#SAPPHIREWITES

[sapphirethewriter]

⊏ 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒!𝟒𝟐 ﾒ 𝐀𝐍𝐗𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ⊐

warnings: language, suggestive phrases, alcohol, mentions of drugs

★ 𝚂𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘 ★

━ 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒖𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒚 ━

𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵

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𝑰𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑨 𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑰𝑵 𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝒀𝑶𝑹𝑲, and when most people were inside their homes drinking hot-coco and cuddling up with their significant other, you were stuck sitting on the far end of chaser typing away at your phone.

The aromatics of a crackling fire trapped behind a cage of stone, and shots of rum and tequila swishing around fill your nostrils. You've only had one cup of your liquor so far, and the buzz is engulfing your body and spirit.

So much so, the friend you're texting nonstop is no longer responding because of how late it is, and you're forces to scope out the scene. To your left you see about three tipsy guys snickering to themselves, and a few girls complimenting each other's outfit beside them. Everyone's words were slightly slurring, and music playing over the speakers didn't help lighten the load.

The most you could really make out in the dim lighting and sea of red plastic cups scattered around the living room area where the familiar faces. The ones you're comfortable with seeing on campus every day.

[ENTER MILES 1610] Your eyes land on the lean build of a well-known student ambassador, Miles Morales standing next to the fireplace. Even from far way, his sunny aura and wide smile was bright enough to melt both ice caps of the earth before the rest of mankind had the chance.

Standing beside him were two girls, one blonde with pink ends, and the other with afro-puffs and full cheeks. Both laughed at whatever he said, barely paying any attention to the drink in their hands. The longer you observed, the easier it was to understand how Miles was always able snag girls into his orbit.

Though he wasn't necessarily known as a playboy or rumored to be dating anyone, it was obvious he'd be the perfect boy to bring home to your parents. Especially yours, because of their unfairly lofty expectations.

You were to go to school for nursing, get married, and start a family.

Those were the only options, and there was no room for distractions.

Fortunately, you're old enough to know what things you can dabble in without being led astray, right?

Tonight, was a one off.

A chance to let your hair down before exams next week.

You glanced down at your phone, eyeing the last message you sent to your friend and empty reply. That conversation was the only thing preventing you from veering too far off the path; without it, curiosity seeped into your gut, twisting it when you heard someone on the couch spring up to suggest an idea to the masses.

"Yo, who's down for some spin the bottle?" a man with freeform locks and British accent queried, and the room decrescendo into mutters before a nearly unanimous agreement came from the couch.

Miles lifted his cup with grin, nodding "let's run it up!"

The girls and guys spread out a bit so they could prepare to play, and your lips twitched with nervousness. You haven't been dragged into playing risky games since your high school days, and nothing was serious back then.

But now, with a table of drinks and mind stuffed with regrets, your stomach churns.

Your eyes skate around the room for an exit aside from the cold outside, but it was no use. The layout of the house was different from your sorority and simply waiting for someone to use the bathroom sl you discover it was beyond crazy.

A lump in your throat is swallowed and you latch your eyes onto Miles, who was now nearing the couch. You smooth your freshly manicured hands over your black dress before pushing yourself off the couch to approach him.

Thankfully, the music was loud enough to over the sound of your heels clicking, and Mikes didn't notice you until you were coming up to him.

His hazel eyes catch yours, and his friends beside him somehow fade into the background.

"You okay?" Miles his head, eyebrow raising.

You fix your hair, hoping to come off naturally, "yeah, um... sorry to interrupt. I don't know where the bathroom is on the-"

"Top floor, last door on the left. The bottom one's outta order," he finished for you, gesturing up the staircase near the hall to the bedrooms.

You nodded, shuffling backwards as your stomach clenched once more, "got it, thanks."

With no further convincing, you slithered your way from the living room and up the stairs. Keeping a low profile, you crouched as you made your way up, holding a hand over your stomach. Miles' directions repeated in your head until you made down the upstairs hallway and turned to the left.

Your fingers, rushed and clammy, twisted the golden doorknob to the bathroom just eyeful of a someone occupying it.

[𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑺!42] A brown-skinned man with boxer braids, and a build like the student ambassador downstairs, was facing the mirror with a razor in hand scooting down his prominent cheekbones. He flinched almost as hard as you did upon your arrival, causing the blade of the razor to slash at his sharp jaw.

A tiny streak of blood replaced the open scar, and the man craned his neck to glare at you.

Your heart skipped a few beats at the face you recognized looking back at you.

Since when did Miles have a twin brother?

Did he always go here?

"¿En serio?" The man exclaimed, gesturing at his face, "¿no ves que estoy haciendo algo?"

Spanish?

You stalled a bit on your apology, not understanding what he was saying but the emotions were surely felt.

"I-I'm sorry, I was..." your eyes go wide seeing blood trail down his neck. Looking at the wound, you instinctively step forward to getting a better view, guilt twinging in your gut as you reach hand up to gently caress the side of face to assess the situation.

Where were the alcohol swabs, wipes, band-aids? Something!

The man jumps from your touch, making you hand fall away from his face.

Too much.

You swallowed, backing away as well. " You're bleeding, I-I wanted to help... your face kinda just-- alarmed me?"

The boy quirked an eyebrow, mouth left ajar, and you wished you stayed home for the night. The most reasonable thing was just to walk away, but there wasn't another place to go beside the living room and you didn't want to go back just yet.

You had to save face.

