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toughvaughn · 8 months

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In The Moonlight; Black Boys Look Blue: Parte .001

- pairing: Earth-42!Miles x Black!Fem!Reader

- genre: Fluff! (I guess) Angst! (you tell me) Little Talkie In Espanol 😝! (Not finna be the best; mind you)

- a/n: Miles and the Reader are young adults! Miles (22)! Reader (20)! in this story; so, calm your tits. Don’t be talking crazy with me, a’ight. This is my first, little Miles x reader thing, won’t be perfect, bare with me. This is just Part 1, if y’all like it, I can do Part 2, and this story is going differently, not like the OG one.

- summary: In a couple of days was your 21st birthday, and you weren't all that excited about its upbringing. You and Miles get into it, on why you didn’t want to celebrate your birthday. Miles being the man and boyfriend he is, he don’t like hearing allat.

🪼

Miles: Whatchu mean you don’t wanna do anything for your birthday, Ma?

You and Miles have been going back and forth for the past 10-15 minutes about this. No more than a couple of minutes ago you both were cuddling and kissing all up on each other in his bed, Miles being Miles, he asked what you wanted to do for your birthday. Giving him an honest answer; telling him you really didn’t want to do anything, him giving you the stink eye, looking at you as if you were crazy, leading to this whole unneeded conversation going on between the two of it.

You: “I just don't. I really don't wanna do anything.” You pushed further.

He looked down at her, you sat on the edge of his bed, your hands in your lap. Raising your hand to your head; your fingers running through your hair, adjusting it to the side. His eyes pierced into hers, shaking his head in disapproval. You looked back at Miles with a hooded gaze; your expression showing how uninterested and tired you were of the topic alone, his big self leaning upon the entrance of the doorframe of his bedroom.

Miles was shirtless; only in his black Fear of God Essentials Relaxed Sweatpants, sagging a bit low from his narrow waist, his toned v-sex line visible to you, his black trimmed pubic hairs trailing up to his naval, light protruding veins inching up. Leaning his body weight on the outer of his bedroom doorframe; his head lightly grazing the top of the doorframe from his opposing height, his muscled arms crossed over his sculpted chest.

His hazel/brown eyes watched your every movement; giving you that dumb stoic look he always wearing. His two individual braids swayed and rested on the outline of his collarbone, his durag keeping his braids from doing any other further movement than that. The long drawstrings of his sweats rocked about, the knotted balls on the end of the drawstrings hit up against the doorframe he leaned upon.

Miles: Mamí…come on. That doesn't make any sense, baby...it's your birthday! You HAVE to do something...I at least want to spoil you with a gift...let ME spoil you.

You lolled your head back; shaking your head. That word he said, "spoil". It didn't sit right with you, he was your man, and he had every right to spoil you, but, you weirdly didn't feel comfortable with him doing that. You felt as if you’d just be an inconvenience for him to spend his money on you, and you knew how he would get when it came to spending money, on you specifically. Miles had money; I mean he lives up in this nice ass high-rise apartment up in Mattahan, and he drives a black Mercedes-AMG, and depending on the rent of this place and that damn car note on that car he drives around in, money isn't an issue for him.

🪼🪼🪼

🪼 Flashback 🪼

You knew what Miles did for work; ever since his father’s passing Miles wasn't like this, not with anyone. When Miles got older, became more acquainted with ongoing conflicts going on around him; ever since his father’s passing Miles became more…indifferent, making runs for his Uncle Aaron, becoming familiar with it, and becoming well-known in the streets of Brooklyn from Queens. Now pushing contraband, selling weed, guns, anything on the streets of Brooklyn, making his own money, and doing well for himself.

Miles never really felt the need or desire for a sturdy, one-in-a-lifetime relationship with any female he crossed paths with. He never thought he really deserved one, going through girl, after girl, after girl. Not making ends meet; permanent, going through life as his Uncle Aaron called it, "with ease". The less stress, the less you have to go through. He was blunt and straightforward with anyone he came across, not letting anyone get too close to him, having unresolved feelings and thoughts of his father's early demise, and having nightmares every now and then. He kept to himself, not telling anyone, not even his own mother or his Uncle Aaron.

