ain't no love; pt. 2
"ain't no love in the heart of town"
— miles g morales x gn!reader series
SUMMARY: Miles Morales is just a kid without a father; the Prowler is just a "rotten" vigilante. Both of them start coming into your life — one in the middle of the semester, and the other by total accident.
SERIES MASTERLIST 📼 ← PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 →
chapter summary: [MILES POV] Miles thinks there's something sinister going on at Visions. But first, he has to ask you out — to a job fair.
content/warnings: mentions of food/hunger, implied kidnapping, use of drugs (not by miles or reader) and there are some word meanings at the end!
word count: 4.7k
a/n: never thought id make it this far. 2/4 yo! thank you @qiupachups for proofreading 🙏 my g fr
“Take your headphones out.”
“~Ain’t no love… in the hear–”
Miles slipped his earbud out before putting his hand into his pocket again; it’d go back in once he left the counsellor’s office anyhow. First, he had to deal with the woman in front of him — Ms. Weber, the woman he’d been avoiding all week.
“Why didn’t you come to see me yesterday?” The woman peered at him through her red-framed glasses. Her disapproving gaze was one Miles was yet to get used to.
“Had to uh, see a teacher.” Her gaze became more disbelieving than disapproving. It was true, though, his calc teacher wasn’t the only faculty member he seemed to be annoying today.
“Right, and they didn’t tell you to take out your headphones?” The woman leaned over on her desk much like Mr. Wellston had, except it actually had the intended effect, like he was talking to his mother; Miles fumbled a bit with the earbud in his pocket. “We need to discuss your extracurriculars.”
“Do I need extracurriculars? I mean, I kinda already got some.”
“Such as?”
“An extra calc class. And Spanish catch-up. And English—”
“Something that isn’t to do with your academics, Miles — hence extra-curricular. College applications are right around the corner.”
“I’m doin’ fine right now,” he shrugged. Weber didn’t look very impressed.
“If you wanna go out of state, "fine" isn’t enough. You’re not the only kid applying.”
“Not like I said that.” He leaned back, making his chair creak loudly.
Talking to Ms. Weber felt like a chore. Sure, she had his best interest at heart, but she’d never know the half of it. His cooperativeness was running thin as the ache in his muscles worsened — if only Aaron didn’t make him get so serious all of a sudden. Miles couldn't listen to everyone, he guessed.
The woman leaned forward, tilting her head, maybe for emphasis. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Miles.”
Leaning back wasn’t helping with the soreness, or Ms. Weber. “Not if there was no cake to begin with.”
She let out a breath, a more civil version of the loud sigh building up in Miles’ lungs. “How about this? You try your hand at some volunteering.”
“Volunteering?” He was already sure that he wouldn’t bother. He did plenty volunteering already — if illegal vigilantism counted.
“There’s a careers fair for freshmen soon. It’d look good on your application if you helped to organise.”
“Aren’t teachers supposed to do that?”
“I’m right in front of you.” Her tone was drier than his.
“You’re just a counsellor though—” Miles’ lips pressed together, Ms. Weber’s eyes narrowing at him. He didn’t want the same fate that guy had calling his mom “just a nurse”, but it came out before he could stop himself.
“The week after winter break,” she continued. Being a counsellor was less stressful than a nurse, it seemed.
Winter break was after this week — that was when he’d finally stop training for a little while. The week after was the job fair, and…
“So it’s just me that’s doin’ it?”
The counsellor contemplated for a moment, her own lips pursing. “You could ask someone to do it with you. One of your friends, maybe.”
Like he had one of those.
“Huh? What’d you say? Someone’s waiting? You got friends?”
“Miles, c’mon.”
Maybe he did.
“Yeah, fine — I’ll do it,” he muttered. Weber’s expression relaxed, as much as it could with that gruff air still about her.
“Okay, good. Just bring your friend here after school.” Miles simply nodded — now with another thing to think about. “You can go back to lunch.”
He got out of the chair, his hand already on the door handle before Weber spoke again.
