JIN IS HOMEI’m 17 and black
28 posts
Ayoungmilitarywife - Bee - Tumblr Blog
ESPECIALLY infantilize pav. Like the fandoms cool but like some y’all just…👀 ruin it
His ass is fat for no reason!!😒😩
Y’all need to go watch Karl Asmr vid on miles42. Its soo good it had me giggling and fangirling so bad🙈 the outro the best part
I will always get into position for this man.🤭All he gotta do is bark out that order and I’m doing it!!😊
Y’all headcanons be going to far sometimes to the point where the characters personality is just wiped away
It’s BTS 10th anniversary today🥰! I have been with BTS for 6 years and these years with them has been with laughter and tears(cause I’m sensitive) I’m proud at how far they have come with army by their side
CONGRATULATIONS ON 10 YEARS ARMY AND BTS🎉🥳💜
and Happy Festa!
It’s so bad😒and I don’t even speak Spanish.
I could never be spider women or whateva, I’m to lazy for that type of shit😗 got me swingin and shit just to fall flat on my face
The way people are slandering writers in the comment section is crazy. (Specifically two writers who write for Abby and Ellie)I’m over her snortin and cackling 😭 💀they are making some good points also bc the way some y’all be writing the reader👀 is questionable and scary
Need more Hobie x black reader fics NOW! I’m hungry 😗
If I was miles in this scene i would be cackling cause why you tryna be intimidating but you doing all that knowing that we look the same.
Like could you take your self serious in this situation, it looks like he’s trying to rizz himself up💀
This is the one! ☝️the last line ATE!🍴
Let's Play a Little Game
Post! Spiderman Across the Spiderverse
Obsessive!Prowler!Miles Morales x Spidergirl!Reader
Authors note: THIS READER IS 15. A CHILD. THERE IS NO SMUT. NADA, ZIP, NOTHING. I WILL NOT BE SPICY WRITING A SINGLE THING FOR ANYTHING INVOLVING MILES MORALES.
You’d fought villains twice your size. A crazy octopus with metal tentacles, a man double your size, covered in black spots. Petty criminals brandishing jagged knives. But why was this one so different? He was no different was he?
He was gruff. His body was always rigid, his words were sharp. His eyes were sharp. But the one thing you took notice, how manipulative he was. How he could weasel into the mind, into the minds of men twice his age who did his most dirty work.
You had to pretend. Pretend his syrupy sweet words were true till your hero came. Your lovebug.
His eyes cut to yours as the record scratched to silence in the hideout. Your eyes crack open, he now crouched in front of you. His braids fell to the side. You braided them for him last night. It was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him. His head lay back on your legs as you massaged his scalp. And for a moment your mind went dark as you held the thin sharp rat tooth comb.
One drive straight to the throat was all it took, then you could be free. But then he opened his eyes. And you couldn’t. Because even if he wasn’t your lovebug. He was an exact copy of him. You were in his world, if his men found it was you that took their leader out they would hunt you down.
He stared in your eyes as if daring you, testing your new freedom. And so you carefully parted his hair down the middle. That night you passed the first test.
And now as your sleepy eyes look into his, you remember it’s time. Time for another song and dance. Of playing the part. Another test.
“Sleepy mi vida?”
You can’t bring yourself to speak up and offer him a tired nod as you curl more into the nook of the couch, the bright knitted blanket stands out like a sore thumb, as do you in all your brightness. A reminder how far from home you are.
“A little bit.” your voice is scratchy, you must have slept for an hour at best. The sun was diving into the horizon painting the sky a beautiful mix of oranges and yellows. You sit up stretching your arms above your head and scooch your body forward.
“Nah, take your time amor. Didn’t mean to wake you up” his knuckles stroke down to rest under your chin and his thumb to gently pinch it as he looks up at you with that love sick gaze. He leans forward and you know to meet him halfway and press your lips to his.
He moves back enough to whisper against your lips, “suit up in five, we got business to handle.”
And as he stands to walk to the old player. A soft beat fills the room, your veins as you force yourself to stand. To fight. Your movements are second hand as you don the suit behind a hung up white sheet. You don’t call it yours, Because it's not. Yours is back home. Here he’s created you a new one.
You step out from behind the sheet and in his eyes he drinks you in as you adjust your web shooters.
And in some sick way, maybe you had survived in this universe. Had you been bitten? This would have been your suit. It was solid black with black webbings along the thighs and pink in the inner parts of the hood along with your jordans which you go to kneel and tie up but he stops you. He kneels before you and ties them. And just as he gazes up at you, you pull your mask down.
