you.
"Miles, if you break it-"
"I won't, relax!"
The cool metal settled on your skin as he gently draped it around your neck, and fastened the clasp.
"How does it look?"
Miles moved your braids back and planted a kiss on your cheek. "Pretty."
"I know you know more words than that, sir," you teased, "try again."
"Alright, breathtaking. Stunning. Effervescent."
"Now you're trying too hard."
"I'm about to take this necklace back," he muttered, earning a short outburst of laughter from you.
When the laughter subsided, you turned to face him. He let your braids slide across his hands before they fell back at your shoulders.
"Miles, I need you to do something for me."
Worry settled over the boy's soft features. "Such as...?"
"Don't buy me them jeans," you said, arms crossed but still smiling.
His brows shot up. "Why, you don't like 'em anymore?"
"I do," you draped your arms around his neck, "which is why I've been saving up to get them myself."
You watched Miles' eyes dart back and forth in thought before settling back on you. He was silent, imploring you to explain further.
"If I wanted everything gifted to me, I wouldn't have gotten a job."
Miles nods, and something seems to slot into place for him.
"So no more surprise gifts?" He says, pouting exaggeratedly.
"For at least another two weeks."
Miles winced, taking a nervous glance at his knapsack, "Damn."
Following his line of sight, you noticed the white plastic bag poking out from it.
Your jaw drops, and you give him another good smack on the shoulder.
"You bought it, didn't you?"
He smiles tightly. "Hypo...thetically?"
"Miles!"
-
A/N: idk why the hell that took me so long to write but it was fun! Happy reading!
#miles morales#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman into the spiderverse#miles morales x reader#miles morales x black!reader#moralesanhour#miles g morales
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Maybe write about very protective miles?
I actually got two requests for this same prompt, so I'm gonna combine them! :D
You thought there would just be a light drizzle on the way back from the bodega when you felt two cold rain drops lightly tap your forehead. The concrete became dotted with dark spots as the rain picked up.
Alright, you'll be home in a few minutes. No big deal.
...Until it became a big deal.
In a matter of minutes, the sidewalk was completely dark with rainwater, and small puddles deepened as your sneakers splashed across them. You had asked the man behind the register to pack your lunch in a paper bag, which was now soaked to the point of nearly falling apart. You hugged the soggy material to your chest, not caring about getting your already-soaked graphic tee any more wet.
"Aye, Y/N!" A familiar voice cuts through the downpour. You realize you were about to pass by Miles' house.
"Miles!" You smile up at the 3rd-story window, squinting through the rain now pouring down your face. "I gotta get home, now, but I'll call you la-"
The boy's brown face disappears from the window frame, and you sigh as the door to the apartment bursts open.
"If my mom found out I let you walk around in the rain like that, she'd kill me, so for my own safety, you gotta come inside." Miles grinned at you, his lanky figure filling the doorway. Shivering, you weren't about to refuse.
-
The following Monday at Visions, you flung open your locker in a rush to grab your Spanish notebook. Instead you were greeted with a flash of bright yellow. It was a raincoat, haphazardly stuffed into your locker when you weren't looking.
Struggling to pull the thing out, you assume at first that it must belong to Miles. He frequently left some of his things in your locker whenever he had to suddenly take off because of "an emergency". His mom must've bought it, Miles wouldn't be caught dead in anything that looked like this.
Once you finally manage to yank the coat out, a blue sticky note flies out with it. You pick it up before it can flutter to the ground, and it reads in Miles' neat handwriting:
"For you :)"
-
"Fuck!" You yelled as you fell. Again.
"Don't say a word, Morales."
A loose shoelace had caught beneath your feet and tripped you, right after Miles had warned you that your shoelaces were untied. Just before you hit the ground, his arms wrap around you from behind and he lifts you to your feet. Laughing, you turn to him.
He wears a shit-eating grin on his face as he jogs past you.
"You would literally not survive without me!"
-
Uhhh I hope this came off as "protective" enough 😭 thank you for requesting!!
#miles morales#spiderman into the spiderverse#miles morales x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse#moralesanhour#asks
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Can you write something with earth 42 Miles having a s/o who is very affectionate and clingy? Thank you so much have a great day :3
Sure! And you have a good day too 🫶🏾 (reader is coded as feminine here bc I wasn't sure, hope that's okay!)
"You on my leg, ma."
Miles tried to reach for the remote as the credits rolled on your flat-screen.
"I know," you replied, head resting on his left thigh. "I like it here."
"And you'll be right back here. Lemme get the remote!"
He tried tapping your head, and even partially rising from the sofa to force you off of his lap, but you were like a rock.
"I'm tired," was all you said to explain yourself.
Miles sighed, knowing when he'd lost a battle. "Fine."
-
"Alright, act natural," Miles hissed as Uncle Aaron's heavy footsteps got louder.
He hadn't told his uncle that he was dating anyone yet, a fact that became clear to you when he dropped your hand. Despite his request, his body stiffened, and he hardened his expression into something you'd never seen before.
"Miles, are you good?" You whispered, reflexively rubbing the back of his arm.
Before Miles could snatch his arm away, the door opened, and your bodies froze.
A tall, lanky man a few shades lighter than Miles stood behind it. He was bald, with a goatee peppered with gray hairs and a severe expression.
You took Miles' arm and squeezed it as the man’s eyes landed on you. To your surprise, his expression softened.
"Who's this?" The man asked in an ocean-deep voice.
Miles relaxed and laced his fingers with yours. "This is uh," he breathed, "Y/N, my girlfriend."
-
As soon as the doorbell rang, you shot up from your couch and threw down the book you were skimming through to answer it.
You nearly flung the door open, revealing Miles' grinning face.
"Y/N, ¿que pasa?- OOF!"
He nearly dropped his phone when you roped him into a suffocating bear hug. "No puedo respirar, mami," he choked out before you finally released him.
"Alright, my bad," you smiled, "I missed you."
"But you saw me yesterday."
"And?"
-
A/N: pls excuse me if my Spanish is rusty. Hope you enjoyed!
#miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales#across the spider verse spoilers#spiderman across the spiderverse#moralesanhour#requests
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
piece of cake
summary: meeting miles g at a bakery, and other happenings.
wc: 3k+
warning: blood, grief (more at the periphery, not a major theme), and lightly implied mommy issues
a/n: ngl i was hungry asf when i wrote this. why can't i ever write normal fluff fics anymore. first fic of 2024!!
Brooklyn Middle is closed for winter break. The basketball court where the snow-covered hoop no longer has a net is empty, save for the blinking Christmas lights strung across the chain-link fence.