“Well done on coming in, by the way.” Miles turned back for a moment, mumbling something like a thanks. He tried not to feel weird about the odd sincerity of her words as he walked through the hallways.
“~Ain’t no love, and in the heart of the city…”
Miles had a lot to think about in general, but only about 20 minutes to think about what he was going to say to you. He also thought about what he was going to eat later — maybe his mom made something. He hoped his uncle didn’t finish the stew. At least his stomach didn’t grumble… Miles tried not to smile, even if nobody was watching.
Though he wanted to talk to you outside of class, he never really had any excuse. The only reason he’d talked to you at all was because that Rafa asshole decided bothering Mrs. Hernandéz wasn’t enough. Miles wasn’t stupid, but Rafael had drawn a massive red target on his own back. It was a miracle that you decided to say something, for Miles and Rafael.
A little height difference wouldn’t make his ankles any harder to break. He half-shook away the thought. No need to get expelled when he had to be here for long enough to confirm his suspicions.
“He went missing, and now he’s teaching calculus at Visions?”
“Yup.”
“That’s my high school.”
“…Jeff did us a service with these files, huh man?”
And so Miles had gone to Mr. Wellston’s classroom with you. It only left him with more questions.
Wellston almost seemed askance when you two walked in together — he didn’t even mention Miles’ earbud. The man was reluctant to let Miles take the extra class with you, for some reason, but Miles could play dumb when he needed to. Something about the whole arrangement was off to him — like it had set off a sixth sense Miles didn’t have.
Really and truly, you were just some kid from his class that happened to be caught up in all of this. If he had a reason, he’d tell you to not go to that stupid class in the first place. He was probably a better tutor anyway — Wellston didn’t seem like the teacher type anyway.
But he was just some kid from your class too — Miles Morales. Gonzalo Morales, though he doubted you knew, or cared. Probably the only person who knew his middle name was his mom; she was always talking about it, his name — to be proud. He had his mother’s last name for a reason, one he never knew about until Aaron told him: keeping him away from crime — his dad’s side. If only she knew what he was up to now.
If only his dad knew what he was up to now.
Miles Gonzalo Morales — whoever that was, was sweating a little at the moment. That was walking quickly, not because he had to figure out what to say in the next 10 seconds. Talking to you? No big deal. He’d done it before… once.
Miles had talked to you once. This past week, all he’d learnt about you was your first name and the fact that you sucked at using your calculator.
Hunched over a textbook with a crumpled up juice box in your hand, Miles spotted you sitting by yourself in the corner of the cafeteria. It’d be an easy conversation: he could bring up the textbook and talk to you alone. The pang of embarrassment that shot through him said otherwise. You looked like you did in Spanish, quiet, focused, a little stressed — like the sketch of you that was crumpled up in his blazer pocket. In the sketch, you were facing away. Right now, your eyes were on him. Mier— (Shi—)
“Can you move?” Miles hastily stepped away, realising he was blocking the line. He tried not to catch the girl’s annoyed stare, and the many others, holding back his grimace and heading for your table.
He sat opposite you; the seat was cold, and he wished he’d brought his jacket. What if it looked like he was shaking, or something? This was stupid. It wasn’t that cold. Just ask, dumbass.
“Hey uh, pana.” Your eyes were on his again, and he tried to smile. “You studyin’?”.
“Trying to.” Gaze trailing back to the textbook, you closed it with a sigh he could only imagine with his music playing in-between the cafeteria noise.
The cover read “AP CALCULUS BC: 1st Edition” — he knew there were at least ten revisions. Maybe you liked collecting old textbooks like he did old comics — that’d be stupid.
“Still don’t know how you got six.” He took out his earphone, before realising what you meant.
“Litres per hour,” he corrected, immediately feeling like punching himself for it. “Could explain it… if you want.” The cold plastic cafeteria bench dug into his palm as his grip on it tightened. Miles Morales — Brooklyn’s only vigilante, and now an AP Calc tutor
“Uh, sure.” You took out a pencil, which clattered far too loudly on the table. He watched you grit your teeth at the sound before giving him an expectant, somewhat unsure look. Miles took the pencil in his hand and started scribbling in the back page of the textbook, with you watching intently.