This is what keeps you sane. Because here you're free to sneer down at him as he looks up at you. He wears his own suit now. You hold your hand to him and he wraps his around you and pulls himself up, his hand is quick to reach and snake around you, pulling you flushed against him.
“Deadly and beautiful. The perfect mix” he whispers leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead as he taps the side of his mask to conceal his face.
He watches you as you leap from the building and sends your webbing to a building swinging your body to kneel on top of a light pole. You look up and catch his nod as he moves forward. And you follow. Swinging languidly.
You realize now as you swing into the dead of night why he’s unlike the villains, the criminals, the mad scientists. Because as he runs alongside you. As he leads you both into the night. His reflection dancing off the glass of a building. As he looks at you. For a moment you think that’s Miles, your Miles, your lovebug. But it’s not.
Instead, you look into the eyes of Miles, the prowler. Harbored on earth-42.
And it scares you, because as much as you fight each day, deep down. Somewhere in the dark parts of your heart. Your heart flutters, feels warm for a moment when he holds your gaze, and flashes you that smile.
And you beg for Miles, Gwen, Miguel, Hobie, anyone to find you. Because you fear that somewhere along the line, you’re no longer going to be pretending.
That you failed the ultimate test of love.
I literally SQUEALED when I saw this. Thank you for the feeding 🤭🙏
Trust Don’t Work (Earth 42! Miles x black! fem reader)
Earth 42 miles finna make me act up hes so damn fine
AND I THINK HE MY AGE!!!
don’t y’all just love thug livin?
on my tupac type beat
Warnings: kinda toxic relationship, mentions of blood and killing
From what you knew, Miles Morales was a hard working guy. Always around doing God knows what  as he barely has time for anything else, other than his work. The time that you get to spend with your boyfriend is very limited throughout the day, whether it be short-lived dinners when he comes home, or his lips on yours as he’s about to walk out the door and go back to work.
When you first asked Miles about what kind of work he does that has him out and about all day, he told you, “Don’t worry about that mami, just worry about getting your pretty little nails done.”
And that’s exactly what you did. If Miles didn’t want you worrying about what he did for work, then you thought that you should respect his privacy and his wishes. However, respecting his wishes became difficult when he began coming home in the middle of the night with specs of blood on his jackets and shirts.
Lord knows you would stay up late until Miles finally came home, and when you would try to talk to him, his response would always be “Don’t worry about it ma.”
“What the hell is this... Jesus, Miles are you bleeding? Who did this to you? Did you get in a fight? Miles talk to me-”
“Yo, didn’t I say you don’t gotta worry about it? Dios mío I’m fine ma, now take yo ass to bed,” he said in annoyance whilst walking past you.
It was becoming an ongoing cycle of you questioning Miles every night when he came home and him brushing it off like it was nothing. That was until one day, Miles came home days after he left. He didn’t call, he didn’t text, he didn’t even leave you a note telling you he would be gone for a while.
The first time he left for a couple of days, you almost had a panic attack. For all you knew he was dead already. Thoughts of him being found dead somewhere on the streets plagued your mind, sending you into a frenzy of calling him and texting him, desperately needing to hear his voice. It wasn’t until he came home two days later to see you angry crying when he apologized for scaring you so bad. 
“Mami, you gotta understand it was a stupid mistake. I was out on business for a couple days, and I forgot to tell you. Por favor, I’m sorry. I ain’t mean to scare you like this Ma.”
Learning his lesson, whenever he had to go for a couple days he left you a note on your refrigerator, saying that he would be gone and not to worry about him. This is when you really began to want answers as to what your boyfriend was doing. There was no way he was working no 9 to 5 and being gone for three days. You needed an explanation as to what was going on. 
You chose to try asking Miles what he did for work once again. You sat him down and tried having a one on one conversation with him, slowly leading him up to the big question you wanted to ask. When you had finally asked it, Miles seemed upset with you. He had told you multiple times not to worry about what he did because as long as it paid the bills, you shouldn’t have to worry about what he does. 
“Miles, you come home with blood on you and I don’t see you for three days and you expect me not to ask you these questions? Do you think I’m fucking stupid? You want this relationship to work, you need to put in the fucking work. I need you to tell me the truth,” you said as you paced around your apartment.
