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It’s lunchtime at the military base, and you can’t decide what to eat. Ghost is getting hangry.
———————————————————————
“It’s a simple question,” he says. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant.”
“Are you hungry?” He asks and lifts his hands.
“Yes, sir.”
“What exactly are you hungry for?”
“I-I don’t know.”
He drops his arms to his sides and sits at the corner of his desk. He touches the back of his neck with one hand while supporting himself with the other.
“Every fucking day, you do this to me,” he murmurs. “If you don’t decide this time, I’ll go eat alone.”
“Oh! Is that so?” You squint and hunch forward at your desk.
“Yes!” He yells as he stands up and walks towards you. “Yes, I will. In fact, I would love to.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, and your jaw drops. How dare he? You’d been teammates for years, sticking with him through thick and thin, never betraying him once. But now he...
“...Would love to?!”
“That’s right!” He snaps and slams his hands against your desk. “So, for the last time: What. Will. It. Be?”
You lean back in your chair and bite your pen while considering your options. Ghost’s gaze darts from you to the pen, then back. He groans and grabs the pen from your hand, tossing it to the side.
“Pens are off the menu today,” he declares, snapping his fingers, “I need an answer. Now.”
Dumfounded, you stare at the pen on the floor. If someone else had done this to you, you would have slapped them in the face. Worse, if he had watched anyone else treat you that way, he would have ripped their limbs off their body.
But he’s hangry. As insignificant as this conversation appears, he doesn’t handle his hunger with the same poise he handles other, more complex situations. Not only that, but your indecisiveness doesn’t help, either. You need to make a decision quickly, so you sit up straight and place your hands on the table.
“What are my options again?” you ask.
“Pizza or burger.” He replies sternly.
“I don’t want piz—”
“Burger it is, then,” he says with a nod. He knocks his knuckles twice on the desk and strides towards the office door.
“W-wait, Ghost, wait!”
He sighs and leans against the door, his hand on the handle.
“I don’t like the base’s burgers.” You mumble.
“Nobody likes the base’s burgers!” he yells. “But we still eat them!”
“I was wondering,” you say and lower your voice, “if there is another choice?”
He’s softly bashing his head against the door, and you try to persuade him that there should be a third option—a vegetarian meal, perhaps. In response, he begins making whimpering noises. He’s the one getting on your nerves now.
“You know what?” you snap, “I’ll go check by myself.”
He extends a hand in your direction and shows you his palm.
“No, no, no, no!” he cries. “You join the others in the queue, and the entire base will starve until you decide!”
You scoff at his sarcasm, and he opens the door.
“Listen,” he says, “I’ll go check and call you, okay?”
“LIEUTENANT!” you shout, but he slams the door behind him. You peek over at his desk. “You forgot your phone...” you murmur to yourself.
The lieutenant was a very cold man when you first met him. His responses were limited to yeses and nos with the occasional shrug, and he never joined you in everyday job activities, especially at lunchtime. You’d always eat alone in the mess hall, and if your breaks coincided with that of Gaz or Soap’s, you’d sit with them and eat lunch together. Ghost would normally sit in the office or hide in a corner around the base and eat since he didn’t want anyone to see him without his mask. But slowly, he came to trust you all with his face, and you’d eat together, locked in your office.
You look at the time. Given his hunger when he left, he should have returned five minutes ago. What if he gave up on you and is already eating with the rest? Sure, your indecisiveness annoys him, especially since he has to deal with it daily, but he’d never let you eat alone, right? On the other hand... he may be trying to teach you a lesson.
You take another glance at the time. This doesn’t feel right. You start cleaning up your desk to head for the kitchen, but someone knocks on the door.
“It’s open,” you announce, “come on in!”
“I’ve got my hands full.” You hear Ghost reply.
You walk up to the door and swing it open. Ghost stands there with a serving trolley full of dishes.
“Thanks,” he murmurs while he pushes the trolley inside the office.
“You forgot your phone!” you inform him.
“I didn’t forget it,” he says as he stops the trolley in front of your desk. “I’d rather put my bare hand in a fire and let it simmer than add a third option to your dilemma and let you decide while there’s a queue of starving soldiers behind me.”