It was slightly warm, and wrote nicely — would probably draw nicely too. Not important. Just solve the damn thing.
“Why does this equal to the derivative, though?” you interrupted, pointing at the garble of letters and numbers. He had to hold back a sigh, like he wasn’t the one to offer you help. If there’s one thing he didn’t get from his mom, that was his patience — no wonder she was a nurse and he wasn’t a tutor.
“Cause if you take g of x as like, let’s say v or sumn’…” he murmured, brows knitting together as he scribbled out a couple more lines on the side. Rewriting the equation, he glanced at you occasionally, hoping you were getting it.
“Wait, wait, so…”
A flash of realisation came over your face before you abruptly took the pencil from his hand, making his jaw clench as your hand brushed his. You continued the line of working, explaining it to yourself while Miles gave quiet “yeah”s and nods.
“Then all of that should equal six.” The pencil dropped with a quiet thud, rolling onto the inside of the textbook. “Litres per hour,” you added quickly, giving him a meek smile.
“…Yeah. You got it.” Miles could only hold your gaze for a moment, until the eagerness in your eyes had dissipated, and the two of you were left staring at each other. The bend of his knees practically hooked around the seat as he reeled back, realising he’d been leaning over a little too close.
Miles cleared his throat, pushing the textbook back towards you. “You get it now?”
“Yeah.”
The corner of your mouth quirked up; maybe you were a little proud of yourself. All you needed was a little guidance — and he was able to make you understand. He smiled — mentally, of course. Miles Morales — best AP Calc tutor in Brookly—
“Did you need something?”
“Uh, yeah actually, uh…”
Uhhhhhh…
“Uh…?” you repeated.
Miles held his breath; maybe some survival instinct would force him to spit it out. How was he supposed to say this?
“You free? In a couple weeks?”
“…Huh?” Your eyes widened. The cafeteria seemed to go silent.
Definitely not like that.
“Uh, like, for a… volunteer thing,” he corrected, hastily. The way he grit his teeth made his voice sound funny. Nice going, Morales. “I’m doing it. Just thought I’d ask.”
“Oh, um…” Your eyes narrowed in thought, as Miles recovered from un-asking you out. “Maybe? What’s it for?”
“Some job fair — for freshmen.” Your expression turned uncertain. Miles bit the inside of his lip so hard he thought he might split it
“Um…” The way your eyes narrowed was making doubt pool in his stomach. “You know what? Yeah, sure.”
“Really?” Yes, you idiot. “I mean, uh cool.”
“Cool…”
The cleaners were starting to wipe away at the tables. No wonder it seemed so silent — most people had left. “So what do I have to do?” you
“You gotta go to the counsellor’s office after school. We’re gonna uh, help organise and stuff.” He swallowed dry. As much as he didn’t want to be the kid that was always in the counsellor’s office, it wasn’t like he could avoid it. You didn’t ever mention it, but it’s not like anyone did outright.
“Okay,” you nodded simply, letting out a sigh and throwing the ancient textbook into your bag. Miles stood up after you, flexing his sore, bench-marked hand.
“Are you sure you wanna go to that calc class?” you asked, making him look up.
It wasn’t like he had much of a choice — but you didn’t know that. “If you go to that fair.”
You smiled again, probably at the situation — maybe at him.
“Deal. See you Friday.” You waved, and Miles let out a sigh as you walked away.
Being a vigilante was way easier than talking to people.
“~When you were mine, oh I was feeling so good…”
The rest of the day dragged on with the soft kick of bass and the hum of a guitar in his ear. The only thing Miles could think about was the fact that he had to meet you after school. The fact that you said yes surprised him. You were classmates, acquaintances at most — maybe you could actually live up to the “pana” thing.
“~Cause your love lit up, the whole neighbourhood…”
“Miles — question eight?” Miles lifted his head from the desk, staring at the question sheet for a moment.
“Uh… forty two thousand,” he guessed, eyes narrowing at Ms. Calleros in a mix of doubt and hope.