Going to a party with his home boys, Miles wasn't one to go out, but not have anything better to do, he obliged. His eyes not set on anything or anyone in particular, just there, just like everyone else, copy and paste. Every now and then, thirsty and man-hungry females made their presence known to Miles's home boys, Miles especially. Being well-known in the streets, he was the main target. His boys gave the girls all the undivided attention they could possibly want; Miles on the other hand, not feeling that shit, not in the mood to get his dick wet or catch anything suspicious from either of them, cooping up in some dark corner, somewhere.

His body language and huge frame alone sent a message to everyone at that damn party; that nigga does not want to be fucked with. Fuck around, find out. As simple as that, his hooded eyes looking around, before landing on you. Your innate state, your hair, lips, facial features, body and all, it sent him into something unexplainable. Even for him, he never felt this way, especially for any girl his ever seen, with every move you made, he would follow.

Miles being Miles; the nigga was bold with what he wanted. Shooting his shot and making his attraction towards you known and public, you never heard or seen Miles before, not thinking much of it, letting him throw whatever weak-ass compliment or cringey pick-up line he had in store for you. But, Miles did none of that, Miles was more nonchalant and upfront, not going easy and softening you up or sugar-coating shit with you. He was intimidating; his height alone towering over everyone and everything, made you back up, but, seeing that he probably got that type of reaction a lot, you kept to yourself, not wanting to make him think that he made you uncomfortable.

His little flirt tactic; personality really, gives you the green light about him. Mind you, you don't know who this nigga was or what he does, you just talked to him and got to know him (barely). With that, both of you just messed with one another for a couple of months, one of your friends had to tell you who Miles really was and what he did, and you were a bit surprised, but you didn't really care. Apart from what people may say about him, Miles was a sweetheart, he was soft when he wanted to be, only with you really.

You did confront him about him not telling you about what he did, him thinking you’d just run away or look him crazy just like everyone else. You assured him; you loved this boy wholeheartedly, you'd be somebody gangster's wife if you had to, going to hell and back for this boy, they way he treats and provides for you, you weren't gonna go anywhere.

🪼🪼🪼

You: Mm-mm, nah. You don't gotta get me anything. I’mma just go to work, do my shift, go home, and chill.

Miles's face scrunched up, his eyes squinting in confusion and disappointment. He tilts his head down, looking to the floor for a second, letting out an exasperated exhale, before looking back up at you.

Miles: Are you for real right now, chica? I can't believe what I'm hearing, you ain't gonna let me do nothing for your birthday; huh? It's not fair.

You cocked your head back; with a confused squint of your eyes and facial features, smirking at his comment.

You: What do you mean it's not fair? I just don't wanna do anything crazy.

He sighed once again.

Miles: “Bebé, escucha. That doesn't matter, girl...it's your birthday, I’m your nigga, it’s my job to get you something even if you say you don't want anything.” He grumbled, and then groaned, looking away from her with annoyance and disapproval. Uncrossing his arms; he proceeded to crack his knuckles, the air between his bones popping with each bend of his long digits. Miles was being difficult; you put a hand over her eyes, and as you hooded your hand over them, your thumb, index, and forefinger massaged the temples of your head.

You: “Be mad all you want, it's my birthday. If I wanna do boring shit on my birthday, I’m finna do it.” You resorted back.

He couldn’t help but bite his lip. Looking away from you and out the door. He was silent for the most part, huffing and puffing. Soon, he turned towards you once again.

Miles: Why you gotta be so damn difficult like this? You know I don’t like that “Ion want to do nothing on my birthday” shit...I need to do something for your birthday. I need to make your birthday special.

You scoffed, and your hands firmly laid on your knees. Your hands going up and down your thigh, a bit agitated and annoyed.

You: Miles, please. Birthdays stopped being special in middle and high school. We both know this, I just don't see birthdays as important anymore.

He let out a deep, frustrated sigh; taking a deep breath, and then sighing once more. Rubbing his face with his hand; the blood-pumping veins etched out on the front of his hands, through his smooth brow-skin, he couldn’t believe that she was being so difficult with him right now.

Miles: “I feel like you’re being difficult with me on purpose...” He finally said out loud, but he tried to play it off by laughing, but there was an irritation in his voice.

You caught the irritation in Miles's voice; you simply held your breath and your tongue, not wanting to go any further into the argument. Really just wanting to go back to what y’all were doing before this even happened.

You: “No, I’m really just being honest with you.” You resorted back once more; condescendingly. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at you. His muscles tensed up, rubbing the back of his neck. He was annoyed, and it was clear on his face. He didn’t believe your excuses, he acknowledged the fact that you were just trying to make him frustrated.