He removes the plates from the trolley and arranges them on your desk. “Here’s the fucking pizza, the fucking shitburger, and the tofu version of the shitburger.”
He places another plate with five pizza slices on his desk. He removes his mask and immediately slaps a piece in his mouth.
“That’s a lot of food, Lt.,” you whisper, scanning the plates before you.
He turns his head towards you and keeps chewing. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing, “better have all the options in front of you than squeeze any reserve of patience I have left.”
You take a slice of pizza from your tray and bite into it.
He stares at you, raises his plate to the sky, and rambles about how “you didn’t want pizza before.” You clarify that, while you still don’t want pizza, it appears to be the best option among the three.
“However,” you continue, “I would murder for a good burger.”
He swallows and takes a second pizza slice from his plate.
“I know a place,” he explains. “We can go tonight.”
“Lieutenant, you smooth operator!” you tease, “like on a date?”
He nods and takes another mouthful. He doesn’t even bother looking at you. He’s too preoccupied with nourishing his massive body to worry about your mocking.
“What kind of a place is it?” You ask.
“It’s a shithole,” he says, “but it does the best burgers you’ve ever had.”
“So, what should I wear?”
He stops eating and aggressively shakes his head.
“Nuh-uh,” he says. “I won’t get involved in your woes again—I’ll give you the address, and you’ll be there at 8 p.m.”
“Are you going to email me the menu so I can decide what to eat ahead of time?”
He swallows and looks at you. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, taking another bite.
This isn’t really an x reader hc, but it still works
Miles uses the money he gets from his job as The Prowler to save up for gifts for things like his mother’s birthday and mother’s day. He loves her so much, he’s such a mommy’s boy, and he isn’t afraid to show it to her.
UGHHHH HES SOOOO A MOMMAS BOY
he’s such a little suck up too — you know for sure he would borderline cry in shame if he disappointed her
he cooks for her and cleans whenever he’s home
he knows how late she works at the hospital so he gets genuinely offended when she tries to do stuff around the house — like it’s a crime for her not to be resting
he’d buy her things he thinks helps her de-stress as well, just little things like face masks to do with him or hot compresses to pack in hey work bag so she isn’t feeling stiff in the shoulders all day
he DEFINITELY packs her work lunches, and beats himself the fuck up if he forgets — then goes and gets her favourite for her, showing up at her break times with a goofy little smile
rio is always gently telling him not to worry about her but he just looks at her all insulted
“Don’t be stressing about me, Miles —! Focus on your grades or something, Mijo! Go out — Have fun with your friends or something!”
“Momma, What man would I be to neglect you? You care for me — I care for you. Both ways.”
She’ll sigh and resign, and pinch his cheeks lovingly
“Just like your dad.”
he feels sooo guilty for the prowler stuff but knows it’s to keep her safe so he continues anyways
i think if she found out, lord knows she’d be devastated. but i feel — eventually he’ll explain to her how he’s basically doing the same thing his dad did? like protecting the city cause no one else can
she still HATES him doing it, and he’s still guilty beyond all wits
but she doesn’t make him stop, and when she flicks on the news — to see reports of the vigilante saving civilians from an attack on a busy office building, she’d be proud.
++ ALSO REMEMBER THE HEADCANON ABOUT MILES GETTING HIS NAILS DONE WITH HIS MA? AND LEARNING VIETNAMESE JUST TO HEAR THEM GOSSIP??? I STAND BY IT MANNN!!!!
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summary: You've got a crush on your boss. But it's harmless - doesn't mean anything. Until it does.
warnings: no warnings. just fluff :D
a/n: just a little something I wrote to take a break from the college au fic I'm writing. sweet and fluffy and happy bc I've put this poor guy through so much 😭
not proofread at all, my bad y'all
wc: 1.6k
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thinking about being Miguel's respite. His soft spot, a place to lay his head away from all the bullshit. you're not apart of the spider society, not strictly, just a technician that puts their head down and gets on with it. and sure, you've got a little crush on your boss, but who wouldn't? Miguel is smart, mostly calm, and surprisingly funny. whilst everyone cracks a smile at all the mile-a-minute jokes of the other spiderpeople; you find yourself laughing at all of your boss' little moments. dry, deadpan, humor - and he looks so, so good when he says it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You swoop in with the-" Peter B makes a swoosh sound, hand swiping across the air like a kid playing with toy planes. "And then I'll do a-"
Thud. He brings his hand down to the table solidly, with some force. It makes the table shudder and your head pops up slightly from under a workstation, hiding a smile. With their backs turned, they don't notice you're there.