“Forty two thousand what?”
“Six… Litres per hour.”
“Lit— Joules,” he stuttered out.
“…Yeah. You got it.”
Damn it.
RIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIING! Miles was thinking about you too much, and thinking about AP Physics too little.
“Remember your homework due next week!” his teacher called out as everyone scrambled to pack up and leave.
Miles let himself sigh; it was one of many he wanted to let out today. He drew his hand away from the ear with his earbud in. At the same time, he locked eyes with his teacher. Mierda. (Shit.)
She gestured for him to come to her desk with a not-so entertained look on her face. Nothing new, he supposed.
“You know you can’t have your headphones in during class,” she started, glancing at his palm with the earbud in it.
It was faintly murmuring. Miles just awkwardly pressed the pause button.
“I know.”
“There seems to be a lot you know and don’t put into practice, Miles.” It was like every teacher was out to get him. Guess he wasn’t being as sneaky about the music as he thought.
“Sorry,” he offered, half-heartedly. Might as well get this over with.
“What were you listening to?” she asked, eyebrow lightly raised. “Apart from my lesson.”
“Uh… don’t know the name.”
“Are you sure? Because it’s been playing all class.” And since lunch — he hadn’t bothered to turn it off. He didn’t know it was that loud, though.
“I gotta to go to the counsellor’s office…” Miles said in a way that sounded more like a question. He pointed to the door like it would help.
“And I have to go to a meeting, but here I am.” She readjusted her glasses, looking at him curiously — maybe more knowingly.
“Is something wrong? You’ve been pretty quiet today.”
“Nah. Just tired today,” he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. There was an unconvincing beat of silence, before she unfolded her arms.
“…Well, I hope you feel more energetic soon.” Miles just nodded, making his way to the door.
Gracias a Dios… (Thank God.) She was leaving him alone.
“Oh, and good job on the quiz — one of the highest in this class.” Miles bit back the fleeting warmth in his cheeks, digging his hands further into his pockets.
“Thanks.”
Sometimes it was hard to remember that he wasn’t the Prowler all the time. Right know, he was just a kid: a kid who listened to his uncle’s favourite tracks and lived in a box with his mom in the city he called home — a city that was falling apart day by day.
“Miles!” That kid. That’s who he was — Miles Morales. And you were just you, jogging right behind him.
Stealing a glance of your expression — and hopefully nothing more — he kept ahead of you as the two of you walked to the counsellors office. Neither of you had anything to say, but Miles had so much to think about. You agreed to do the fair with him; maybe he shouldn’t have asked — he wasn’t here to make friends, after all. But you were here now, and he didn’t hesitate when he knocked on the door to the counsellors office.
“Come in!”
There was a screech of chairs as you two sat opposite the guidance counsellor, who was tapping away at her keyboard as usual. Miles’ eyes met yours for a brief second, and when you gave him a smile, he spent so long debating on whether or not to return it with his own that Ms. Weber had already placed a stack of freshly-printed papers on her desk.
“Firstly, you’re going to have to post these around school.” Miles looked at the obnoxiously modern and colourful posters, with “FRESHMAN CAREERS FAIR” in a dull font that was meant to look modern. He could probably make a better version himself, but he’d rather not spend any more time on the fair than he had to.
“I have a question,” you interrupted, straining to try and be polite. “Is this something I can put on my college application?”
“I’d assume so, since your friend is doing it for his,” Ms. Weber replied, glancing unassumingly at Miles through her red-framed glasses.
Like I wasn’t forced to. But you weren’t forced to. You chose to do this — for your… college application. Right.
“Okay, got it.” You nodded, letting Weber continue.
“Secondly, there’s a list of start-ups that will be here on the day. You should familiarise yourselves with them — you could find a useful connection.” Weber put a white piece of paper with some writing on top of the stack of posters.
“The ones that are highlighted are places we haven’t contacted yet.” There were only a few different businesses marked in yellow, one of which had “OSCORP” written next to it.
“Oscorp?” You seemed to notice too. Miles could only narrow his eyes.