In a few years, the pizza place across the street where students would linger after school will be demolished, replaced by a shiny new Oscorp building that reflects the sun from all angles of its glass exterior. But for now, the place is just closed early for the holidays, a few blocks away from a bakery.
The tall, bear-like frame of a father dressed in a long black overcoat can be seen entering with a wiry young boy in a red hoodie and bomber jacket tailing close behind. He has an afro as opposed to his father’s closely-cropped hair. The boy keeps trying to straighten his posture - as if his spine would suddenly lengthen and his shoulders would broaden from the act alone. He wants to make himself look important today, because he is on a top-secret mission:
Operation: Get Mom a Cake.
“I think mom’ll like that one.”
The boy points at a slice of tres leches cake sitting behind a glass display. It’s not as flashy as the other decorative cakes drizzled with chocolate and strawberries or encased in pink frosting, but those wouldn’t melt on the tongue the way tres leches did.
His father raised an eyebrow at the plain slice, but the boy looked at him with a certainty that he’d never seen before, through eyes nearly identical to his mother’s. The man knew then that he was getting an expert opinion.
“Alright, if you say so,” he chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “We’ll take that one, Val.”
The boy smiled proudly at the older woman as she handed him the pink box containing the cake. Mission accomplished.
Now, he looks up and frowns at the Oscorp building blocking the view of where his old school used to be as he picks at a slice of cake with a plastic fork.
The ‘Employees Only’ door behind the counter swings open, and Valeria Cruz hobbles out, removing her apron.
“It’s almost your shift, Miles, hurry up and finish that cake.”
Miles takes one more bite before rising from his seat near the entrance and pushing the paper plate and half-eaten slice into a small trash can.
“You got it, Miss V.”
“Did you take out the trash?”
He pauses, and his eyes widen.
“I’mma get that done right now, Miss V!”
The woman sighs, running a hand through gray and white-streaked curls as the teen sprints out the door and back outside.
A forest green puffer jacket rushes past you on the sidewalk. It’s the same one you had seen shuffling out of the back entrance of Val’s bakery the other morning, lugging two black garbage bags with a purple hoodie obscuring the stranger’s face.
He probably works there, then, you think. Good. She could use the help.
The place had been packed the week before Officer Morales’ funeral, and for several weeks after. But over time, business began to slow down to a trickle. Hipster cafés and towering condos sprang up and choked out the little pizza shops and restaurants that took their owners’ last names, like when an invasive species of plant grows taller than the local varieties and smothers them, blocking out the sun.
You had been seeing Val’s face since you were in diapers. Families used to go there for birthdays, for elementary school graduations, middle school graduations - or sometimes just to grab something sweet to eat after church on Sundays. You continued the tradition–even if just to buy a tiny bag of cookies–in the hopes that the place might still be standing for your high school graduation.
The bell above the door rings to signal your entrance. The once baby pink wallpaper has begun to fade, but the late-afternoon sun makes it feel as vibrant as it did when you were twelve. Valeria is standing in front of the display of freshly-baked pastries with her apron folded neatly over her arm.
“Oh, were you about to close up shop?” You begin to take backward steps. “I can come back later–”
“No, no, sweetie, it’s fine!” The woman waves her hand, beckoning you to stay. “I was just about to go on my lunch break. I have someone about to take over for me.”
“It’s cool, I can wait. I saw somebody taking out the trash, that him?”
She sighs wearily, “That’s him, alright. He’s a good kid, but he’s always–”
“Sorry I’m late!”
In rushes Mr. Green Jacket through a chilly gust of wind, who turns to nod in greeting towards you before weaving past Val and behind the counter, where he disappears through the ‘Employees Only’ door.
“That boy, I swear. Never on time!”
He reappears sans the jacket, wearing a white apron identical to the one Val is holding. The name tag on it reads ‘Miles’.
Miles. Where have you heard that name before…?
The hood on his sweater is no longer pulled over his head, revealing two neat cornrows that cascade all the way down his neck. The surrounding hair has been shaved and faded at the nape of his neck and hairline. He’s the sort of brown-skinned that looks golden when the sunlight hits his face as he approaches the cash register.
“You gonna be alright for the next half hour?” asked Val with an eyebrow raised.
Miles drummed his fingers on the counter and grinned. “Yup, I got it.”
“Don’t destroy anything while I’m gone!”
“I won’t, promise.”
She pushes the door open with a skeptical look and leaves.
With this new stranger temporarily in charge, you carefully approach the counter. He looks up at you with curious brown eyes.
“Whatchu want?”
“Um…” you blink before remembering what you were here for. “Just sugar cookies, please.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
He turns to grab a paper bag, then bends to drop the desired amount of cookies into it with the pair of tongs that sit on the inside of the display.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what school you go to? I haven’t seen you around here before, feel like I’d remember you if I had.”
Miles pops his head over the counter and tilts his head with a cheeky grin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
You avoid eye contact, shifting from one foot to the other. Suddenly it’s not so cold anymore.
“I-I don’t know. You just seem memorable.”
He laughs a raspy, breathy laugh and hands you the bag of cookies over the counter. His hand is much larger than yours with slender fingers at the end of it, but still manages to appear almost clumsy-looking. Big enough to be a man’s, but with only half the dexterity.
“I go to Visions.”
“Fancy. You like it over there?”
“It’s aight. Kinda uptight, but my dad always said it was a ‘good opportunity’, so I stayed.”
You hum in consideration.
“Can't do everything for your parents, though. They'll have you living their dreams before you know it.”
The smile fades a bit, and Miles averts his gaze.
“Well my dad passed, so I just figured I’d just do this one thing for him.”
You cover your mouth with your palm.
“I'm so sorry, I–”
“It's fine,” he snorts without any humor. “You might be the only one that doesn't know who my daddy is. Kind of a relief.”
Miles encloses the money you just gave him in the slot beneath the cash register with a loud snap.
“You need anything else?”
You chew on your bottom lip in embarrassment and clutch your bag of cookies.
“No. Thank you.”
He doesn’t look up from the register.
“Have a nice day.”
Your mother is leaning on the window sill, nibbling on a granola bar when you get back home. She’s silent, which means she is observing. You’ll need to tread carefully.
“I brought cookies.”
She gives you a sidelong glance.
“Val’s cookies?”
“Yup, same as always.”
“That lady still working there all by herself?”
“She hired somebody to help out, actually - I saw a boy working the register.”
She notices the upward inflection in your voice at the mention of a boy, which interests her more than the cookies.
“What’s he look like?”