You've got a pair of pliers in one hand, and a mess of wires with the other. You don't see the both of them that often, preferring to squirrel yourself away in the labs, but you've been stuck here with system updates. Whilst you've drawn the short end of the straw, yet again, it doesn't feel like it; basking in the warmth of the two even from the opposite end of the room.
Miguel gives him a look, eyebrow raised. Peter waits, expectantly. A beat passes.
" Oh. Are you… is that the whole plan?" Poking ever so slightly out of the tangle of wires, you catch his facial expression and it makes you giggle. Fuck. You clamp your hand over your mouth and retreat back into the depths.
Busying yourself with the work, you pretend not to hear them pad towards you. It doesn't last long, and you're met with Peter B's face: 5 o'clock shadow and a blinding smile.
"Oh shit! You're the…. uhuhh… that technician that I…" He clicks his fingers towards you, calling out to Miguel. Embarrassed, you stand up, expecting a scolding.
It doesn't come. Miguel says your name, and it surprises you.
"They're not usually on this floor, though. Lab A118, right?" He turns to you, and you nod slowly. How… how does he know that? You can count the amount of times you've spoken to Miguel one-on-one on a single hand, and yet he can remember which lab you work in? There were dozens of labs, triple the amount of technicians, and even if he did-
" Great . You can tell Miguel it's a brilliant plan," Peter beams.
"Uhhh…." Not knowing what to say, you fiddle with the pliers in hand.
"You don't... You don't have to answer that."
"...she does if she thinks it's good, Miguel." He deadpans, and turns to you. "He'll fire you if you don't answer."
"¿ Qué carajo, Peter ? " He practically hisses. Hurriedly, he reassures you with a hand on your arm. His tone is warm, softer. " Seriously, you don't have to answer that."
Peter huffs, leading you to take a seat on the counter. And you do, as he pleads his case.
The older man is animated, and the scene makes you laugh: Peter B in a robe and fuzzy slippers, telling a humble technician the intimate details of their mission. Miguel takes a seat next to you, thigh creeping closer to yours. You pretend not to notice, and focus on the man in front of you.
"Our target is this freaky little guy-"
"The Green Goblin." Miguel corrects
"Whatever. This freaky little guy from a medieval dimension. All hear ye, hear ye , and shit…. a freak with a bell on his hat and purple cape. Sounds simple enough, right?"
"...right." Miguel answers, exasperated already.
Peter makes the sound of a buzzer. " Wrong! His dimension is paper-based, meaning he's a slippery little shit otherwise. Doesn't adhere to our kind of physics," The man besides you prepares to interject, but is shut down by the wave of a hand.
"More or less, Miguel, I don't care for the science - this guy is literally two-dimensional. So you ," Woosh. He makes the gesture from earlier on. "And I'll," Smack. He brings his hands together with distinct flair.
Your boss still has his brows drawn up in confusion, but something clicks for you.
"Miguel….takes him from his blind spot," You copy the gesture, as they both watch. Miguel can see the cogs turning in your head, the little twitch of your lips and press of eyebrows. "...and you pin him down from above."
“Yes! Yes, that's exactly what I said!" He pumps his fist upwards, pulling you off the counter and into a bear hug. You're laughing, and you hear him from over your shoulder. "We stick him with a doohickey, and then he's jingling all the way back home. I'm a goddamn genius, aren't I?"
Miguel scoffs, amused. It's a somewhat good plan, but he's even more surprised at you: half-strangled in the other man's arms, and smiling wide.
When Peter finally releases you, with a sly middle finger to Miguel for good measure, he rushes off. He's…babbling on about how Jess is gonna love this , or something like that.