Miles: “Whatever, girl.” He groaned, and then crossed his arms once more, his face looking pissed off and annoyed as if he was dismissing you.

Miles was clearly in his feelings; you stared at him, not him catching an attitude with you. You’ve dealt with Miles's sour-ass attitude before, even over the littlest of things, when Miles was in his feelings, which it always looked to be all the time, his face, in general, would make his attitude known. He got into his feelings more than you did, you've never dealt with a nigga that could easily get caught up in his feelings like this, only Miles though. Besides that, you knew that this was the end of the argument, nothing more really had to be said, Miles wasn't talking, so, why the hell should you?

Getting up from the edge of the bed, the spot you sat in had the indentation of your body, the bed slowly trying to go back into its original form. Walking back over to the unoccupied side of Miles bed where you once laid; picking up your black Raffia Supreme tote bag off the wall, putting the straps over your shoulder, sliding back on your light brown Yeezy slides. Your black socks feeling the confinement of the shoe sliding around your foot, putting an inch to your height, walking away from the side of the bed, making her way back to the front.

Miles still standing out the doorway; resting his forearm above the side of the doorframe, his hand dangled about, his bicep and triceps flexed at his actions, the cut of his muscles apparent. From the raise of his arm leaning onto the doorframe, his other hand eloping past the elastic band of his sweats and underwear.

Miles: “So…you just finna leave?” He nodded his head; the husk of his voice hit a bit of octave, raising an eyebrow at your actions, his eyes darting left and right at your image.

You: “You wanted to catch an attitude with somebody, I don't got time for it.” Nodding your head with sass; meeting Miles's thousand-yard stare, at you.

Miles tilted his head with a face of confusion, wanting to act like he didn't know what you were talking about.

Miles: “Bruh, I ain't got no fucking attitude. I’m just still not understanding why yo real complicated ass don't wanna do anything for your birthday.” He summarised; resting his head on his bicep, his arm still leant on the doorframe, gesturing with his dangled hand.

He really wanted to act like he wasn't acting like a little girl a couple of seconds; this boy.

You: “Bye, Miles.” You said flatly; walking out of his bedroom, grazing his arm as you walked past him.

He gave out a deep, frustrated sigh; sucking his teeth, not wanting to admit he was wrong, nor was you. He groaned, but she ignored him completely and walked out the door; leaving him by himself in his bedroom. He huffed, dragging his large hand down his face, stretching his facial features. His hand stopped at his mouth, leaving his hand there, hearing the sound of the front door to his apartment slamming, hinting that you left.

🪼🪼🪼

Two days later; your friend, Angel came over to your studio apartment. Both of you sitting on your chaise/Orrsta black-blue Finnala 4-seated couch, the warmth of the sunlight hitting y’alls back, as you both kicked back and talked. On your glass cafe table laid white rolling paper and lumps of weed, tiny pieces of the weed scattered on the center of the table from the little metallic herb grinder. Angel sat beside you; as you talked, her tongue occupied, wetting down the edges of the thin paper with her saliva, rolling it down.

You: “Bruh, I remember. That nigga stayed talking, he ain't even make the team, did he?” You laughed; rubbing the sides of your mouth, tears at the corner of your eyes.

Angel got done wrapping her joint, looking back over at you, chuckling herself.

Angel: “And didn't. Nigga should've been talking all that mess.” She added on; putting the thin wrapped joint between her lips, grabbing the lighter off the table, and pushing some of the specks of weed on the table out of the way.

Flicking it on, hovering her hand behind the dimly lit flame, a glowing orange and red raiding the tip of the joint, the sound of the lighter switching off, Angel laying it back on the cafe table. Putting the joint between her index and middle finger, pulling it away from her lips, smoking looting her mouth, blowing O’s, and laying back on the couch.

Angel: “That nigga did entirely too fucking much.” She mentioned; giggling.

You shook your head, lolling your head back on the back of the couch, the sun kissing your melanated skin. The pivot window pivoted from the middle; horizontally, from the hinges mounted in the center of the frame, letting the rays of sunlight seep through. All the windows in the room were slightly ajar, the light breeze whistling in, running its waves through you and Angel’s hair, a moment of silence found y’all’s conversation, the wind bringing harsher winds with its presence.