“He’s got, um,” you make a gesture over your head. “Twin braids–cornrows–and a green jacket? Kinda tall, too.”
Your mother nods, thoughtful. The description rings a bell, but she needs to confirm.
“You catch his name?”
“Miles, I think.”
“Lord,” she gasps, fully turning to face you. “That’s that Morales boy! I used to work with his momma, bless her heart. Barely saw his face after the funeral.”
The image of Miles’ face at the mention of his dad makes you cringe at your comment earlier. How could you not recognize him? He practically stole his face from the mural that was plastered above the precinct. You had only heard the boy’s name uttered once by your mother over the phone at 2:00 A.M., whispered like a secret.
“I can’t imagine how it must be for Miles. Didn’t he just get into that nice school down there? Of course they’ll have to let him go home. He should be with his mother.”
“He was such a sweet little boy. Then I saw him the other day?”
She shook her head, “Look like a different person. He had them flashy studs in his ears, nose pierced and everything.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he had tattoos under that coat as well. Damn shame.”
“He seemed nice when I saw him,” you remark quietly in a weak attempt to defend his character, despite having known him for all of five minutes. “Sweet, like you said.”
Your mother’s face hardens, all of her attention now focused on you as she folds the wrapping of the granola bar.
“That’s why you’re not bringing no boys home ‘till you’re eighteen,” she sharply reminds you. “‘Seems nice’ - How you know if he’s really nice or not?”
Again, Miles’ face appears in your mind’s eye. He didn’t seem to want your pity - rejected it, even. And what of his apparent chronic lateness?
Still…
“You don’t know that, either,” you say despite yourself. “I spoke to him while I was there.”
Your mother’s eyes narrow.
“Girl, I know that look. I better not see you runnin’ around with that boy, understand me?”
She looks set on not changing her mind now, so you only nod in defeat.
“Yes, ma’am.”
In your head, you’re already making plans to hit up the bakery tomorrow - both to apologize and to see the sun kissing Miles’ face again. Maybe tomorrow he’d even have the piercings in.
But when you get there the next day under the guise of ‘a trip to the corner store’, Miles isn’t at the register.
The sky has turned a pale shade of gray, and it has begun to drizzle. Pulling your navy blue coat tightly around you, you consider turning back around when–
Boom!
The sound of something hitting a trash can from behind the establishment catches your attention. It could be him taking out the trash at the last minute again.
Your assumption is proven only halfway correct.
Stepping over discarded boxes and tin cans, you find Miles doubled over, clutching his side. “Are you okay?”
Startled, bloodshot eyes glance at you before focusing on the ground.
“Fucking fantastic,” he grunts painfully.
As you get closer, you can see a dark stain blooming from where his hand is. A sick feeling swirls in your stomach.
“Oh my God, do you need me to call somebody?”
“Nah, I’m…I’m straight,” Miles says through labored breaths. ���I just gotta…patch myself up before I get home.”
You whip out your phone and frantically unlock it.
“I’m calling an ambulance.”
“Hell no–”
“You are bleeding!”
He tilts his head towards a duffle bag lying near his feet.
“I got First Aid in there…that’ll do me just fine.”
When he tries to reach for the bag, his knees give out, causing him to collapse right next to it.
-
Miles shivers as you gingerly wrap white bandages around his waist, the flat expanse of skin on his stomach partially exposed to the elements. He fades in and out of consciousness, between your face and black nothingness. When he’s awake, he stares up at you in disbelief.
“I didn’t call 9-1-1, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him with a grin. “This should stop the bleeding, but I can’t help you beyond that.”
“Wusyaname?” he mumbles, head lolling towards you. He’s on the brink of passing out again.
“Call me (Y/N).”
“Wasn’t gon’ call you anything else.”
“Shut up, I just saved your life.”
“Mmmm-hm,” Miles hums with a lazy smile that makes you wonder if he’s becoming delirious.
“Eeeeverybody loves sayin’ that. Everybody always…”
His eyelids get heavy before he can finish the thought, and he finally blacks out again in your lap.
-
There’s a short line inside the bakery that weekend, and you wonder if Miles has anything to do with it.
Word seemed to get around mysteriously fast that the former teenaged recluse had come out of hiding after that conversation (if you could even call it that) with your mother. From where you’re sitting–by the window, nibbling on a sugar cookie, observing–Miles does not seem to enjoy the attention.
Or maybe you’re just imagining the strained smile on his face as the line of customers becomes a Greek chorus of gasps and squeals.
“You got so big!”
“What did you do to your hair?”
“Oh, you look just like Jeff.”
“How’s Rio?”
“Good to see you out and about again.”
The sparkling curiosity is nearly drained from his face by the time he joins you at the end of his shift with a slice of cake. He does not have the fabled nose piercing in, but two diamond studs sparkle when the light hits them every time he moves his head.
“So?”
“So…?”
“Are you alright after I found you the other day? I saw you limping back there.”
Miles rolls his eyes.
“I’m fine. My mom’s literally a nurse. She got me straight.”
“What’d you tell her? Looked like you broke a rib.”
“Far as she’s concerned, I fell off my bike.”
“I’ve never seen you on a bike.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”
You shrug. Touche.
“What did you have to say to me that was worth stalking me after my shift?”
“Stalking?”
“You buy the same thing every time, you think I ain’t notice?” Miles smirks, like a detective who’s just gotten a confession. “Who goes to a bakery and only gets cookies?”
“Lay off me, man, these are excellent,” you take another bite for emphasis. “Anyways, I actually came to apologize.”
His brows furrow in confusion. “For what?”
“For what I said the first time I saw you. I didn’t know you were that Miles.”
The corners of Miles’ lips pull downwards into a frown.
“That’s it?”
“Mm, well…”
You bite your lip by force of habit.
“I also wanted to talk to you again. Under better circumstances. That your favorite type of cake?”
Miles looks down at his plate when you point to it with your fork, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.
“Yeah, tres leches. What about it?”
“I dunno, I just always see you eating that and nothing else. Is there a reason?”
You expect to say something about the sweetness, or the texture, but instead he answers:
“It always tastes the same.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, like…” He puts down his fork and starts to construct an analogy in his head.
“It’s like when you see an ice cream truck. You run up to it before it drives off, and what do you ask for? First thing that pops into your head?”
“Vanilla?”
“Exactly. You could try one of the other ones, but what if it tastes like ass? Now you stuck eating something you don’t like–”
“And it’s a waste of money.”
“Exactly!” Miles laughs. “You get it. My mom makes fun of me because I’ve been eating the same thing since I was five. But it’s always good! And the same amount of good.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
You tap your nails on the table, thinking.