You're left with Miguel, still on the counter, head cocked. He's looking towards the door, you think, until you meet his eyes and jump. They are a deep scarlet, framed by wispy lashes. Your boss is pretty; so, so pretty . Perhaps not the most appropriate thought, but it's all you can think about as he talks.
"You speak Parker?" He says, and you laugh. It makes heat prickle in his chest.
" No way, sir. I… I think that's a first for me." You put your hands up, shaking your head; the remnants of a giggle bubbling up.
"Maybe you should be on strategy? I could… we could do with that kind of talent on the team." His face is steady, and unreadable. You swear you can see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but it's hard to tell. He's rubbing at his neck, carding through the hair at his nape.
He seems… shy, for some reason.
"I'm flattered, sir, really. But I'm happy with what I do in research."
He hums, a strange expression on his face. He's on his feet now, getting a little closer to you. The pliers are in your hand, and he picks it up in his wide palms. Your hands are soft, he thinks.
The action makes you hold your breath, and all of a sudden you're looking at his lips.
" This," He's perceptive, and ignores the way your gaze makes him feel; the heat of your body so close to his. "Is a bit too big for what you're trying to do. It's a bit of a struggle, right?"
You nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady.
He flashes a little smile and leads you back to the workstation. "The number 4, please."
You hand him the smaller attachment, shaking yourself out of a daze. Your fingers brush, but you force yourself to concentrate on what he does under the hood , so to speak.
"A little pressure, right…" You put your hand on the spot, and he moves it with his own, ever so slightly. "... here. Pull, please."
You give a solid tug, and he pushes the tool into a junction at the wires. It comes apart much easier than before.
"You felt it?" He says it lowly; and it makes you blink twice. " That's when you pull. When you feel that tension."
He nods, and you stutter a timid thank you. "T-Thanks, sir. You didn't have to, though."
"I wanted to. I basically built all of this, I know it like the back of my hand. So it's no trouble." From anybody else, it would sound like a brag, but from Miguel it's nothing but the truth. You're in awe of him. sometimes: everything he's built, everything he's achieved.
"So it's your fault none of these wires are colour-coded properly?" You say with a burst of confidence. "Why are the wires for electrics brown? And the hydro-pumps are… purple? Not blue, or–"
It peters off when you see his expression, gaunt and serious.
" Shit. Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to cross a line, or anything."
"Sure, I built it," He erupts into a smile, and it makes him laugh. God, you've made Miguel laugh . "But I never said I was good at it."
It puts you at ease, and you're brave enough to give him a little smile in return. And he likes it: your eyes light up, and worry lines relax.
"And you don't need to call me sir. It's Miguel." As if introducing himself for the first time, he stretches out a hand. You take it, and say your name.
"I know." He says it gently, and your heart skips a beat. "You need some help with the rest?"
Realistically, it's a one-person job; something you can do even quicker now he's shown you the right technique. But he's already so close, and you're hung up on the way he speaks to you: steady, patient, with the prettiest, plump lips you've had the pleasure of looking at. It's not helping you get over your inappropriate crush; and will absolutely feed into your delusion; but he offered , ever so sweet.
"Yeah, Miguel." You take the tool from him and crane your head to the worktop's belly. "I think I do."
miles x fem!reader and she a sweetie but she get irritated fast and catches an attitude and miles is just so patient with her<3
did this w earth42!miles bc i feel like it suits him a lot :)
hot-head, earth42!miles morales.
summary: it's not a rare occurrence for you to bombard miles with the issues you have, but it is rare that you act call about them.
warnings: literally the title, reader is a hot head, reader is also black coded
"aight, why don't you calm down, and tell me the story," miles tried to reason with you, pulling you down to sit on his bed.
you'd just arrived, a frown on your face as you rushed to miles' room, not seeing his mom anywhere in the house before. your day had only been the worst day ever, or at least it felt like it.
"miles, i─── ugh," you interrupted yourself with a frustrated groan.
"i know, i know," he cooed. "but we can't work this out if you don't tell me exactly what's wrong."
"i just told you what's wrong, are you even listening to me?" you slightly raised your voice, a mug on your face as you glared at your boyfriend.