Angel: “Oh bitch, I almost forgot, whatchu finna do for your birthday? It's coming up.” She smiled; nudging her elbow into your arm.

You turned your head to face Angel; your head still lying on the back of the couch.

You: “Absolutely nothing.” You stated; firmly.

Angel giggled a little bit; raising an eyebrow.

Angel: “Oh, come on, girl...you not going out? You not doing anything with Miles? Nothing?” She sat herself up a bit in her seat.

You: “I do wanna do something with Miles, chill at home. And now he is all up in his feelings cause I told him that yesterday. Saying he wanna spoil me and shit.” You explained; not wanting to go over the same argument you had with Miles, with your friend. Angel squinted her reddened eyes; a slight smirk finding her lips. Raising an eyebrow in surprise.

Angel: “O-okay, so, let me get this straight...you want to stay home on your birthday. Just you and your man, and chill?” Angel wanted to clarify before she proceeded with another question.

Angel: “And you're telling me that Miles is upset because he wants to spoil you?” She snickered.

You: “He just wanna do something nice for me, I understand that and I love him for that. He said it himself, he got money to spend. But, I don't want that, and now he ain't talking to me.” You shrugged; lolling your head to the other side.

Angel: “Damn, girl... he's just a hopeless romantic, and you over here being difficult on him. Poor Miles.” Angel laughed, before puffing on her joint. She kept laughing, teasing you a little bit more.

You smirked and rolled your eyes; Miles wasn't always like that, not until you two spent time with one another, now that Angel even says it, Miles is somewhat of a romantic. You always knew it, but, never spoke about it, even after the first couple of months y’all two started dating. Miles would always either give you a "girl bye, the fuck is you talking about or who you calling soft?” look anytime you’d mention how embarrassed he get from all the praise you’d shower him with, his accent would become more prominent and octave with you.

Him just letting down those walls that he always has up between the two of you; keeping you away from him completely, even if was for a second, it meant something. That he was getting more comfortable with you every second he was with you, you never forced him to talk about stuff he didn't want to talk about, or he wasn't ready to talk about, letting him figure it out for himself, when he was ready, you were always there, ready to talk to him.

You: “Oh, I’m difficult. Now, you sound like him.” You mocked; playfully. Putting a hand over your chest, acting as if you were hurt, but, still sounding a bit surprised.

Angel: “I mean...you are being difficult, girl...let a nigga spoil you.” She smirked, laughing more at the fact that she was starting to sound like Miles.

You: “I don't, I can't. I just don't feel comfortable letting him do that.” You admitted; that just thinking about made you feel some type of way.

Angel looked a bit confused at your statement.

Angel: “What does that even mean? How the hell is it that you can't accept a gift? That man clearly loves and appreciates you!” She revved. Angel was now getting just as annoyed as Miles now...which was funny as hell to her.

You: “I love him too, but he doesn't gotta buy me a damn thing to tell me he appreciates me.” You summarized.

Angel: “Girl, let him just spoil your ass. It's his money.” Angel kept talking, not listening to you at all. She smirked the entire time because it was funny as hell watching how annoyed you were getting over Miles wanting to get you something for your birthday.

That was easy for her to say; you just couldn't find in your mind to let him.

You: “Uh…I’mma think about.” You rolled your eyes; playing with the rigged bottom hem of your cropped wife beater. Angel laughed hard to herself.

Angel: “You better think fast, because that man is not happy. I'm not trying to get on your case or anything, but damn. You need to learn to accept a gift once in a while. Especially from someone you actually love.” She snickered, looking at you.

You parted your lips; about to say something, Angel was right. You loved that boy and he loved you, he just wanted to show you how much he did, and you rejected him.

You: “I know.” You acknowledged, going to have to accept the fact that Miles wanted to do something for your birthday.

Angel: “Well...you better do something. Otherwise, you'll just piss Miles off. Fuck…I am sounding just like that nigga Miles. I gotta calm my ass down.” She said sternly, before checking herself, laughing.

You: “Right.” You smirked; side-eyeing her up and down before looking the other way, chuckling.

Angel: “Whatchu you think you're gonna do? Finally, just accept the gift from your nigga and let him spoil you, or just...not do anything at all and continue being difficult with him?” Angel crossed her arms, the red, orange ombre flame inching down her joint every inhale she took of it.

You: “Maybe; maybe not.” You teased; smiling. Angel squinted her eyes at you; pulling her joint away from her lips.