What you wanted to be a calm conversation had quickly turned into an argument between the two of you. At this point, it wasn’t even about what Miles did for work, it was about the fact that he was lying straight to your face 24/7. 
“What happened to you saying that a relationship needs boundaries? What, now that I have my boundaries set straight you wanna cross them?” he asked. “If I don’t want you to know what I do for work, then that should be that! You trying to press me to say something that I don’t feel needs to be said, is crossing my boundaries!”
Arguments, like these became frequent; the longer his lie went on, the more your trust for him began to crumble. The more you tried to question him, the more walls he put up between the both of you. It wasn’t until one morning when you turn on channel 2 news to see none other than New York City’s newest vigilante in the limelight.
He had a mask on so you couldn’t see his true face, but cascading down from his head you recognized those two long frizzy braids anywhere,
“Oh my God…”
It was like your whole world was falling apart — the man you loved, was out in the world killing people. Though yes, these people were terrible people who were wreaking havoc upon New York City, that still didn’t change the fact that your boyfriend, Miles Morales, was killing people.
Your breathing began to pick up, your eyes searching the room frantically for something, anything to make this horrible feeling go away. You gripped the edge of the couch, shaking your head, praying a mantra of denial and trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t real.
“No… no no no no no this can’t be real- this can’t be happening, no it’s not him.”
When Miles came home the next day, you couldn’t even look at him. You knew. You knew what he was doing for “work,” that he was killing people and making deals with others. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Miles realized you were acting strange toward him.
“Mami? Mami ¿qué tal? You’re acting weird,” he said as he sat next to you on the couch, nudging you. You had both legs up with your hands wrapped around your knees; almost like you were cradling yourself.
“I’m fine baby.. just a little tired,” you tried getting up from the couch, not wanting to be near him now that you were fully aware of what he was doing. You didn’t know how to feel about him anymore.
Miles pulled you back down to the couch by your shoulders as he said, “Nuh-uh, hàblame. I’m not just gonna let you get up and leave me without talking about this first-“
“Who said I was gonna leave you? Huh? Is that what you think Miles, that I’m gonna leave you-” you questioned him with your eyes wide open looking at him. He looked at you, surprised by your small outburst.
“What? N-no mi amor I meant leave the couch.. are you good you’ve been acting like this for a while now?”
It was happening. You know you would have to tell him that you found out what he was doing, but you just didn’t think it would have to be so soon.
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Huh-? Baby what are you talking abo-”
“I know you’re the vigilante on the news. I know it’s you Miles, I seen the braids on his head so don’t even try to deny it!”
Miles slowly took his hand off your shoulder, surprised at what you just told him. Jesus Christ how could you have guessed just by the braids on his head?
“Okay… you know… what do you want me to say about that?” he said, careful not to tread too close to your emotions.
“I want you to tell me why,” you said, putting your head in your hands trying so hard not to let the tears flow. Miles could hear the way your voice cracked as you tried to get the right words out. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m doing it for you Ma-“
“No you’re not, cause I ain’t never ask for you to go leave this house and kill people! I never asked for that shit man!”
Miles sat there, bewildered. Just looking at you and your convulsing body as you were full out sobbing into your hands. He couldn’t think of what to say. Nothing would fix this, nor what he had done. You were right, we was a killer. But he had always tried his best to keep that side of him private. All he wanted was to protect you from the ugly side of his life. If he had openly told you he was the Prowler, a target would be instantaneously attached to your back.
Just as he was about to open his mouth to say something, his phone rang in his pocket. He slowly sat up to grab it and tell the person calling that now was not the time. But when he heard his uncle Aaron telling him he needed him outside to complete unfinished business, he had no clue what to say in the moment. After a few silent beats and a sigh, he quietly agreed over the phone to meet up with him.
You turned your head to the side to see miles ending the phone call. He turned to look at you, head scrambling to find an excuse to tell you he needed to go in the middle of an argument.
You turned your head back into your hands as you told him with no emotion evident in your voice,
“Just get out man…”
ooooooooo milessssssssss
lol this was fun y’all!
I love Miles G. so imma be sure to write smth more light hearted for the next one
Idk if he’s a lil OOC but we don’t really even know what his character personality is yet
y’all I don’t speak spanish, so for the little spanish I put in here I hope I ain’t screw it up 😭
and if I did, feel free to tell me!!!
I’m so glad that we didn’t get that love triangle between Hobie, miles, and Gwen bc I feel like it definitely would of been a weak point in the movie.