"see, what we're not gonna do is shout at me like i put you in this mood, so let's dead that shit right there," miles pointed. "but i'ma let you speak, so go 'head and explain what happened, i’m right here."
as he took your hand into his, rubbing along with his thumb, you took a deep breath before telling him how one rude customer at work managed to spoil your entire day.
"and then the bitch had the fucking nerve to ask me to go to the tills? after i just told her i didn't feel comfortable there?" you spoke, each sentence coming out louder than the last.
"hm, i hear you, baby."
miles was the listener in your relationship. there were times when the roles were reversed but he always preferred to be someone who you could go to with your problems. so he was used to all the shouting and groaning and threats that you'd make. even sometimes to him, though he knew you never meant it.
"i swear, i have never wanted to slap a bald headed bitch more in that moment," miles couldn't help but let a small laugh pass his lips at your comment.
you were a sweet and caring person, that was until someone tested you. then you started to get annoyed. and nothing good ever came from being annoyed.
"miles, it's not funny," you groaned.
"i know, i know, it's just... you're─── you know what, never mind."
instead of proceeding to rile you up even more, miles ran you a bath and got you a spare change of clothes from the drawer you had made your own in his room, putting on a re-run of brooklyn nine-nine before you stepped out.
now wrapped in the warmth of his sheets, you sighed contently into your boyfriend as he wrapped his arms around you, but a frown was still present on your face.
"you calmed down yet, ma?"
"maybe..." you didn't answer how he wanted you to answer. and you knew that, so you took it upon yourself to gently grasp his face in your hands, your rings cold on his cheeks and your acrylic bails gently grazing his face, as he looked down at you.
"but thank you for being patient with me."
"of course, i got you forever and always," miles promised, kissing your lips. "it kinda turns me on when you get all angry."
Summary: You spend the day hanging out with your friends at the mall when a fine ass boy notices your shoes.
Author’s Note: Just a little idea I had since I myself are a big sneaker head 🤓 just something cute and flirty
You and your group of seven friends had been spending your day at the mall. All of your had a bag or two in your hands until you all agreed to go to the floor court to finally get some lunch. Once you all found a table big enough to seat all of you you all went off to divide and conquer to see what foods we all wanted. You and two of your friends, Devin and Christa, went over to the wings place.
You all stood looking up at the menu with your arms crossed. You looked down from the menu for a second and catch a glimpse of a pair of shoes a few feet next to you. A pair of purple Air Jordan 1’s, the same ones you were wearing. You look back and forth at your feet and the mystery person and smile slightly.
‘How serendipitous.’ You thought to yourself.
The feet began to move forward towards the register. You follow where the feet connect, gray sweatpants, white tank top, muscular arms, and you were met with the back of a head with two braids down his collar. You huff in frustration that you could not see his face. By his height and physique you could make out he was around your age.
You stood behind him, waiting in line, and once he finished ordering you quickly looked up at him. Damn he’s fine. Chiseled face, full lips, and slender eyes. You quickly look away before he could catch you and go up to order. Once you finished ordering you began to pull out your card.
“Oh actually,” The cashier spoke up. “That dude actually paid for your meal.”
He points behind you and you follow his finger. You saw Air Jordan boy with one of his friends as he crossed his arms and smirked slightly at you.
“Oh ok,” You say to the cashier as you put your card away and he handed you the receipt. “Thank you.”
You begin walking towards the boy who says something to his friend before he goes walking off somewhere, leaving just you and him. He looks at you up and down as you approach him.
“Thank you for paying for me, sneakers.” You thank him with a small smile.
He looks down at his shoes and then your shoes. A small chuckle leaves his lips as he looks back down at you with a smirk.
“Well look at that.” He takes another scan over your body. “Well, I was wondering that since I paid for your food,” he begins taking out his phone from his pocket. “I could get your number, pretty girl.”
You smirk at his boldness with a slight heat to your face. You take his phone into your hand and create a new contact in his phone, making your name ‘Pretty Girl 🥴’ in his phone.
“You bold bold pretty boy,” you smirk and hand back his phone. “I like that.”