Angel: “Ugh! You play too fucking much.” She whined; pointing her index at you, the joint between her index and forefinger, smoke hazing from the faintly lit tip. She groaned, shaking her head; just annoyed with you. Then, her phone buzzed.

Angel: “Hold on, a sec…” Angel looked down at her phone, looking at the text message she just received. No more than a millisecond, a smile found her lips and a hint of pink, and red on her cheeks.

You caught her smiling at her phone; bending your head down slightly to see who she texting. Other than her smiling while scrolling through Instagram or TikTok at a funny video. But, girlie was blushing at her phone, no damn video was finna do that, so, the noisy friend you are, you teased.

You: “What? Is it your little boy toy?” You interjected; biting your bottom lip as you smiled, your eyes scanning her face.

Angel put her phone to her chest; looking back at you with a side-eye, red pink still shading her cheek, putting her phone and hands in her lap, laying back her seat.

Angel: “Uh, no.” She scoffed; pouting her lip out a bit. Angel giggled, putting her eyes back down at her phone.

Angel: “I’m lying like shit. Yes, actually.” She admitted; rolling her eyes, and chuckled. Angel kept kicking her feet; while smiling and giggling, looking back down at her phone.

You laughed; shaking your head. Fully turning your body around to face her, resting your arm on the back of the chair, picking your feet off the ground, and putting them on the couch, crossing them.

You: “What’s your boy's name?” You asked; picking your index finger up slightly, pointing and nodding your head to her phone. Angel grinned; rolling her eyes. Angel let out a loud, exasperated sigh before answering you.

Angel: “His name is Damian.” She cheekily referred to him; dragging his name as she said it, smiling ear to ear, laughing to herself. She then tapped away on her phone, before turning it to face you. Showing you a picture on her phone of a handsome, Hispanic guy with a buzz cut with a fade, sporting a nicely, trimmed goatee. He was very muscular and able-bodied, and multiple tattoos littered his skin. He was smiling, looking directly away from the camera. He was wearing a black wife beater and black sweatpants that sagged low a bit, his groin outlined by the empty, flowy space in his sweats.

You: “Oh, okay bitch. Get yours.” You congratulated; leaning back to where you were, Angel pulling her phone back, facing her. Angel snorted with laughter, shaking her head. She looked at the photo of him for a couple more seconds, squealing and batting her eyelashes, geeking over the photo of the nigga she was fucking with, and picked up her head to look at you.

Angel: “He's so fucking fine...I gotta lock this nigga down. Quick. But, girl. You and your nigga need to go back to being on good terms with each other, y’all can't both be petty. Especially, on your birthday.” She advised; playfully nudging her phone at your leg.

You turned your head the other way; mockingly. Raising your arm and started mocking her with your hand, your digits closed together, your thumb hitting your index and middle finger once you separated them from each other. Mouthing the words Angel said to you, rolling your eyes.

You: “Girl, if Miles wanna act petty because I don't wanna do anything on my birthday. So, be it.” You mumbled; pouting your lips, your lip slightly sneering up, shaking your head. Pinching the elastic fabric of your grey leggings, avoided any further conversation on the topic. Angel let out a weary sigh, giving you that "the fuck wrong withchu?" face she always gave you when you caught an attitude, scooting closer to you, seeing your attention on your lap, pinching the fabric of your leggings.

Angel: In his feelings, my ass…look who’s talking, Miss “I Don’t Know How To Accept A Gift From Someone I Love”. She teased; the point of her elbow delved into the couch, resting her head in her hand, looking at you. You groaned; picking your leg up and bringing it up to your chest, swaying it side to side, the heel of your foot delving into the cushion of the couch.

You: “Okay, not too much on me.” You checked; crossing your arms over you chest.

Angel: “Nah, I gotta get on you a little bit. Your man is trying to do something special for you, and your stubborn ass just can’t accept it for some reason.” She implied; putting her hand on the head of your knee, swaying with your leg.

You: “I just don't wanna gift, why’s everyone on my case?” You asked; genuinely confused.

Angel: “Because you got a nice, good man who just wants to do a nice thing for you…” She answered; tilting her head, speaking again.

Angel: “Damn, y/n...a lot of girls would kill to have a man like Miles, and that nigga loves you to death. So, why the hell are you being so difficult? Accept the gift.” Angel begged at this point; not wanting to see her girl and her man at each other throats, just wanting you to enjoy your birthday.