“But what if you find a new flavor that you really like?”
He shrugs, “Then lucky me, I guess. But that doesn’t tend to happen.”
“It could happen, though.”
He watches the strange way you eat. Slowly, teeth-first, as if you’re afraid to make a mess. It’s weirdly dainty, which makes him chuckle beneath his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh-uh, don’t do that. What’s so funny?”
Miles gives you that same head tilt again.
“It’s cute, the way you eat.”
Your hand freezes just as it’s about to lift another cookie to your mouth, and you stare at him blankly.
“That’s…”
He pauses too.
“...Weird, yeah. Sorry. I dunno why I said that.”
A beat of silence passes that’s so heavy with awkwardness, that the two of you can’t help but burst into poorly-stifled laughter.
You lean forward with your chin resting in your hand. “That’s fine. I kept coming here just to spy on you, so I guess I’m weird, too.”
“Ah, so you admit it!”
“Hey, if I wasn’t bein’ a total creep, you might’ve bled out next to the garbage dump. Val can’t lose a valuable employee, right?”
“If you put it that way.”
You can see the white of some of Miles’ teeth peeking out as he smiles. One of his canines is charmingly crooked, and sharper than the others. When the smile fades, he suddenly looks uncertain.
“Can I ask you a question this time?”
“Ask away.”
“Do you wanna make this,” he gestures between you, “like, a regular thing? Y’know, ‘meeting under better circumstances’.”
It’s your turn for a smile to spread across your face.
“We should. Whatever you did to end up bleeding out in the rain, I guess I’d be a witness now.”
“M-hm. Can’t have you yappin’ about that to my customers,” He plays along, then winks. “I’mma need your number too, just in case.”
Just before you reach for your phone in your pocket, you hear your mother’s voice in your head, casting a shadow over the whole thing and giving you pause.
All jokes aside, Miles had never explained what had landed him in that predicament behind the bakery in the first place. He’s always late. He lies to his mother. You’re about to lie to your mother.
But the sun is hitting his face again, and with the light bouncing off of his pupils, he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly. The shadow remains at the corner of your eye. Just the corner.
You grin and hand him your phone.
“You got it. Just in case.”
#miles morales x reader#miles morales x black!reader#earth 42 miles x reader#earth 42 miles morales x reader#prowler!miles#moralesanhour
312 notes
·
View notes
Text
seeing double
summary: Milo keeps getting mistaken for Miles and he's like really over it
wc: ~500'
a/n: I feel like I've just been writing heavy-ish stuff non-stop so I thought I'd just do something for the sillies.
Here is my masterlist for more Stuff
“Yo, Miles, we got a problem–oh.”
Milo gave Ganke Lee an icy glare from where he sat on the stoop in front of his house. The husky Korean boy had met his twin brother in ninth grade, and the two became fast friends. They were not close enough, apparently, for Ganke to avoid occasionally mistaking the two boys and spilling bits and pieces of secret plans that Milo was decidedly not a part of. Like being fucking Spider-Man. The braids seemed to help, though not by a large margin.
Milo pulled back his purple hoodie to reveal them, for emphasis.
“Yeah, wrong guy,” he said flatly. “Need me to text him?”
Ganke tensed.
“Um, nah, I think I’ll be able to find him.”
Milo scoffed. “Scared you’re gonna spill his lil’ ‘secret identity’?”
The other boy’s eyes widened.
“You…You know?”
“I know how to put two and two together, Lee. Now do you need me to text him or not?”
Ganke pursed his lips for a second, then shrugged. “Tell him the Goblin’s loose again. See ya.”
He gave a quick salute, then began to jog back in the direction he came from.
The rest of Miles’ week went about the same way:
“Miles, how’s the art project coming along?”
“I’m not Miles.”
“We miss you, Miles!”
“Not Miles, but I’ll pass the message along.”
“Miles, it's not funny. Let's go.”
“I'm. Not. Miles!”
You struggled to tug your boyfriend along behind you before the showing time for the movie you two had picked out rolled around. The tight new cornrows sitting on top of his head seemed to be cutting off the flow to his brain, because he seemed to have no idea what you were talking about.
“We're gonna be late!”
“Late to what?”
Fully on the brink of giving up, you dropped his hand and spun around to face him.
“Look, do you wanna go or not? You can't keep flaking on me like this, this is the third time–”
“And it won't happen again!”
There, jogging up to you in a white sweatshirt, hair very clearly un-braided, was Miles.
You blinked hard a few times, then looked back at Not Miles, who had his arms crossed in irritation.
“Yo, your girl tried to kidnap me just now,” he snapped. “Can you not be late to everything?”
The real Miles glanced between you and his twin for a moment before bursting into a wheezing fit of laughter.
“It's not funny!” You both said in unison as he held his stomach.
After wiping a tear from his eye and regaining his composure, he gestured towards Not Miles.
“You wanna introduce yourself first?”
Not Miles sighed.
“Milo Morales. My real name's Manuel, but I don't want nobody calling me ‘Manny’, so I go by Milo. Don't forget it.”
You narrowed your eyes at Miles.
“Why didn't you tell me you had a brother with the same face as you?”
He shrugged.
“Wasn’t important information at the time.”
“ ‘Wasn't important’– I almost took your brother out on a date by accident!”
“You're not my type.”
“Alright, look,”
Miles took your hand. His palm was softer than Milo's, you noted.
“I'll explain at the movies, I promise.”
Your expression softened, and you squeezed his hand back.
“You'd better.”
“See you at home?” Miles turned to Milo, who was already stalking off in the other direction with his hands in his pockets.
“Whatever, man!”
#the x reader bit is kinda secondary here which is interesting idk why i did that#miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles x reader#earth 42 miles morales x reader#miles morales x black!reader#miles morales fic#moralesanhour
302 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ooo hi, can you write something with gamer/streamer Miles G? Maybe he and the reader just chill and play games talking about life or whatever.
streamer miles!
Ok this went in a sliiightly different direction but the general premise is the same i hope that's ok lmao (also lowkey trying a new writing style/approach)
A/N: comment which animal crossing villager you think miles would like if u want 🫶🏾
You only really see a fraction of a person online.
The messy, disagreeable thoughts that don’t fit into a neat little post, every time you’ve ever tripped over something and ate shit, all of your worst outfits - none of it exists if you don’t make it known. If you decide you’ve never stumbled over your own feet a day in your life, then it’s so. No one’s gonna claw their way through your screen and check.
For example, you had never seen Miles Morales smile with his teeth before until you clicked on his livestream, and none of his viewers would ever be able to guess.