He takes back his phone as he gently grazes your hand. He looks down at looks at your contact name. He bites down on his bottom lip and smiles slightly as he looks at you through his eyebrows.
‘Oh my god he is so fine’
“And what is pretty girl’s name?” Mystery boy asks.
“You don’t needa know my name if you gon just call me pretty girl.” You flirted.
You liked this thing that you and this boy had going on. You two flirting back and forth. Usually you rarely flirted with guys that were cocky and if they weren’t and you were the one to make the move you they were too flustered to play your game. But this boy he carried himself with confidence and had things to back it up. He was handsome, had great style, and tall.
The boy shrugs with his lip pouting slightly. You smile, showing your teeth slightly.
“(Y/n).” You reply.
“A pretty name for a pretty girl.” He takes your hand into his and brings it up to his lips, kissing your knuckle gently. “Miles.”
You smile at his boldness as he looks up at you through his eyebrows.
Hello, I love your hobie x reader where reader is giving a bj, can I have something similar but the reader can fully deep throat him and lick his balls at the same time 🤭 (it's my special move. 🥴) I just wanna know how he'll react, maybe he'll bust early 😝
╰┈➤ ❝ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑 ❞ | 𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍
PROMPT: going to hobie's shows is something you've done for as long as you can remeber. watching him perform on stage with his band never failed to render in a state of awe. only this time your boyfriend meets your heated gaze and decides to do something about it.
WARNINGS: nsfw 18+, exhibition, afab reader, no p in v, blow job, come eating, throat fucking, itty bitty degradation (slut, whore), the reader sucks him off in a dark corner, exhibitionist rockstar!hobie supremacy ♡, 1.6k wc
A/N: ahhhh ily *giggles cutely* this is such a slutty and silly idea fr!!! i tried to do my last fic from hobie's perspective, so now i'm doing it from the readers, so yay me!!!
out of all the ways the night could have ended, this wasn't totally out of the ordinary.
hobie played shows often with his band. who, in all honesty, were just a couple of kids who had the same political beliefs as him and translated them into music to play at any venue that would let them. not that there were many of them left anyways after having many instances of being "disruptive," causing property damage, a few cases of assault, although very justified, ended them up with quite a few permanent bans.
however, tonight was a good night for them: high energy from the audience, lively interactions, tips, and an atmosphere that could pump up your adrenaline until you were drunk on it. you're adrift in the crowd, hands in the air, and your voice lost in the sea of hundreds. you know the lyrics by heart, having heard hobie play these songs more times than you could count, you sing along, your head bumping to the beat. lights flash, and the rhythm vibrates in your chest. it felt good to let loose like this, dance with wreckless abandon in a scene of like-minded people.
through the dancing and singing, the moving bodies and screaming, your attention remains on hobie, in awe of him throughout the show and his expert fingers moving over the cords under the colorful lights blinking on stage. sweat drips off his face, gliding down his skin and trailing under his shirt, worn and ripped in places from so much use. you could never get over how gorgeous he looked in his element. entirely absorbed in the throws of music pulsing through his veins, the audience's energy pushes his body to perform to its absolute limits. fueled by the show's intensity, he takes its thrill like a drug.
it was as you were admiring him that he finally caught your gaze from the crowd. when your eyes meet, a smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, accentuating his pearly white canines, his studded tongue flicking over them sensationally as he finishes off the last couple of notes, the song ending in roaring applause. almost as if he could see right through you regarding him hungrily, he subtly adjusts his pants with his boney fingers decked in rings, and it's then you see his distressed jeans tent, begging for attention against strains against the fabric.
gawking, you blink at the bulge in his pants, and his eyes light up with barely contained mischief at your shocked expression. he grabs the water bottle next to the drums, the other members taking a water break as well, an unusual act for most performers, but then again, they weren't like most bands, as clearly shown by hobie's bold display of lust toward you.
he's told you before how much he loves watching you dance at his shows: your face lit up in excitement, and eyes that stare at him like he's someone to be admired. it's a rush, he told you once after a show, cornering you behind the stage so you could squeeze in a quick fuck before he had to meet the rest of his band. despite how his cock twitches in his pants when he watches you, hobie loves it- lives for your engagement that brings heat pulsing through his body like a live wire. so really, it should have been no surprise that he was sporting a hard-on halfway through his own show.