“Their junior apprenticeship program starts soon” Weber explained, looking at Miles for a moment. “Maybe you should apply — especially you, Morales.”
Like Miles would ever work for Oscorp. They were the reason that his mom’s hospital was so underfunded. Unfortunately for him, he was supposed to pay them a visit anyway, regardless of how much he wanted to get into that tech school out of state.
“The fair’s going to be the Tuesday after winter break. Don’t forget.” She was looking more at Miles than you.
“Got it… Thank you, Ms…?” you trailed off, giving her a hopeful look.
She tapped sharply at the nameplate propped up on her desk. “Weber.”
“Ms. Weber,” you mirrored, nodding again and offering an awkward smile. “Thank you — we’ll try our best.
The two of you stepped out of the office, glancing at each other for a moment too long as you made it a couple of metres from the door.
“So uh…” you started. “Could I get your number?” …Huh?!
“Uh, I mean, like, so we can stay in contact,” you backtracked, trying not to grimace. “I mean, in case we need to talk over winter break.” He almost mirrored your grimace before nodding.
“Yeah, here.” Miles handed you his phone, careful to avoid brushing your hand this time before taking yours. He typed in his number, and then “Miles M.”
When he got his phone back, all you’d put in was your number. Without thinking, he typed in four letters: Pana. He slipped his phone in his pocket before he could question himself.
An extra class on Friday — with his pana. Miles could only rub his temples at the thought.
This whole school thing had gone farther than he’d hoped.
“As you exit, please be careful of the gap between the platform and the—”
Miles held back a grunt as people shoved past to leave the train carriage, eyes searching for you as he was practically being bounced around. If it wasn’t for Mr. Wellston’s useless rambling, he wouldn’t be going home on a Friday during rush hour, let alone on the last day before winter break.
“Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”
The top of your backpack peeked out and just as quickly disappeared as someone in office wear, and an enormous jacket, ploughed through right before the doors closed; he could hear your stumble.
“Cabrón… (Asshole…)” Miles muttered under his breath.
Truthfully, he’d passed his stop ages ago, but he wasn’t about to let you go home alone this late. He hadn’t even been this far down the line before, but he wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. Every night since you two went to the counsellor’s office, he’d been up, slinking through Brooklyn in his Prowler suit. People like you wouldn’t know, of course, but both Miles and his Uncle were picking up on things. With those dusty old police reports, the slew of missing people didn’t seem like much of a coincidence — and Miles didn’t think this “class” was one either.
In fact, Wellston himself didn’t seem like someone who was right to teach AP Calc. He certainly didn’t seem like the teacher type, and apart from that first class Miles had attended, all he really gave at this point were packs to do. And in that extra class of his, it was the exact same thing — except for that fact that he seemed to do everything to keep the two of you there.
“Are you sure you get it?” — “How did you get that number?” — “Where’s your calculator, Morales?”. Miles got you two out of there as fast as possible. At one point, he’d even written answers on your worksheet while Wellston wasn’t paying attention.
It was a hunch at most, but he’d always take his dad’s advice in stride, no matter how often he used to say it.
“Trust your gut, Miles.”
He wasn’t being over-protective, he was being cautious—
“What’s your problem, man?” Miles’ core tensed — like he’d done when training. He looked over to see you, and a total stranger.
“You got a place to be, huh? Can’t look where you’re goin’?”
Miles squeezed through a blockade of people to see you just standing there, unable to reply as a man blew up at you for seemingly no reason. The man’s words were getting progressively worse, his voice louder and his face so close to yours it made Miles cringe. The man’s eyes seemed to bulge out, but he wasn’t looking at you — he was clearly on drugs.
He was meant to get groceries for his mom, kissing his teeth at the memory. Damn Wellston — and this guy.
The carriage was pretty much empty, being at the last few stops. Of course nobody cared when it came to stuff like this. Miles watched the veins in the man’s neck tighten, and his teeth were gritted together so hard it hurt to look at. He stopped his fist from clenching — he’d rather not start a fight with a junkie.