Honestly im just not a fan of miles and Gwen being together. I feel like they’re better off in a platonic relationship then an romantic one.
Update, there is now over 100 Miguel O’Hara x reader fics on ao3!!!🤭😜😋 GO GET YOUR JUICE YALL 🧃 IM FINNA EAT GOOD TONIGHT YALL
I’m in love with hobi and hobie☹️. what has life come too
This is so sweet to point we’re i thought I was going to sob!☹️
cheesepie ; miles morales.
pairing ; miles morales x gn!reader
synopsis ; miles was the warm kind of nostalgia, like playing video games at three in the morning while whisper-yelling insults at each other, or dyeing each other’s hair horrendous bright colors in his tiny bathroom with cheap dye from the drugstore down the street, or standing on his apartment’s rooftop to stargaze the light-polluted sky of brooklyn.
words ; 3.1k
themes ; childhood friends to kinda-lovers, fluff, mild angst, slice of life
warnings / includes ; cursing, miles' parents are adorable and i love them, lots of playful banter, a bit emotional near the end, let's pretend miles still lives at home with his parents and not at the prep school
main masterlist.
The tip of Miles’ tongue poked slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he cocked his hand back, a grape pinched between his pointer finger and thumb. “Lean back a little,” he told you, narrowing his eyes in concentration.
You did as he asked, jaw wide open, prepared to catch.
He took another moment to readjust, and you rolled your eyes.
Right as he tossed the grape, you barked out in frustration, “Just throw it already!”
The cold fruit bounced right off the side of your lips and landed on the floor with a quiet thud. You blinked in shock.
Miles glared at you.
Then he smiled.
“You’re a lousy catcher,” he said, boyish peals of laughter echoing from his chest. With a sigh, he collapsed into his bed, crossing his legs and propping his head up with both his arms.
“Maybe you’re just a lousy thrower,” you replied easily, slinking across the room to sink into the mattress beside him, mimicking his position.
The two of you were far too large for his small bed—his long, gangly limbs awkwardly knocked against yours and you had to bump your hip into his to scooch him further to the edge so you’d have more space.
“Stop hogging my bed,” Miles snarked with no real malice to his words—in fact, he was beaming goofily, watching you with amusement as you grumbled under your breath about how it wasn’t your fault his bed was so narrow.
Your socked foot kicked him in the shin. He retaliated by elbowing you in the ribs. “When was the last time you changed your sheets?”
Miles stuck his tongue out at you. “You don’t wanna know.”
“Ew,” you said, but didn’t bother moving. “You’re gross.”
The boy laying beside you reached out to blindly ruffle your hair, nearly poking your eyes out in the process. “Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”
A comfortable silence stretched over the two of you, and you couldn’t help but revel in the overwhelming sense of nostalgia that clawed up your throat. The warm kind of nostalgia, like playing video games at three in the morning while whisper-yelling insults at each other, or dyeing each other’s hair horrendous bright colors in his tiny bathroom with cheap dye from the drugstore down the street, or standing on his apartment’s rooftop to stargaze the light-polluted sky of Brooklyn and crown new constellations stupid names like ‘Snail Eating a Peanut Butter Sandwich’ or ‘Darth Vader Wearing Lady Gaga’s Meat Dress’.
It was the kind of nostalgia that made you miss a time that wasn’t yet over.
“Miles,” you whispered, staring at the bumps of his popcorn ceiling. He hummed faintly in reply. “Do you think you’re going to stay here for the rest of your life?”
When he didn’t answer, you lolled your head to your side to look at him, brows furrowed. You were surprised to see that he was looking right at you with an indiscernible gaze, as if he was in a trance of some sort.
“Miles?”
He only snapped out of it when you flicked his forehead, and he balked forward, yelping out in half-shock, half-pain. A sheepish grin etched plainly across his lips.
“Sorry, can you repeat that?”
“Just say you weren’t listening to me and leave.” With a chortle of a laugh, you shoved your palm straight into his beaming face and pushed his head so he was forced to look away from you. “Nevermind, you idiot. It was nothing.”
You jogged up the narrow stairs to Miles’ apartment door, slightly out of breath, and rang the doorbell. No less than a minute later, his dad swung the door open, already dressed in his police uniform. A bagel was sandwiched between his teeth and his hat sat crooked on his head, which made you guess that he was probably late for work (Miles definitely had the same habit of being tardy), but he ruffled your hair nonetheless, smiling at you from around the bagel.
