Miles x reader One-shot
(He knows: Miles x reader One-shot)
Obviously, he’d been injured before; this time was no different. But something about the way his stomach seared with pain after each breath he took should have been at least enough warning to the severity of the situation. How did he not see that punch? His senses never let him down, so why didn’t they work now?
He wraps an arm round his stomach as he winces, opening the window into his bedroom and sliding onto the floor with what little strength he had left. He was home, he was safe. That’s all that mattered. He didn’t care he was in searing amounts of pain, he was just pissed he let the villain get away. And for what, just because his amazing senses decided to take a vacation?
“Miles?”
Shit.
“What happened to you?” you panicked, leaping off his bed and onto the floor next to him. He didn’t respond. He just lay there, trying to get his breathing back to normal.
He looks at you, frowning. “I’m fine, a little bruised and everything but I’ll be okay.” At that time, he did genuinely think he was okay. That was until your eyes shifted to where his right arm was tightly wrapped. Miles senses the shift in the atmosphere as he looks to your face for a response. “What wrong?”
You compose yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath. “Miles, you’re literally bleeding a whole ass lake from your stomach right now.” He tries to sit up, to move, or at least something other than just lying there on the ground. But he can’t. He can’t move an inch. Wincing in pain once again, he moves his arm to see the red liquid stained all over his skin. God damnit. “Where’s that first aid kit I gave you?”
He sighs. “Under my bed somewhere, I don’t really use it that often”. You quickly run over to his bed, almost tripping in the process, in search of a bandage or anything that could help. “Found it, jesus you need to clear out under your bed.”
He just nods, refusing to make eye contact. Miles knows you’re just trying to change the subject, or distract him from the pain, but he can’t dare look you in the eye. He knows you better than that. Because he knows you’re mad at him, madder than you’re letting on. “Why do you do this to yourself, Miles?” you ask, fighting back tears as you start wrapping a bandage tightly around his injury. The room is quiet for a while, the only sound is that of the city outside and the tv coming from the other room.
Miles sighs. He sighs because he knows nothing he says will make this any better. “I’m sorry, but you know I have to”. You say nothing, only slowly shaking your head in response.
“I don’t think I can live myself knowing you might die doing this stuff one day. It’s so god damn hard knowing you’re out there, risking your life every day for people that probably wouldn’t give two shits if it was you in danger” you frown. Miles’s body stiffens as you pull him into a hug, nuzzling your head into his chest making sure you don’t grab his injured torso. He knows what he does is hard. He knows it’s as equally hard on you as it is him, but he has to do it. Because otherwise no one else will.
But even at the end of the day, that’s a lot of work to put on a sixteen-year old from Brooklyn. And he knows it.