“Oy.” He put his hand on your shoulder, avoiding the man’s eyes. “Let’s get off here.”
“Wh—”
“Stand clear of the closing doors, please.” You two were out in about a second before the doors shut between you and the man, now violently knocking against the glass.
Holding onto your jacket, Miles kept you from falling as the train zipped past, the junkie long gone. He let out a sigh, eyes squeezing shut. This train station was stupidly bright.
“What was that for?” you asked, brows knitting together. “We could’ve just, I dunno, walked to a different carriage.”
“You serious?”
“The next train’s in…” Both of your eyes went to the screen, and you frowned. “20 minutes, Miles.”
“Well you would’ve had exactly zero minutes if that guy tried something.”
“Okay, that’s too far. There were other people—”
“They wouldn’t have done shit.” His annoyance only grew, and he couldn’t hold back when you were looking at him like that. “Where do you live? Cause it’s not Brooklyn — nobody gives a damn here.”
“Are you gonna let go of my arm or what?” People were starting to look at you.
Miles’ hand fell from your shoulder. He bit the inside of his cheek, his own heartbeat only muffled by the sound of the train approaching on the other platform.
“Do you really live that far?”
“Yes?” You said, almost incredulously. “Like, two stations away from here.”
“Then we’re walking.”
Your head snapped back to look at him. “Seriously?”
“You want me to leave you here?”
It came out more like a threat than a question. The realisation made Miles’ eye twitch, but that only served to make him look more pissed.
“Go on,” you replied, your expression lacking any conviction.
“Cabezón…” he muttered to himself, before turning to walk to the exit.
“What was that?”
Miles kept walking, and the sound of your footsteps a couple seconds later made him breath a sigh of relief. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he was almost certain someone was watching you back there.
When you both got to the gates, he waited before pulling you through the emergency exit with him. Despite your protest, you followed him through it, blending into the crowd of people leaving and entering the station. Metro cards were a waste of money anyway.
It was a long, silent and somewhat unsettling walk. Miles had been through every corner of Brooklyn, and right here was about where he’d start looking behind his back, even as the Prowler. For some reason, you just had to live a light year away from school and in one of the worst neighbourhoods in this damned concrete jungle.
Despite the regret building in his stomach from how he’d talked to you, he was forcing more rational concerns into his head: the turns you were taking, the people they passed, how close he should stay to you. All of it was habitual at this point, but he couldn’t risk being caught off-guard, especially when every adult man you passed was starting to look a bit too much like Wellston. If you were closer, maybe he could’ve kept an arm around you, or something. Good thing his mom wasn’t here to beat his ass for thinking like an idiot.
Trying not to imagine his mom’s voice, Miles kept just a few inches behind you, right until you reached the front door.
“…Thanks.” He couldn’t read your expression — when was the last time he overthought something?
“Don’t worry about it.”
There was another beat of silence, interrupted only by the “beep!” of your electronic key fob at the door.
“See you.” Your voice echoed through the hall, followed by footsteps as the door slowly shut in front of him. “Be safe.”
Like he needed to be told that. “…You too.”
Miles lingered by the door, looking at you for a moment longer before he forced himself to turn away. Almost immediately after, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket — Uncle Aaron.
42nd street
Special delivery for your ma
A supply interception — his mom’s hospital was probably short by now. Miles squeezed his eyes shut, blinking away the exhaustion before replying.
omw Delivered
His day hadn’t ended yet — not by a long shot. The Prowler was always on the clock.
pana = casual term used to refer to friends, means "buddy" or "pal" (used in puerto rico, venezuela etc)
cabezón = means "stubborn" or "big-headed"
from here on out it's just straight up drafting cause i wrote part 1 and 2 ages ago but i don't have anything for part 3 and 4 so !!!!
upload schedule if you didn't know is gonna be: this series one week and then a random one shot the next week (so hopefully ill post part 3 in around 2 weeks? im DROWNING in school work atm so don't hope too hard...) anyways have a good one ^^
reblogs appreciated as always <3 go back to the series masterlist here or go to my atsv masterlist here!