“Hey, Mr. Davis,” you greeted with a mirroring grin. “Is the birthday boy home?”
He tried to speak around the food, but Mrs. Morales popped her head out from behind him, smacking his shoulder with a stern glare. “Jeff! That’s disgusting—don’t speak to them with food in your mouth!” She looked to you, her expression melting into one of affection. “Sorry about that, honey. Come on in, Miles is in his room. Wake him up if he’s still asleep, will you? I swear, that boy would snore right through a hurricane. Oh, and ask him if he wants cake or pie for his birthday dessert—and don’t take ‘I don’t really mind’ for an answer.”
“Will do, Mrs. Morales.”
Side-stepping the playfully bickering couple, you bid them adieu with a mock salute before marching straight to Miles’ room down the hall.
You reached into your bag to pull out the can of silly string you bought from the corner store just beside school, biting into your lip with anticipation. You popped the bright red lid off before knocking on the door.
Just as it swung open to reveal Miles with mussed hair and droopy eyelids, you pressed the nozzle with a wide grin and damp pink strings shot out, covering his face entirely. He wasn’t fazed at all, going so far as to yawn when you enthusiastically yelled out, “SURPRISE! Happy birthday, dude!”
He blinked, swiping the limp strings away from his eyes. A hint of a smile cracked through his sleepy expression.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to at least pretend to be surprised.”
“This is, like, the fifth year in a row, Y/N.”
“You love it,” you crooned, before launching yourself forward to envelop him in a hug. Miles immediately reciprocated, wrapping his arms around you tightly, making sure to nuzzle extra hard into your shoulder so the pink gunk on his face would rub into your clothes.
“Thank you,” he whispered into you. “At least you didn’t launch those fake cockroaches at me again. That was a nightmare.”
A cackle fell from you as you pulled away, pinching his cheek fondly. “Noted. Saving that for next year, then. Here, I got you some things.”
He pushed his door open further so the two of you could amble in. You sat cross-legged on his bed, pulling your bag into your lap and rifling through its contents before you pulled out a cheap glittery card.
“Hope there’s money in here,” he quipped as he took it from you. Bits of blue glitter fell onto his comforter as he pried the card open, and he shot you a glare. It was clearly a card meant for a seven-year-old child, but in bright red sharpie, the number 1 was drawn in front of the 7, with a little heart and a smiley face below. If you hadn’t been watching him so intently, Miles was sure he would’ve teared up at the sweet gesture—despite you doing it every year for as long as he could remember. His voice cracked with unvocalized emotion when he croaked out, “There’s no money in here.”
You scoffed, punching his bicep weakly. “You’re an ass. Here, I made you this, too. Had to watch, like, a billion YouTube videos to learn how to crochet these. You’re welcome.”
Alright, maybe it was less than a billion, and a lot closer to five. But Miles didn’t need to know that.
Digging into your bag again, you fished out a long woolen scarf that had alternating black and vibrant purple stripes. You threw it straight into his face before pulling out yet another piece, which Miles noticed was a soft, lavender-hued beanie.
“You made these for me?” Miles asked in surprise, his thumb running over the soft yarn of the scarf.
“Duh doy,” you said, wrinkling your nose in amusement when he wrapped the scarf around his neck with a goofy grin. “Here—this is the last thing, I swear—but, I also got these for you. I know you’ve been wanting them for forever.”
With one final scrummage through your bag, you pulled out a pack of premium coloring pencils, which Miles scrambled to grab, his wide eyes darting between the colors and your fond gaze. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you got these for me. They’re so expensive, Y/N, you really shouldn’t have.”
“Well,” you said, slinging an arm around him, “I gotta support local artists, you know? And you are, by far, my favorite one.”
He placed the pencils down between you, and roped you into another proper hug, quietly murmuring his thanks into your hair.
“Your mom wanted me to ask you if you wanted birthday cake or birthday pie this year,” you whispered into him, playing with the tassels at the end of his new scarf.
“I’m kinda feeling cheesecake this year.”
“Cheesecake is pie, Miles.”
“Then why isn’t it called cheesepie?”
“Because that sounds gross.”
“You sound gross.”
“You’re grosser.”
“You’re grosserer.”
“That’s not a word.”
Miles sighed into your hairline, tugging you closer. The two of you dropped your childish bickering as if it had never happened. “Thank you—for all this. I know I don’t tell you enough but, I… love you. Blegh. It’s so weird being sappy with you.”