Angel being Angel; she was right. You were being a bit difficult, and as much as you didn't want to admit it, what you and Miles were fighting over was really pointless. He just wanted to do something for you; his girl, his woman, his love, his baby, his everything, his beautiful, black Nubian- (let me stop). And here you are whining and having a sour-ass fucking attitude about it, you should be so lucky a nigga even wanna spend a dime on you, Miles willing to provide for you without hesitation or a second thought.

You: “Hmm, you right. Yeah, I’ll let him…treat me.” You softly assured Angel; smiling. Angel's eyes went big, smiling from ear to ear.

Angel: “That's it, girl! Yes!” Angel laughed and put her hands up as if she just won something.

Angel: “Now, you're going to accept that gift, so you can go back to being sweet, and lovey-dovey with your man.” She teased; biting the bottom of her lip playfully, knowing what she was referring to, you waved her off, and the both of you laughed.

🪼🪼🪼

The next morning fell; the sound of the city coming to life from the outside. Lying down on your bed, you turned your head to face your alarm clock, the time reading 6:30 a.m., turning your head away, closing your eyes, and letting out a tired sigh. You had to get ready for work.

With that out of the way; you got from your laying position on the bed, swinging your feet off the edge of the bed, the warmth of your feet meeting the floor, the feeling of the cold wooden flooring on the bottoms of your feet, groaning at the unfamiliar feeling, the warmth of your feet diminishing, now ice cold. You picked yourself up, standing to your feet, standing up a bit too fucking fast, losing your balance, but catching yourself in time, before making your way to your bathroom.

You took a warm shower; and washed your hair and goodies, brushing your teeth and washing your face while you were in there. Once you were all done purifying yourself; everything is now washed, your mouth, armpits, back, or any other thing on your body that can hold dirt or a foul smell, is now cleansed.

Smelling like candy canes and Christmas; you made your way to your closet, throwing on a white tee and your grey Demin Tears Cotton Wreath Hoodie over your head and your shirt. Jumping into your matching grey Demin Tears Cotton Wreath Sweatpants, grabbing a clean pair of clean white socks and stuffed your foot into your Jordan 3’s "White Cement Reimagined”, tying the shoelace and neat bunny loops.

After you finish getting yourself dressed; you hurried into your laundry room and grabbed your work uniform, it being clean and ready for you to wear, folding your uniform and neatly putting it in your red Raffia Supreme tote bag. Handling your house keys to get back in and your car keys, you finally stepped out of your apartment, locking the door behind you, slipping your house keys into the pockets of your sweats.

You made your way out of your apartment building; the giant fireball in the sky greeted you with its radiant beam of light. Having no choice but to shield your eyes with your hand, the metal split key ring engaged around your index finger, the key and the remote to your car swinging about. As you climbed down the steps of the building you quickly picked your head up to see a familiar figure hanging around in front of the building.

Miles…

He casually leaned back against his black Mercedes; his feet on the curb, crossed over one another, and so were his arms. The circled white tee he wore slightly ruffled at his unfamiliar actions with his arms, his short sleeves crumbled across his biceps, the sleeves rolling up his forearms, his veins racing up the sides. The vibrant court purple of his Nike Tech Fleece Jogger pants, laying slick on his form, Jordan 11 "Space Jams" on his feet.

As you further examined Miles; his attention finally fell on you, his braids following suit, the giant star above the two of you doing him even more justice when it rays down on his brown skin and hazel/brown eyes. The boy didn't look real for a minute, he licked his lips and uncrossed his arms, turning his body slightly to face you, his large hand resting on the roof of his car.

Miles: “M'orin' mami, ¿vas a alguna parte?” (M'orin' mami, going somewhere?) He asked; with a tilt of his head and a small smirk, his braid falling off his broad shoulder, hanging off alone.

Your eyes darted everywhere on Miles; couldn't take your eyes off him if you could, not like you could miss him. The boy was big, standing at a good 6’9, to top that, with all that damn muscle he got, the boy worked out like crazy as if his life depended on it. He was big and fine; and the way he looked at you, sent shivers down your spine, your legs would buckle and you would fall to your knees in front of all these damn white people if you still didn't own that tiny ounce of self-respect you still carried around with you, everywhere you went.

But for him…it was an expectation.