He was laughing at some joke being made in the chat.
“Y’all are terrible,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye.
Miles’ stream had been recommended to you by the ever-mysterious, totally-not-creepy algorithm ‘based on your location’, and the thumbnail with his dimples on full display piqued your curiosity.
He’d been passing by once when you accidentally dropped your books and folders while rushing to class. He knelt down and picked them up without a word, dropping them into your hands in a much neater stack than they had originally been in, from largest to smallest.
Your eyes met for less than two seconds, but you could’ve sworn that there was a softness to them that couldn’t be caught from a distance.
“Thanks!” you called out as the late bell rang. He only nodded before turning away, not bothering to walk any faster.
You never spoke to him again, having no idea what you’d even say. He rarely spoke outside of class, but you had assumed that based on the way he skulked down the hallway and the permanent ‘I’m bored’ look on his face, that he’d be playing something a little more…serious? ‘God of War’ maybe, or ‘Last of Us’. Or some sports-related game that you couldn’t understand.
Certainly not ‘Animal Crossing’.
Tentatively, your fingers hovered over the keyboard as the stream of comments began to slow, and you wondered if he’d be more likely to see it if you commented this instant.
–Who’s ur favorite villager?
There, nice and simple. Inoffensive.
Miles squinted his eyes at what was presumably a second monitor.
“Who’s my favorite villager?” His brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before he put two and two together. “Oh! You mean the li’l animals and shit. Um, the blue penguin? Ace? I like him.”
You sat back and watched him play for another fifteen minutes, most of which were spent figuring out what direction a couch sitting inside his virtual home should face. His voice was low and almost raspy, but…muted. As if someone had turned the volume down on it like you would the radio. He was fortunate to own a decent microphone.
–You got your own PC?
It seems you got lucky a second time, and Miles paused to read your comment aloud once again.
“Yyup,” he answered proudly. “Put it together myself. I’ll do a tour one day. My setup is wavy, you’ll see!”
He continued going back and forth with the comments in chat, occasionally thanking some for making small donations. The fact of him making anything at all just from playing a video game was impressive.
Miles remarked on the ‘classical style’ of one of the buildings on his island, and you snorted. Nerd.
–bro thinks he’s an architect
This made him giggle. A light, breathy sound that you would hardly expect to come out of him.
“You’re a hater, man. Watch me get hired as soon as I’m outta college and build yo’ next apartment building.”
You looked down at your phone and realized it was nearly one in the morning. With a yawn, you said your goodbyes in the comments and left the stream.
-
The cafeteria was full by the time you got downstairs, leaving not a single space on the white benches save for two completely empty ones near the back.
Well, not completely empty.
As you weaved in between students carrying trays of slop with milk cartons, a familiar pair of cornrows came into view.
It’s now or never.
Timidly, you slid onto the bench right beside Miles. Focused on his meal and the tattered sketchbook he carried around, he looked up at you with just his eyes.
“Hey,” you tried to greet him casually with an awkward smile. “I saw you ye–I mean, I…I saw you. In general.”
His blinked slowly. “We all go to the same school.”
You cleared your throat.
“...Right. We-uh, met in the hallway.”
“You dropped all your books on the floor.”
“Yeah!” you replied a little too loudly. “I just, um, wanted to say hi.”
“...hi.”
There was a stretch of silence as you sifted through a list of topics to rescue the conversation, and a lightbulb went off.
“Do you have any hobbies? Other than drawing, I mean.”
Miles gave up on sketching and answered, “Video games.”
“Which ones you been playing recently?”
“Uh, Mortal Kombat, 2K,” he counted on his fingers, “and Animal Crossing, just to see what it was about–”
“Oh, you’re really good at that one!”
You both froze. Uh-oh.
“And how exactly do you know that?”
“I-I mean, you just…look…like the type?”
You started frantically chipping away at the remaining nail polish on your fingers. Not even you could believe that one.
A tiny grin played on his lips.
“Sure, let’s go with that.”
Soon the bell rang, saving you from making any further incriminating comments.
“See you in class?”
“Yeah, see you in class,” Miles replied, before tilting his head. “Or wherever I see you.”
#y'all like my lil gradient i like this color#miles morales fic#miles morales x reader#miles morales x black!reader#earth 42 miles x reader#earth 42 miles morales x reader#moralesanhour
449 notes
·
View notes
Text
if you believe in me - 01
summary: You and Miles decide to make it official. Kind of.
wc: 763
warnings: none
a/n: I love setting my characters up for failure <3
next
Miles hadn't texted you at all since the kiss, but not for lack of trying.
He would begin to type out a message:
"hi".
No, too empty. Perhaps a bit creepy.
Backspace.
"hey :)"
Would you expect him to use smiley faces? No, it felt too different to how he spoke in real life. Backspace.
Maybe he should rip a page out of his classmates' playbook. It always seemed to work for them when he peered over at their screens.
"wyd?"
He frowned at his phone in bewilderment. Why would he ask that all of a sudden with no context?
Backspace.
"Hey, Y/N! Just checking in to see how you're doing."
Miles mentally cursed himself when he realized how much the text sounded like an email.
He flopped down onto his bed in defeat, and checked his digital alarm clock. 7:30 pm. He had been sitting there for an entire half hour and could hardly get a greeting out, probably leaving you to wonder why the boy who had literally kissed you last week couldn’t be bothered to send a text.
Miles knew that today would be special when his phone alarm actually woke him up - and from a dreamless sleep, at that. Normally the sun would practically blind him after the curtains were thrown open by his mother, yelling frantically about how he was going to be late in half an hour. The sky was miraculously just turning a periwinkle blue outside, and the possibility of actually getting breakfast seemed within reach for once.
Miles squinted to read the menu above him. Ordering a spicy beef patty before 8 in the morning sounded like a poor dietary decision, so he went with a bacon egg and cheese sandwich like everyone else. As soon as he backed up from the counter, he made the mistake of glancing to his right at the fridge containing drinks on the other side of the bodega, and his stomach dropped.
Your jacket was instantly recognizable, even from a mile away.
Miles threw on his hoodie and shuffled over to the aisle behind him, where he pretended to be preoccupied with a container of instant coffee while trying to keep his face covered. When he saw movement in his periphery, he ducked his head and inched his way towards the freezer that contained his prized can of Arizona tea. He was about to reach for the handle, just inches away from success, when your voice stopped him:
“Morales?!? Where the hell have you been?”
Fuck.
“Hey,” Miles gave you a tight smile as he turned slowly to face you. “How…how are you?”