He kept his hand to the back of your head so you wouldn’t be able to see his eyes tearing up. You heard him sniffling, so it was really pointless, anyway.
“I guess I love you, too. Idiot.”
“Smartass.”
“Nerd.”
The two of you laughed into each other.
“Happy birthday, Miles.”
A month passed by in a breeze. The two of you had rarely seen each other through the days because you had been loaded with work and Miles… Miles was busy. Apparently. You weren’t entirely sure with what exactly, but you didn’t really want to pry. He was a teenage boy—they were allowed to have their own little secrets if they wanted to.
But it was the weekend, and you missed your best friend.
“Hey, Y/N,” Miles’ dad greeted you as he swung the door open. He lifted a hand for a high five, and you playfully pressed your knuckles into his palm as if you were fist bumping him. He chuckled at your antics, before speaking again. “Miles is at school—some sort of art club, I think. Or maybe it was a science convention. I never know with him nowadays. Gonna have to ask him once he gets back. You can wait for him in his room—he should be back any minute now.”
“Alright,” you said, ambling down the hall. You waved to Mrs. Morales in the kitchen before slipping into his room, shutting the door behind you softly.
You kicked your shoes off as you crawled onto his bed, curling into a ball and brandished your phone out of your pocket, texting Miles.
yo bitch wya ur dad said you were at a science convention? bfr ik ur lying
After hesitating for a moment, you sent another text.
i miss you
You sighed, tossing your phone somewhere beside you and stared up at his popcorn ceiling. Boredom eating you away, you reached over to his table to grab one of the haphazardly strewn comic books, aimlessly flipping through the colorful graphics. You were wondering why the story was so familiar until you realized that this was your comic book that Miles had swiped from your room nearly a month ago.
A loose sheet of paper fell out the back, and you sat up against his headboard, tilting your head curiously.
Oh.
It was a drawing of you.
Your eyebrows raised as you studied the colorful sketch—seemingly done with the nice pencils you’d given him for his birthday—and looked like it was done in a hurry, but it was effortlessly beautiful nonetheless.
You were smiling widely in the drawing, holding up a peace sign. Miles had somehow even remembered the small scar across your nose bridge from that time when he had accidentally thrown a basketball straight into your face a year ago.
“Oh, Miles,” you whispered softly, tracing the intricate lines with a finger.
As if on cue, the window beside his desk slid open, and in crawled… Spider-Man?
But Spider-Man—Peter Parker—was dead. The two of you had gone to listen to MJ Parker’s remembrance speech together a couple years ago. And Spider-Man had a blue and red suit.
This wasn’t Spider-Man. At least, not the one that you knew.
The figure, frozen halfway through the window, sported a sleek back and red spider suit.
And, you recognized with wide eyes, the lavender beanie was pulled over his head, on top of the dark mask.
You blinked, scrambling back on his bed.
“Miles…?” you asked tentatively.
Your best friend, the one that you loved ever so dearly, slowly slid into his room, and shut the window behind him, before taking the mask off. His hair was rumpled and his features were slightly winded, but otherwise, he looked just the same.
Words failed to cohesively stick together as you struggled to ask him a proper question. “What are you… why are you…”
Miles pursed his lips. “I didn’t want you to know. Not this soon, at least.”
“Know what, Miles?”
He let out a long sigh, before backing up to the wall. He then proceeded to walk along his walls perfectly horizontal, as if his shoes were somehow suction-cupped to the plaster.
“What the fuck…” you whispered, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. “Miles, what the actual fuck? Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming.” He dropped back to the ground silently.
“So you’re… what? You’re Spider-Man, now?”
Miles shrugged. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”
“You have powers?”
Teeth sinking into his bottom lip, he nodded sheepishly. “Bitten by a radioactive spider a while ago.”
Hurt etched into your voice without you meaning to do so. “Why didn’t you tell me, Miles?”
“I didn’t…” he cut himself off, slumping into his chair. The brown of his eyes gleamed with inner conflict, unsure of what to tell you. “I didn’t want you to worry. So much has been happening, I just—I wanted you to be separate. I wanted you to be… away from all of that.”
The two of you were silent for a moment.
You squared your jaw.
“Okay.”
Miles looked up at you in surprise.
“Okay? What do you mean?”
“Okay as in—I’ll stay away from it all if you really want me to. Spider or not, you’re my best friend, Miles. Nothing will ever change that.” You pushed yourself off the bed to walk over to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, then promptly changed your mind, winding your arms around his torso and tugging him into a warm embrace. “But if you die out there… I’ll actually kill you. I’ll do it, Miles, I will.”