hobie's head tilts back, beads of condensation running across his skin and adam's apple as it bobs. observing him with bated breath, his focus stays on you while he caps the bottle, his band getting ready to play again, but not before he shoots you a wink, lips quirking into a smug smile.
under such a heaty gaze, glinting with the whisps of arousal starting to fill them, it shouldn't have been a surprise to you that you ended up on your knees in a shady corner of the venue, hobie's cock shoved halfway down your throat. he manhandles you in a way that's positively addicting, furiously bullying more of his dick down your crowded windpipe, a groan hitched in his.
"good girl, such a good girl f'me, taking what i give you– fuck," hobie hisses, his choker bobbing deliciously at the nape of his neck, constantly shifting over his sweaty skin from the throaty moans spilling out without respite. your jaw is sore from going down on him for so long that drool drips down your chin.
he graciously swipes away the spit with his hand, and instead of placing it back on your head, he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking on your saliva. his eyes roll into his skull pleasurably at the taste. the moan of satisfaction he relinquishes is muffled, and you can't help but gape at him, stunned by how a simple action can make your core ache so badly.
at this point, all you crave is his release, so you can get yours. selfish, yes, but you're sure your panties are sticking to your skin, soaked in your juices, and the utter desire for something other than the heel of your foot rubbing against your clit is almost unbearable. you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue, fully committed to speeding up his building climax with your newfound goal in mind. the hitch in his throat is distinct, his fist tightening over your hair for leverage while his dick twitches.
"that's a girl. fuckin' minx with that mouth, yeah?" his breathing grows more labored, and the chatter filtering into the corner you've secluded yourself from the rest of the pub has become background noise.
"finna fill you up early if you don't slow down, baby." his head hits the wall behind him, hips bucking into your mouth, and your vision burns with unshed tears. "but that's what a slut like you wants, innit?"
you clench around nothing, whining into his cock as you double your efforts, fueled by his dirty words. he thrusts down your throat, your jaw stretching wide to take him as far as possible. he guides your head, using it to bring himself closer to the edge. his grunts are escaping them faster than he can think to muffle them.
each sensation is multiplied by the feel of his fat tip hitting the back of your throat repeatedly, and you fight the urge not to gag. he's becoming more desperate by the second to cum, and despite the rough force he's using to shove your head to the base of his shaft, he's unable to fall into the oblivion of his orgasm. you can tell he's struggling and growing frustrated by the pathetic whines replacing his grunts, and before you can think about your actions, your tongue extends and glides over his balls in one swift motion.
he moans loudly, his back arching and his breath stuttering in a scene you can only describe as pornographic. slurred cries serve as your only warning before his body convulses, and he's shoving your face into his pelvic bone, your nose smashing into his pubic hair. his legs shake just as hot spurts of cum rapidly fill your mouth. you desperately gulp down what you can, but it's more than you're used to, and it dribbles out of the corner of your mouth.
when he finishes and his hand loosens, you tear yourself off, coughing and straining to catch your breath. each scratchy inhale is a reminder of your raw and well-used throat and the pounding it took. you message it, moving your sore jaw around while hobie comes down, slumped against the wall. now that the high is wearing down, your knees throb. not too bad, thanks to hobie's jacket underneath them, but it's enough to where your body is going to hurt the next day. the rest of your legs are sticky from who knows what on the floor, and your shirt sticks to your body, your thighs uncomfortably wet from your neglected pussy.
but despite all that, you look up at him with that glazed expression you know he loves, and he meets it, brown eyes practically black with lust as they flicker over your features. a gentle hand caresses your face admirably, the callouses from the guitar creating a pleasant contrast against your smooth skin. you lean into his hand, longing for the reassurance only he can offer.
"missed a spot." hobie mumbles, thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to catch the droplets of cum that had spilled. he brings his thumb to your lips, and instinctively they part, expecting him to push the digit in, but instead, he presses his finger to your lips. carefully he smears his cum across them in a mindful motion, like he was applying lip gloss, leaving a thin residue of his seed behind. hobie leans back to take a look, a satisfied chuckle vibrating through his chest. he pats your cheek, his pupils gleaming with amusement and a devilish smirk pulling his lip piercing taut.