"No, no! Not like that, like you're not ugly... or anything, you're just-- I didn't know you were a twin!" you admitted, and the longer you talked the more embarrassing things got.

Thankfully, the man didn't just slam the door and hummed, eyes narrowing. "¿Necesitas algo? What do you want? Do you have to throw up or something?"

There were a bunch of things you could've made up, but at this point there was no use.

Lying to man you've already hurt is just cruel.

No matter how pathetic your answer was.

"I was just... looking for a place to breathe a little," you fiddled the hem of your dress, "downstairs isn't really my shtick, so I asked where the bathroom was, and you brother told me come up here since one downstairs wasn't working."

The man delayed his response, and through his pupils you got to watch the fire of his initial frustration being extinguished. Meanwhile, your eyes kept travelling back to his neck.

He huffed, jaw unclenching as he reached over your shoulder toward the medicine cabinet behind your head. He stepped forward to skim over the products inside and close it back when he finished.

His eyes lingered on your face, scanning every feature slowly before pulling back a box of band-aids and alcohol pads.

You blinked, unsure of what he wanted until he tilted the items toward you.

"You wanted to help me out," he shook the box of band-aids, so you'd notice them, "I gotta job interview to be at tomorrow, so don't fuck around, enfermera."

You took the items from the guy's larger hands, and he settled down on top of the toilet seat where you could easily treat his scar.

The first thing you do is start with alcohol pads and as you break one free you can feel his deep brown eyes boring into you.

"What's your name 'ma?" The boy asked, his Spanish and New York accent coloring his deep voice in tones you hadn't heard from any guy who tried talking to you before.

The alcohol pad slips from your fingers onto the floors, and you get to hear his genuine laugh fill the room with a slight echo.

"Uh, I'm Y/N, a sophomore," you said, rushing to pick the pad from the floor and fish in the box for a new one.

You take a small breath to gather yourself before pressing the alcohol pad to the boy's neck, his Adams apple bobbing with every touch.

"You?" It's something you've been meaning to ask since the beginning.

"I'm Miles. Senior," he tilted his neck to give you more access to his neck. "You said downstairs ain't really your thing? How come? You don't like havin' a 'lil fun?"

You nibbled at the inside of your cheeks as you finished wiping his scar, leaving the area somewhat dry.

"It's not that, it's just... I don't really know how to-- 'just be' sometimes?" you tried to explain, feeling that same lump in your throat appear from when you first walk through the party doors. "Like I just... I go places, and my mind doesn't allow me to really-- enjoy it, I guess?"

Miles snickered, "yo, I get it. But my brother's a punk. I'm sure nothin' crazy happening down there."

"How do you know?" You toss the pad in the trash beside him and open the box of band-aids. "You're up here... alone... isn't it technically your birthday too?"

"Why you sayin' that like it's a bad thing, chica?" Miles spread his legs to invite your body in between them as you stood with the band-aid pinched in two fingers. "You ain't the only one who likes to have a little space."

Space.

Yeah, that's what you needed.

Somehow, the universe thought this was better.

Maybe it was, because patching up a pretty boy who seemed to be the exact opposite of his brother, had you swerving off the original lane to isolation. You were now on the fast track to distraction county, and the enticing glint in Miles' eyes was going to gassing you up.

You bent down to place the band-aid over Miles' jaw, your faces are inches away.

"You don't like parties?" You probe, and Mile's lopsided smile slides into his face.

"Nah not really," there was a pause, his eyebrow quirked, "you don't believe me or something'? Is it the braids?"

You shrugged, smoothing a finger over band-aid so it would stay in place, "No, they are fresh though."

Miles chuckled at the compliment, as you cleaned up the counter for any other scraps of paper. "Drunk people piss me off, and I don't like people feeling up on me in the dark... some motherfuckers play too much, and if I'm tryna get this degree I can't be beating somebody ass every week."

Your movement stuttered as you went for the medicine cabinet, "something tells me you'd do a whole lot of other things just to suffice."

Once the items were put back in their rightful place, by the time you close the cabinet Miles was standing up behind you. Your eyes lock as you start back in him in the mirror.

"If it means I get to have peace of mind in this fucked up world, best believe I'mma do it, 'ma," Miles swallowed, "everyone needs a little distraction every now and then."

You turn around to face Miles, his lean build looming over you with that butter slick smile that leaves you frozen still.

"What's- what's your... distraction?" you asked.

Miles wet his lips, "shit... hoop, smoke a blunt," he scanned your body for a minute before responding with the last activity, "fuck for a couple hours."

Waves of warmth spread between your thighs, throbbing with want.

"What's yours?" Miles dared to ask, stepping forward where his body heat engulfed your entire being, and sent your judgement and filters up in flames.

You knew you'd probably regret all this in the morning, and scream into your pillow at 9 A.M. that everything you've worked hard to keep together is slowly starting to unravel. But in the moment, in this time and space, all that could come out was the truth.

"It's you," you breathed, eyes flicking between Miles' brown ones above you.

Miles wrapped an arm around your waist, making you arch into him slightly. You body slotting so perfectly beneath his.

Miles leaned down, lips grazed over the top of your ear to tell you, "eres la distracción perfecta."

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A/N: I hope you've enjoyed my first drabble, as it's my first-time writing Y/N/Reader oriented imagines! Tell me what you think!

Plus! I would love to see some suggestions on what to write next for Miles!42 x reader things!

Thank you for reading!

- S