He laughed slightly, winding his lanky arms around you to return the hug. “I believe you. Thank you.”
“I love you,” you whispered, chin resting on his suit-clad shoulder. “Things are changing for both of us, Miles. And I need you to stay in my life.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, rubbing comforting circles into your back with his palm. There was a knot in his chest, and a lump in his throat. He felt the strange need to cry build up within him, but he kept the tears at bay for you. “I love you, too, you know.”
You hummed against him, sniffling slightly. “I know.”
“I saw your text. I miss you, too.”
“I know.”
“I love you,” Miles repeated, voice faltering slightly.
“I know?” you parroted, mildly confused.
He grasped your shoulders to pull you away, holding you at an arm’s length. The expression that melded over his handsome features was suddenly deadly serious. The abrupt change was jarring—it scared you. “Maybe not in a friend way, though.”
“Oh,” you whispered. You could feel your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. “I didn’t know that.”
A hot tear slipped down your cheek and your shoulders trembled as you staved off a hiccuping sob. Miles’ heart lurched, and he hurriedly swiped it away, afraid that he had completely ruined what the two of you had.
“Everything’s changing, Miles. You know I hate change. It’s all moving by too quickly.” Your expression crumpled as more tears began sliding down your face. “But I think I love you, too. Maybe not in a friend way. And that just… terrifies me.”
Warmth from his palm radiated against your face even with the suit layered over his hand. He cupped your cheeks delicately, tilting his head as he studied you.
“Can I… can I try something? And if it doesn’t work out, we can just pretend it never happened and go back to being best friends. I promise.”
You weren’t stupid. You knew Miles wanted to kiss you.
“Okay,” you croaked.
And he did.
It wasn’t at all like how kisses were depicted in the movies. There were no fireworks, no explosive passion, and certainly no feverish desperation. Only bumping noses and gentle smiles and lips that tasted of salty tears. And it was perfect.
“Hm. You’re a bad kisser,” Miles concluded in a joking tone, but dipped down to give you another kiss nonetheless.
You weren’t entirely sure where this left your relationship, and if you were being honest, you were a bit too scared to interrogate him for answers he probably also didn’t have. You didn’t want to ask for much—you were just happy to spend time with him and enjoy the last few precious remnants of teenagehood the two of you had left together. Miles meant the world to you, and you’d be damned if a radioactive spider got in the way of that.
Arching an eyebrow, you gestured to the looseleaf drawing you left on his bed. “And you’re a creep for drawing me without letting me know.”
Miles blanched. “I… hey! You were looking through my stuff?”
“It was in a comic book on the table. That you stole from me, remember?” Tugging him back to you, you leaned up to slant your lips onto his, smiling stupidly into the kiss. “Idiot.”
“Well, it takes one to know one,” he murmured against you, grinning so wide that it nearly split his face in two.
You shut him up by kissing him again.
This is sooo cute!!!🤭
Don't Blame Me
miles morales x reader
warnings: nothing i can think of
basically, you and Miles are a cute little couple, and you help him dye his hair at midnight (he has waves)
The time was 12.34pm EST, and most of the apartments in Ocean Hill Brooklyn had their lights off and curtains closed. You and Miles were in a 24HR drug store across the street from his apartment, checking out their hair supplies aisle- just when you were about to grab your hair mask treatment, Miles came running to you from halfway down the aisle.
"YEOOOOO, look what I found! We finna bring the demons out tonight," he said in a playful, scratchy tone. You looked at what he had in his hand and saw the platinum blonde hair dye he was holding.
"You wanna be Frank Ocean so damn bad, don't you? You know you're destroying your hair if you do that, right?"
"Nah, I've had virgin hair for forever; my hair can't get ruined after dying it once. That's just stupid," he waved his hand dismissively to my comment on him literally killing his beautiful hair.
"Miles use your head: it's 12 in the morning, and you aren't thinking straight. Trust, you don't want to do this and wake up in the morning regretting shit," I tried to grab the dye out of his hand, but he held onto the box with such a tight grip and a determined look on his cute face, really telling me he wanted to do this.
"No, no no no no, I am thinking straight; believe me, I have thought about this a lot. I can show you my Pinterest hair board right now, and it's full of niggas with blonde waves. Frank Ocean is calling my name Y/N, PLEASE let me do this," he went on and on. He looked at me with a pleading look in his eye, attempting a cute puppy dog face with his chapped pouty lips.