“I’m good,” you nodded, before lightly smacking him in the arm. “Haven’t heard from you in a minute, though. Why I ain’t catch you in class?”
The boy shrugged. “I dunno. Still in the same seat every day. Maybe you just missed me.”
As he said this, Miles recalled seeing you in the cafeteria while making his way upstairs the other day and ducking behind a trash can before your eyes could meet. You having gone back to your regular seat in AP Calc made avoidance even easier; he could simply time when he went over to his seat, a small crowd of students providing ample cover.
“Chopped cheese!” a man called out from the front, interrupting his thoughts.
“That’s me,” you said with a grin.
“”Bacon egg and cheese!”
“And that’s me,” Miles replied as he spun around to retrieve his order, making sure to leave room for you to pass behind him after grabbing your sandwich.
Once outside, he realized that you were staring at him. Not just in passing, but expectantly. Was he meant to do something?
“What?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“You like me, right?”
“I-um…yeah,” Miles’ eyes darted away from your face. “I don’t think I’d kiss anybody I didn’t like.”
“Don’t get smart with me, you didn’t text me at all afterwards. I was starting to get the wrong impression!”
He snorted, “Well, now you’ve got the right one.”
“Sooo…” you tilted your head. “Does that mean we’re like, a thing now?”
He tensed at the suggestion. ‘A thing’. You’d think it was obvious what that meant, but what did it really mean in tenth grade? Sit at home and kiss a lot?
But your smile began to falter the longer he took, and the sight stung him.
“I guess we are,” Miles finally replied. He looked down. “What are you doing?”
“Holding your hand, duh!”
He let you intertwine your fingers with his, tentatively squeezing them in return.
#miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles x black!reader#miles morales x black!reader#earth 42 miles x reader#moralesanhour
438 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can you write Miles 42 freaks out and gets a little mad but like not mad but like surprised reaction where read kisses him for the first time
Ooh that's an interesting reaction. Sure thing!
You shivered as a chilly breeze whipped past your face on the roof of Miles' apartment. He had warned you that it'd be cold up here after inviting you inside, as was your weekly routine.
His side profile was carved out against the hazy blue skyline of the city. It was slowly getting dark, but you could still see Miles' brows knit together the way they did when you watched him doodle in the margins of his homework.
"You said you wanted to tell me something?" you asked, shoving your hands in the pockets of your hoodie.
Miles worried his bottom lip with his teeth before shaking his head. "Um, yeah, I..." he trailed off.
You moved closer until your elbow was brushing against his as he gripped the balcony railing.
"Uh-huh?"
The boy exhaled, then turned to face you.
"I like you," he just barely got out.
You stared at him for what might’ve been the longest ten seconds of his life, searching his face for a twitch of laughter.
"Miles, I can't tell if you-"
"I'm dead serious."
All you could do was nod silently as your heart beat in your ears. Miles started fidgeting with his sleeve.
"W-we don't have to go out, or nothing, I just needed to tell you," he added quickly, trying to keep his voice low and even. The tails of his sentences were breathy and betrayed him.
If you left right now, he'd have to go back to eating lunch upstairs, but Rio would stop asking if you two had gone on your first date yet. Uncle Aaron wouldn't have to cut his eyes at you like that anymore. It would all be over soon.
Miles' dark eyes reflected the street lights as they remained fixed on you, waiting.
"Feeling's mutual," you finally responded.
"What-?"
Suddenly, your cold fingers were brushing his face as you lightly pressed your lips to his. When you pull away, his eyes are the size of dinner plates.
Miles' feet gain a mind of their own and start to back him away from the railing. He had planned to sit in his room and play video games to console himself once you left, but now, you had derailed his plans and left him flailing. The look on your face broke his heart.
"Oh my god, were you not cool with that?" you asked, hands held out as if in defense. "I'm so sorry, I-"
"No," he interrupted, taking careful steps towards you, "you just caught me off-guard. My fault."
He saw your eyes flicker towards the exit leading into the stairwell.
Before you can turn to leave, Miles grabs your arm and pulls you towards him. It was his turn to cup your face. You feel his hands tremble as he goes in for another kiss.
-
I hope this was what you had in mind or somewhere close to that 😭 thanks for reading!
#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles headcanons#earth 42 miles morales#across the spider verse spoilers#moralesanhour#requests
680 notes
·
View notes
Text
teamwork (makes the dream work...?) pt. 2.5
summary: you bump into Miles at the bodega. whoops.
wc: 900+
warnings: implied food insecurity, wasted sandwich </3
prev next
…Or so you thought.
Standing right in front of you in the crowded bodega ordering a beef patty was none other than Mr. Morales himself, drowning in a huge black puffer jacket. As soon as he finished, he stood off to the side, eyes glued to the floor and shifting from one foot to the other.
“What you want, miss?” The man at the counter broke you out of your reverie, looking impatient.
“Sorry, just a BLT, please,” you called out over the din of music and loud conversation. The man nodded, yelling out your order to two other men standing over a hot stove beside him.
You moved to the side, near the snack aisle where Miles was standing. His eyes seemed to remain on the ground, so you sneak glances at the side of his face, starting from his ears. They were pierced, but currently barren. You move up to his cheek, where a stray lash has fallen. The boy's lashes were just long enough to brush it. They fluttered as his pupil darted to the side, and you realized that you were making eye contact.
"Whoah, can I get my face back?"
Miles had caught you just before your eyes could flicker away. He had that same ‘the sky is blue’ look that he gave you on the first day you were seated together. You quickly turned away without a word, opting to examine the snacks lining the rack behind you.
“No ‘hello’?”
You spun around, bag of Takis in-hand.
“What?”
“You just gon’ stare into my skull and not even say ‘hello’?”
You scoffed at the boy’s sudden interest in etiquette.
“Fine, hi.”
One of the cooks called out both of your orders, sliding them across the counter wrapped in aluminum foil as the two of you went up to the front.
“Bye.”
Miles grabbed his food first before weaving through the crowd towards the exit.
That is, until you try to squeeze out of the door before him. Your face plants into the plush material of his jacket before you stumble onto the cracked sidewalk outside, your poor sandwich open on the ground before you could even take a bite.
Groaning, you hear a few ‘Ohhh’s behind you as you squat to pick the two halves up to throw them out. This was supposed to be your dinner.
Miles watches you toss them into a nearby trash can, and makes a decision.
“Yo,” he waved you over. His face looked like it was holding onto a laugh, and you rolled your eyes.
“Now is really not the time, Morales.”
“So I guess you not tryna eat, then?”