And that low, husky accent; don't fucking play with me. I’d rip off every piece of clothing off that boy (with teeth), go straight feral, but, you kept your composure, like a big girl. Swallowing your pride and shoving your explicit, vivid, X-rated imagination into the back of your head, you spoke.

You: “Yeah. Work.” You answered; bluntly. Crossing your arms, your car keys tucked under your clothed armpit, still wrapped around your index.

Miles looked away and smirked; a low chuckle emanating from his jugular, his Adam’s apple bobbing a bit. Setting his large hands in the pockets of his joggers, turning his head to look back at you, wetting his lips once more, looking you up and down with his hooded gaze.

He got away from his car; casually approaching you, his long legs making long strides over to you, as he got closer it only made you feel nervous. You stood your ground, waiting for him to be front and center before you, he finally stood in front of you, towering over you, looking down at your frame. You both stared at each other for a few seconds, taking each other in, hadn't heard from or seen one another in a good two days, the both of you pettier than the other one.

After a good staring session, Miles leaned down, wanting to be face-to-face with you, his eyes meeting yours. You almost melted; just him looking at you made you feel some type of way, and you wanted to look away, badly. One of y’all finally grew a pair of balls, Miles was the first to break the thick tension and silence between the two of you.

Miles: “No the fuck you not. Not today, not tomorrow, not the next day, shit, not even on yo damn birthday.” He assured you; lowly. Changing plans, apparently, a small smirk finding the corners of his lips.

You cocked your head, a nervous, almost confused smile on appeared on your face. You know you and Angel had that little talk yesterday, but, not Miles telling me I’m not going to work, you had to check that, quick.

You: “Oh, and why’s that?” You asked; your eyes darted left and right on his face.

Miles leaned back up; standing back tall, looking down at you once more. He took one of his hands out of his pockets, and brought it up to his chin, rubbing the sharpness of his jawline.

Miles: “Well, with all due respect, Ma. I thought about what you said the other day, and…I don't really care what you want, especially when it comes to you and your birthday. You say you don't want or wanna do anything for your birthday, but I say otherwise.” He truthfully spoke; removing his hand from his chin, and putting it back in his pocket.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise; Miles always had something smart to say, but this, this is crazy. You stood there for a second in silence, looking up at him as he looked down at you.

You: “Uh…look, Miles…” You started; before you were cut off abruptly by Miles.

Miles grabbed ahold of your tote bag; taking it from your mist, his large hand cradling the straps of your bag in his palms. Turning on his heel, walks back towards his car, grabs the door handle of the passenger seat, and opens it for you. Looking back at you, waiting for you to compile without another exchange of words.

You looked at him; a firmer grip on your car keys than it had prior before.

You: “I promised them I’d be in-”

Miles: “I already called you out of work, and told them you’d needed a couple of days off. Now, get in.” As you tried to excuse yourself; Miles cut you off again. More demanding with his words and tone.

You brought your hand up to the back of your neck and rubbed it; agitatedly. There was no talking yourself out of this one, so, you gave in. Rolling your eyes, you walked over to the curb, where the car resided, parked. Miles was still behind the door, holding it open for you, you looked at him, and at the open car door. Miles stared at you, with that dumb fucking stoic expression he always wearing, his eyes piercing and burning a hole in the middle of your forehead.

You let out a shaky sigh; lowering your head, and sitting in the passenger seat, crossing your arms and legs. Miles closed the door, making his way around the back of the car, putting your tote bag in the back of the car, before getting in the car himself. Turning the key in the ignition, the car started up, his large hand grabbing ahold of the gear shift, putting it in drive.

You: “And…where are we going?” You asked; turning your head to look at him.

Miles didn't say anything for a second; before pulling out of the parking spot.

Miles: “You’ll see. Don't ask too many damn questions, a’ight?” Miles finally answered you; looking over at you for a second.

You scoffed and furrowed your eyebrows. Like that was gonna happen.

You: “Mm-hmm.” You mumbled; rolling your eyes before turning your attention back out to the window.

Miles looked back at the road; this was going to be a long ride.

★ ★ ★

✪ Thank you for reading this; it's not my first time writing this, and it is a bit long, but forgive me, there will be a Part 2. But, that’s only if y’all desire a second one (I really wanna do it, this shit was fun, ngl).

✪ Really excited for future stories; got a lot up 🧠 here, so, let me know. I hope y’all enjoyed this. Follow me to stay updated.

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