"... A'ight fine, but we getting you some damn chapstick with your cracked ass lips."
"Alright not too much on me, baby. You gon help me dye it though?"
It felt as if he was counting on me to say yes, so I agreed to help him dye his hair. We soon walked up to the register with my hair mask and a new conditioner for his hair, a bag of mini KitKats, the blonde dye, and some Vaseline. I paid for the items, wondering how much I would have to apologize to Rio for destroying her sons hair.
As we walked back to his place, we stopped by the deli to pick up some more snacks- two bags of chips, jolly ranchers, and a sandwich for Miles. We made it back and quietly snuck upstairs to the bathroom, but not without first dropping the food off in Miles's room. We made our way to the bathroom with the dye and the purple conditioner/toner, and I made Miles sit down on the edge of the bath tub while I prepped all the supplies.
"You're a W girlfriend for dying my hair and buying me snacks..." I was having my doubts about this whole "dying my boyfriend's hair thing" because I really didn't want to be the cause of something Miles might regret later on. Also, I kinda liked his regular black hair- I thought it was cute, plus he already had waves, so I didn't get why he wanted to dye his hair on top of that.
"Look, don't be upset with me, ok? I've been actually wanting to do this for the longest time, and I really do appreciate you doing this for me."
"Oh Miles, I'm not upset with you. C'mon, you know I love you but I'm just a little worried about how this will all turn out. I don't want you to regret this later on. Plus keeping up with dyed hair is expensive as fuck, bro," he looked at me again, this time, without the puppy dog looks; more like a sad and disappointed seal. He didn't want to make me worried I could tell.
"Alright look, imma dye it, fix up your hair, and we'll see how it looks unwrapped in the morning, is that ok?" He smiled and took my hand kissing it softly while looking up at me.
"Perfect."
And so I got to work, giving him a towel to drape over his shoulders, bleaching his hair while listening to his moans and groans about how much it burned, putting in the platinum color in his hair, and toning it after. We washed his hair and dried it with a t-shirt, added light amounts of pomade to his hair, finger waved and brushed it, and finally came the durag.
"How did it look? You was the one doin' it, so tell me, how did it look?"
"You gonna have to find out when you wake up tomorrow. Yo, lemme crash here. I'm mad tired right now," I walked out of the bathroom, already knowing his answer to my question. I walked my way back to his room, opening the black deli bag of snacks.
He turned on the ceiling projector which showed what seemed like trillions of little life-like stars on his ceiling. He plopped down onto his bed with me, turning to the bag to grab his sandwich as we stared at the ceiling projector eating our food.
The sunlight crept through Miles's curtains, basking us in the warm indication that a new day had arrived. My eyes blinked slowly and steadily as I shuffled through the bed I was lying in. I looked to my right and saw that the bed was empty and called out "Miles" absentmindedly.
"I'm in here," he yelled out of what I assumed was his bathroom. I rubbed my eyes as I strolled out of his bed and towards his bathroom. I walked in on a sight to behold;
A Miles I had never seen before was staring straight into the mirror, rubbing the neat blonde waves on the top of his head, smiling a smile I had never seen before.
"You are amazing. I can't believe this is what I look like, holy shit.." his smile grew even larger than before when his eyes finally met mine.
"Oh my lord, look at mannnn," I squealed as I put my hands over my mouth in shock. Of course, I knew what the waves had looked like— I'm the one who did his hair— but seeing him so happy with my finished work made me even happier with myself and Miles.
"Me and Frank Ocean are literally twinning right now."
"He prolly don't even have them blonde waves no more."
"Why can't you just let me be happy?"
I laughed at his straight face when he said that, knowing it was only a joke. I walked closer to him so that we were both seen in the mirror, just looking at each other. He placed his hands on my shoulder as he kissed the top of my head. Something about this kiss screamed "thank you" or "I love you for this," and it made me feel warm inside as I stared into his eyes through the mirror.
Suddenly, as if he had just come to a realization, he whispered, "I gotta show my mom... shit"
AYEEEE this took me so long to write for literally no reason
can u tell how much i love frank ocean? lol
I DO NOT CONDONE SLEEPING IN BED WITH YOUR OUTSIDE CLOTHES! THAT SHIT IS DIRTY!
THIS EDIT ATE
We need more Miguel O’Hara x reader STAT! bc this can’t be all of it!!