You paused, and looked at the boy skeptically. He didn’t seem like the type to be above making you eat things off the floor. As if you had communicated with him telepathically, Miles shrugs his shoulders and nods.
“That’s fair,” he says to himself.
Your eyebrows raise in surprise when he makes long strides over to you instead. He carefully opens up the aluminum to reveal the golden pastry inside, and you watch him carefully split it in half with his fingers before offering the piece. You look up at Miles, then the patty, then back up at Miles. His expression softened into a knowing look.
“I’m not gonna ask for no money back, if that’s what’s on your mind.”
Finally, you take it. It was either this, or Takis and sleep for dinner.
“Thanks.”
The sky had taken on a deep blue shade, and worry crept onto your features as the street lights began to flicker on.
“I gotta walk home,” you said flatly. “See you tomorrow–”
“By yourself?”
Even as it got dark, you could make out the deep frown on Miles’ face.
“It’s not that far, relax.”
“How far?”
Your tongue pushed against the inside of your cheek before you muttered, “Three blocks…”
Miles stuck his hands in his pockets. “Look, ion like yo’ ass, but I can’t have you walking around here by yourself in the dark. Lemme walk you two blocks,” he put two fingers for emphasis, “at least.”
You tilted your head at him, but agreed.
“Slow down,” you complained as you struggled to keep up with the long-legged boy. The both of you had been walking for barely twenty minutes, but your feet were already starting to hurt from having to jog up to him.
“Walk faster,” Miles laughed.
Silence settled in between you as the streets got quieter, save for the bustling of traffic in the distance.
“Is it true what people say about you?” you ask, suddenly breaking it.
“Be more specific.”
“Like, are you in a gang? You don’t gotta tell me which. And how the hell you flunk outta school on purpose? Do you really do graffiti-”
“First of all, I’m not in no fuckin’ gang,” Miles had stopped walking abruptly. “You see any tats on me?”
“You’re wearing a coat.”
You hear Miles suck his teeth, and snicker.
“Well, I don’t have one. My momma would put me in the dirt if I did,”
He resumed his speed-walking, and you break into another light jog to stay next to him. “The other two are true, though.”
“Why?” you ask, a little out of breath.
“Do you know how to use complete sentences?”
“Why’d you flunk on purpose? Graffiti, I can understand. That, I can't.”
Miles was silent for a few moments, and you considered retracting the question before he finally replied.
“Visions…wasn’t really for me.”
You want to press further, piece together how a kid with a strict mother and a knack for advanced calculus could just…decide that school ‘wasn’t for him’. But the way he mumbled his answer told you he wouldn’t divulge any more, and your house was just up ahead. You’d walked all three blocks.
“This is me,” you say as you slow your pace. “Thanks again.”
“Yup, g’night,” Miles calls behind him, already strolling in the opposite direction.
-
Whew, okay! I hope y’all enjoy this one even though it’s technically not a full chapter. Now I’ll ACTUALLY give myself a week to work on the next one lmao. As always, feel free to leave any reactions, questions, or comments in replies/tags/my asks! thx for reading <3
#earth 42 miles morales#earth 42 miles morales x black!reader#earth 42 miles morales x reader#miles morales x black!reader#miles morales x reader#moralesanhour
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
teamwork (makes the dream work...?) pt. 4
Summary:
wc: 1k+
A/N: um hii sorry for updating a lil late 😅 but I got really into writing this esp at the end. We're almost done! As always feel free to comment your thoughts and reactions, or send them to my inbox! Thanks for reading :)
prev. next
Song: It's Only a Paper Moon - Ella Fitzgerald (totally optional to listen while you read, if you like that sort of thing)
The small plastic bag carrying your lunch swung from your wrist as you pushed the door to the counselor’s office open.
"Thanks again for helping me organize around here," said the woman standing beside you.
"No problem, Ms. Keene!"
By the time you stepped inside, Miles was already sitting at the round table in the middle of the room.
The boy spoke first as soon as your eyes met.
"Hey," he greeted you flatly. His stare wasn't too far off from the look of curiosity you get from a stray cat that isn't certain whether you're trying to give it food or not; neither malicious nor particularly excited.
You tilted your head in surprise.
"Hey, you in trouble or something?"
Miles shook his head.
"Ms. Keene lets me have lunch in here."
"You two know each other?" The tall, dark-skinned woman asked. Though she had asked you both, she beamed at Miles as she spoke. He glanced back and forth between you and the woman.
"Kinda."
She clasped her manicured hands together.
"I'm glad you're starting to make friends again. That's progress. Enjoy your lunch," Ms. Keene said as she spun on her heel to leave, her short bob cut bouncing along with her.
"And put on those glasses!"
Miles rolled his eyes as the door shut with a click.
"Everybody's on your case about these glasses, dude. Just put 'em on," you said as you sat down next to him.
"Don't need 'em."
"Okay," you pointed to the analog clock hanging directly across from him, "tell me what time it is without using your phone."
He scoffed.
"Easy, it's…"
The boy stood, and squinted so hard that his nose scrunched. He heard you laughing through your nose behind him after a minute and soon dropped back down to his seat, hands raised in resignation.
"Alright, you got me. But who's looking at the damn clock all day?"
"Sitting in the back of the classroom with no glasses on is nuts, Miles. What's so bad about them?”
Miles pouted in indignation, "They make me look like Steve Urkel.”
“They can’t be that bad,” you said, grabbing the case from next to him and prying it open. “Lemme see.”
“Nope.”
“Just this once!”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Please?”
The boy sighed, then took the glasses from you with a wary expression. He looked at them like they were a moldy piece of bread before finally putting them on.
“Happy?”
Neon green color aside, the glasses were truly not that bad. The thick lenses framed his face and made him look younger. The boy blinked, awaiting your verdict.
“Awww, you look like a little nerd!”
“Don't start with that,” Miles shook his head, a grin spreading across his face in spite of himself. He swiped them off of his face and took the case from you.
“It’s not a bad thing,” you said over a bite of your sandwich, “you look cute in them.”
He froze, a hand instinctively flying up to scratch the nape of his neck before turning his gaze in the other direction. You could still see the impression of his dimples peeking out from the side.
“Don’t get a big head over it, now,” you elbowed him gently. He quickly changed the subject.
“I’m finna tell Ms. Keene that you’re distracting me.”
Miles was now hunched over his notebook again. He had his homework sheet covering one page, but you could tell he was sketching. When you tried to look over his shoulder, he frantically shut it closed.
“Can you not be nosy for five minutes?”
“My fault, bro, damn.”
Miles continued to draw quietly for almost the entirety of calculus, never once allowing you to peek at it. He didn’t pause until you lightly tapped his arm.
