Idk this might be too nasty, but like f*ing Miles in the studio and he uses your moans as background vocals for a song?!?!?!
miles caton x black reader
Summary - read the request 😙
a/n: so sorry for the no post yesterday! just busy working and schooling. love u guys!! also i’m getting a lot of requests so bare w me!
It was late — the kind of late where the world outside was quiet, but the studio lights still burned soft orange. The beat Miles had been working on thumped low through the monitors, heavy bass curling around the room. You’d been curled on the couch in the corner, scrolling on your phone, pretending not to notice how he kept looking at you instead of his laptop.
“Y’know you’re not helping me focus,” he said finally, swiveling in his chair to face you.
You smirked. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Exactly,” he said, pushing himself up, crossing the room in two strides. “You’re just sittin’ there lookin’ so damn good.”
Before you could respond, he was already tugging you up, pulling you onto his lap in the chair. His mouth found yours, hungry, the taste of mint and late-night coffee mixing as his hands slid down your back. You gasped into the kiss, and that sound had him groaning low in his throat.
“Mm,” he murmured, lips grazing your ear. “That right there? I need that on this.”
You laughed breathlessly, swatting his chest. “Ain’t no way.”
“Nah,” he said, gripping your waist, pressing you harder against him.
He lifted you easily, laying you out on the long couch that stretched against the wall. The beat still pulsed softly from the monitors, matching the rhythm of your breathing as he leaned over you, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your chest.
The way he moved over you was deliberate — slow at first, deep, his body pressed tight to yours so you could feel every shift of his weight. You moaned, the sound spilling out raw, and he swallowed it with another kiss, his hands framing your face like you were something precious even in the middle of his hunger.
“This right here?” he whispered, rocking into you, his breath hot against your mouth. “This is my favorite song.”
He wasn’t patient for long.
One moment, you were tangled beneath him; the next, he had you turned over, pressed against the edge of the soundboard. His hand splayed across your lower back, keeping you steady as his movements grew sharper, deeper.
Your fingers clawed at the console, lights flickering under your touch, and he laughed breathlessly into your ear. “You better not mess up my mix, baby.”
And then he sunk into you. The way you cried out had him groaning, his rhythm matching the pounding bass still looping through the monitors. Every moan you let out seemed to fuel him, make him push harder, faster, until you were shaking against the desk, your knees weak.
“Louder,” he demanded, his voice rough. “Let me hear you.”
When your body couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled you back into the chair, settling you across his lap. This time, he let you lead — his hands gripping your waist, guiding you as you rolled your hips against him. The chair creaked beneath you, his head tipped back, eyes locked on your face as if he couldn’t believe you were real.
“Just like that, baby.” he taunted.
You leaned in, kissing him messy, both of you gasping between the rhythm you set together. His hands roamed everywhere — your thighs, your back, tangled in your hair. You moaned again, louder now, and he chuckled darkly, biting at your lip.
“Yeah… that’s the one. That’s the sound I need.”
By the time it was over, you were both a wreck — hair messy, skin slick, the studio smelling like sweat and heat and the faint trace of vanilla from your lotion. Miles collapsed back into the chair, pulling you against his chest, his breath still unsteady.
And then he reached for the playback.
The track rolled again, bass thrumming low — but layered under it, faint but there, were your sounds. The moans, the cries, the way you’d whimpered his name without meaning to.
Your eyes went wide. “Miles—”
He smirked, brushing a kiss against your damp forehead. “Relax. It’s just us. Our own private mix.”
You shoved at him weakly, but he caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“Tell me it’s not the best thing you’ve ever heard,” he teased, voice low, smug.
And even though you’d never admit it out loud… you couldn’t stop smiling.
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