"now you look like a proper whore, aye?"
i hate the beginning and i've tried to rewrite it a hundred times and it's still bad, but atleast the smut's decent. honestly im a little ashamed to post this. tumblr…please…for the love of god, don't flag this
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I have so many thoughts on how this fandom interacts with Miles G as a character but those will remain under lock and key unless someone asks about it...or until btsv comes out
...well alright lol here we go! (...another long post sorry)
I've implied this before, but the collective characterization of Miles G in this fandom REEKS of fetishization 🔥
He and 1610 Miles are literally the same guy. The only thing that is supposedly different is that he's "rougher around the edges". To fandom, apparently, a black person that is rough around the edges translates to...crazy gangster boyfriend stereotype?
He gets the nastiest combination of every stereotype of black AND Latino men like how did y'all manage to do that 💀
Everyone also seems to agree that Miles G is just a kid like Miles 1610, and yet the majority of the fanfiction of him that I've come across writes him as if he's someone's father. Maybe this is me not understanding how hetero attraction works, but I've always found that a bit odd.
The third thing that's at the front of my mind is that people talk about Miles 42 as if he's somehow...blacker? Than our Miles? As if him having his Uncle + mother's accent and him having braids somehow brings him closer to blackness because y'all have assigned certain traits to those things.
It reminds me of when the director was interviewed and asked whether Miles G was given cornrows because "He's a thug".
...To which the director immediately answers no.
And I feel bad saying this because it's not like I want to shame other Black people for what they like! This space is antiblack enough as it is! But I also think we should like...interrogate these things. Just a little. I've gone over my own fics too because we're all kinda susceptible to it
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summary: your boyfriend’s arms are your favorite place to be. so much so that you wish you could be even closer to him than humanly possible. wc: 505
You were one hundred percent certain you had never loved someone to the extent you loved your boyfriend, Miles.
Simply being in his arms was enough to turn your day into a perfect one; the sound of his voice enough to calm you down and make you forget every worry that plagued your mind.
Your feelings for him ran so deep that it corroded your thoughts into a blurred haze of him; made you crave his company like you would food, and made you want to be as close to him as possible.
Impossibly close.
As the two of you laid in his bed together after studying for your upcoming world history test, the movie Friday playing on his tv screen, you found yourself continuously scooting more and more into his arms, as if the toned barrier of his chest would allow you to snuggle in any closer.
Anytime so much as him inhaling moved his arms a smidge from where they were caged around you, you were shifting your position to make up for lost contact and Miles was slowly forgetting what it felt like to breathe properly.
First you were little spoon, then a few minutes later you turned towards him to hug him, threw your leg over his hip and cuddled that way, and now you were in the process of straddling his lap so you could lay on top of him.
Miles had managed to maintain his patience for the entirety of your restlessness, and every time you adjusted yourself he did as well to make sure you were comfortable. But your bonnet just happened to fluff out over his face and block his view of the tv when you plopped down, causing him to miss one of the funniest scenes in the entire movie and he couldn’t help the exasperated huff that escaped him.
“Baby, I love you, but you’re killing me. What’s the matter?”
“I want to be closer to you.” you answered with a pout.
Confused, he let his brow raise while his hand rubbed up and down the dip of your back. “Haven’t I been holding you this whole time?”
“It’s still not close enough!” you whined your complaint like a bratty child would, then lifted his shirt so you could shove your head and as much of your body under it as you could. His skin was warm against your cheek and you felt the vibration of a laugh rumbling through his chest at your antics.
“Are you satisfied now that you’ve stretched my brand new white tee out?”
“No.”
A distant laugh sounded from the living room, belonging to Rio who was currently perched on the couch watching something on the TV.
“I don’t think it can get much closer than this, cariño. For my safety, and yours.” He reached over you to grab the remote, rewinding the movie a little to rewatch the scene he missed while you sighed defeatedly.
“I wish I could just crawl into your skin and live there instead.”
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