The boy flinched at the sudden contact, but you had his attention.
“I’m stuck on this problem you wrote, just this one. Help me out?”
He tapped his pen lightly on the desk in consideration. Finally, he shrugged, closing the notebook and sliding it to the side.
“Sure.”
You placed the worksheet between you and Miles, where your desks met.
“It’s this one. I’m not getting the solution you got,” you explained, placing a finger on the offending equation.
Miles peered closely at it. His braids nearly brushed the desk as his head moved.
“You gettin’ it wrong because you forgot to distribute here,” he pointed. “Everything has to distribute.”
You nodded as the gears in your head got to turning again. “Thanks.”
-
“Ma!” Miles whined as he took his plate of yellow rice and peas from the table.
“I’m just saying! La chica es muy linda, sigues mirándola. Don’t do anything crazy up there, understand?”
You were far from fluent, but the first bit of the brown woman’s sentence made a shy smile grace your features.
“This looks so good, thanks Mrs. Morales.” you said as you grabbed your own plate, carefully carrying it with both hands.
“No problem, baby,” the woman replied, gently smacking the back of her son’s head before sending you both upstairs. “Same time as usual.”
“Your mom’s nice,” you remarked once you entered Miles’ room.
“You just sayin’ that ‘cuz she gassed your head up,” Miles laughed.
“Whatever. I’m ‘bout to fuck this plate up!”
“Not on my bed, I hope.”
The boy gave you a warning glance.
“Relax, you see me sitting?”
You blew on a spoonful of rice before trying it, and the flavor nearly made your eyes pop out of your skull.
“Your momma went crazy in that kitchen.”
“M-hm,” was all Miles could reply as he shoveled the rice into his mouth, already halfway through the plate.
Soon both of your plates had been scraped clean, and you started working after taking the dirty dishes downstairs to wash. All three calculus problems had been completed, but a small squabble broke out over the appearance of the slideshow that Miles had put together.
“It looks so boring,” you complained. “At least make the background a different color–”
“Uh-unh, you gon’ make it hard as fuck to read. I say we keep it simple,” the boy swatted your hand away from the keyboard.
“Make the title dark magenta, and you got a deal.”
He sighed, “Fine. It’s legible, I guess.”
It was still only 7:30 by the time the project was finished, and you didn’t feel like leaving behind the warmth of Miles’ home just yet.
“Can you play some music?”
Miles spun around in his swivel chair.
“What kind?”
“I dunno, whatever you listen to,” you tilted your head at him quizzically. “What do you listen to?”
“Um,” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small Bluetooth speaker, setting it on his desk. “Just…whatever I feel like. Lots of stuff.”
He carefully laid down on his bed next to you, making sure to maintain at least a few inches of distance.
Old jazz music began to float through the air.
“You like Ella?”
“Yeah,” he said at a near-whisper. “...I do now. Forgot what this song was called.”
“‘It’s Only A Paper Moon,’” you answered. “From ‘The War Years’. Beautiful record.”
Miles snuck a glance at the side of your face while you stared up at the ceiling. He liked the dreamy, far-off way you’d said the title.
“You sound old as fuck right now,” he commented. “Record…”
This made you burst into laughter, and Miles decided that he didn’t mind that sound, either.
“My momma always calls ‘em ‘records’, so I picked up the habit.”
“I like how you talk.”
You finally turned your head and met the boy’s eyes. The small grin playing on his face wasn’t a teasing one.
“‘How I talk?’”
“When you’re not grilling me with questions like a cop? Yeah, it’s nice.”
Not sure what to do with this new information, you turn your gaze back up to the ceiling.
“You’re a strange one, Miles,” was all you could say.
There was a brief pause before you asked,“What did you mean by ‘now’?”
Miles raised an eyebrow. “What’d I say about complete sentences?”
“Sorry,” you rolled your eyes. “You said you liked this song now, you didn’t like it before?”
He was silent for a good, long, ten seconds before answering.
“I used to not be super into jazz. Dad used to play that shit on the radio, driving me to school. I hated having to hear it the entire ride,” he laughed. “I know he’s somewhere making fun of my ass now.”
You hummed in acknowledgement, wondering if you should offer comforting words, or your condolences. Knowing Miles – at least a little – you decided against it.
“I used to listen to Ella songs when the house got too loud, or while I was eating lunch.”
“They let you listen to music down there?”
“Nah, I was eating upstairs with the English teacher after she saw me sitting by myself.”
“You still sit by yourself?”
Shaking your head, you answered, “I usually sit with Tianna, she’s usually my calc partner. This week’s kind of an exception.”
“So if it wasn’t for her, I woulda finished this shit three days ago,” he joked.
You placed your hand over your heart and gasped dramatically. “You mean you don’t enjoy being graced by my presence?”
“Hm,” Miles conceded, “I enjoy it a little.”
“Is this your way of saying we besties now?”
“Whoah, never mind. You killed the moment.”
“That was a moment?”
“Nope, forget everything I just said.”
-
Fun trivia since we're almost at the end: what book do you think Miles and the MC are reading in English class? There's no prize for answering but i'll be really excited about it. Thanks again for reading!
Taglist:
@thisaccountisrandomsstuff
@sizeablysized
@itsnotino
@asteria33
@kissmxcheek
@urmotherswhor3
@mrs-morales
@sukisprettyface
@kezibear
@missusmorales
@mystic60
@milesmolasses
@simp4miguell
@youcantseem3
@scryarchives
@mainvamp
@aki-ham
@v-vampy
@iluvweasleys
@pietromaximoffsbabe
@duckyduck25
@ulovejayy
@laylasbunbunny
@citrusequalsfrogs
@justreadingabooksstuff
@aoibhinnnnnnnnnnn
@euphorichappiness10
@gaychaosgremlin
@p3rf3ct4ng3l
@usoppsstar
@lovefrominaya
@arizzu
@tanchosanke
@animechick555
@ca1ist0
@spo0kypigeon
@theleftkittycollection
@oceean
@edgyficuselastica
@sophiaj650
@inluvwithneteyam
@fennecspage
@stevenknightmarc
@okayiamkassandra
@gwennesy
@kklovess
@hana-1235
@r3d0n33
#earth 42 miles morales#miles morales#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales x black!reader#miles morales x reader#moralesanhour
641 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
femdsl
Без названия
stankworth
Bile Stankworth
rosalie027
Putting Pictures and Ideas in to the Universe
sparespells
SPARE ∴ SPELLS
spnyouresostupid
Supernatural, You’re So Stupid the Podcast