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capricornlevi · 1 year ago

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on the cusp | miguel o 'hara x reader

summary:

Miguel O'Hara is many things: a patron at your bar, an occasional drinking buddy, your not-quite-friend with benefits, someone you barely know.

Or so you thought. Maybe, somewhere along the way, you've gotten to know him a bit better than you'd originally thought.

cw: alcohol consumption, casual sexual relationship, PIV intercourse, oral sex (m and f receiving) praise kink, a teeny bit of biting kink if you squint but nothing explicit and no blood/violence of any description, all consensual & enthusiastic - NSFW, MDNI

word count: 3.5k

You can count the things you know about Miguel O’Hara on just one hand – that is to say, the real things. The important things.

First of all, you’re aware that he has a stressful job. Not one to divulge any specifics, Miguel’s only description of the aforementioned job is that it involves a lot of late nights and keeps him out of town more than he’d like – you consider that to be just one fact since it all affects you the same.

You also know that his family life is … complicated, to say the least. He withdraws whenever you bring it up so you’re not even sure exactly where the issue lies; his parents? Siblings? An ex? It could be all of that or none. You learned long ago not to pry, but in your opinion, this still counts as a fact – after all, you’re aware of just how sensitive a topic it is for him. That counts for something, at least, some clue as to what made him this way: withdrawn, headstrong, and at times, a little cold.

Thirdly, you know that he drinks. Not heavily, mind, and you’d be the one to know since you work as a bartender at his favourite dive bar, the sort of establishment where people don’t try to hide their indulgences. He knows his limits and toes the line on a regular basis, never tipping over it. He is always sober enough to walk home. Which, you have to admit, is more than you can say for the rest of your patrons.

You met him at that bar - three, four years ago, depending on which one of you is recalling the story - and didn’t make much of him at first glance. He was just a stranger to you then, even more closed off than he is now. All you could judge him on was physical appearance and in that regard, he was - is - beyond imposing, towering above the next tallest person at the bar. Broad shoulders, strong arms, and the ability to make himself seem ever larger if needed – if some drunken pig started pushing you too far or refused to take the hint, Miguel never even needed to say anything to scare them off. Taking a step in their direction was usually enough to do the job. You’re not sure when it started, but that’s how you grew … not close, exactly, but … familiar.

Miguel knows you can fend for yourself - you’ve both accepted as much - but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t handy to have backup when you’re behind the bar by yourself. You had better things to do than swat away their leery advances all night, and word spread fast that Miguel was likely to step in if anyone tried their luck. It made your life a lot easier.

Now having moved from strangers to acquaintances, you learned a fourth fact about Miguel; that he really enjoyed listening to your stories. It took you by surprise at first since he’s not much of a talker – he still isn’t, but he’ll listen all night long to your rambling tales about the bachelor party who disassembled the bar’s pool table with their bare hands, or whatever new event occurred during your work week. If it’s quiet, you end up talking for hours.

Part of you felt guilty for taking up so much of his time. It feels strange to talk at length about yourself to someone who never interrupts, never pipes up with information of his own. But you soon learned Miguel likes it this way. He likes to sit at the counter with a glass of subpar whiskey with half-melted ice and listen to you, eyes following your every move, never zoning out. It relaxes him, he said once. It’s nice for him to be able to get out of his head, and if it means hearing about the ninety-year-old deliveryman who dropped off a couch infested with termites to the apartment next door, so be it.

It’s not that you never gave Miguel the opportunity to share. Every night, you tried to pry some more information out of him:

“So, have you ever worked in a bar?”

“No? Where do you work?”

“So what does that involve? What sort of work do you do?”

And you’d get a non-committal answer to every question. He has a unique talent for talking without revealing too much of himself; he’ll mumble something vague that technically serves as an answer, but you’ll leave knowing little to nothing definitive.

But this setup worked for both of you, so you never objected too much.

That’s how things were for two years (or maybe three). For the most part, he’d come in a couple of hours before closing on quiet nights, so you were able to talk til last call. It was nice – and it still is nice, because you still have the same routine – for the most part.

There’s just one significant change.

The fifth and final thing that you know about Miguel O’Hara - the most exclusive fact, since it’s a secret between the two of you - is that on the nights when he gets to take you home, he wants to fuck you like you’re both in love.

And it’s a fact you’re completely sure of since his face is currently buried in between your thighs, whispering unintelligible praise into your soaking folds.

The ‘in love’ part isn’t actually true, really, you don’t think. You’re not sure it’s even possible to love someone you know so little about. But when he’s like this, tongue swirling your clit with a look on his face as though he could do this all night, you know that this is what he wants.

Intimacy. For just these fleeting moments you share.

And, like the other little things, you’re more than happy to give it to him.

“ F-fuck,” your broken moan echoes around your bedroom, your hands pawing at the covers of your unmade bed, “right - right there, fuck, yes, yes, keep going.”

Miguel’s lying on his impossibly toned stomach, half-naked since he only had time to remove his shirt before setting you down on the bed and spreading your legs open, and he’s more than happy to take instruction. He stays in that spot, flicking it with the perfect pressure, mumbling something about adding a finger.

Your head is swimming but you manage to reply - or make some sound that shows your assent - and you feel him press a thick finger into you, an easy slide with how wet he’s made you, curling up for just a moment before it slides back out.

Then back in, then out, and all the while, you’re crying out for him.

You think he likes it when you say his name in bed. You don’t count it as a fact since you’re not completely certain, but whenever you do say it, he makes a low, groaning noise deep in his throat and speeds up whatever he’s doing – licking you, touching you, fucking you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was possessive.

Now, with you saying his name over and over and over again, he looks up at you with heavy, lidded eyes, an animalistic desire flashing over them. It’s enough to make you shiver. The power in his body, the strength he possesses …

He is never rough without your consent, but when his eyes get that hazy look and his grip on your thighs gets a little tighter, you can see how he keeps his impulses on a tight leash.

If you were of a clearer mind, you’d wonder again what he actually does outside of the bar, outside of this, what could get him worked up to this extent.

Thankfully, your thoughts are very much elsewhere. Right now, they’re focused on how quickly your orgasm is building, low and hot in the pit of your stomach.

“ Miguel ,” you gasp, voice pitching upwards as he adds a second finger – this time you really feel the stretch, but it’s anything but unpleasant. It makes that ball of heat burn brighter and brighter, your thighs shaking around Miguel’s face, your breaths coming out in short pants.

“ Miguel, fuck, oh -”

His fingers are hitting just deep enough, just in the right spot, you can hear how wet you are, you can feel how you’re soaking his hand and mouth, how much he’s enjoying this, maybe even more than you are –

When you come, it’s almost blinding. You could feel it building but it somehow took you by surprise anyway, it always does; the intensity, the duration, the way Miguel keeps licking you open until you’re trembling with oversensitivity.

The waves wrack your body continuously. You’re more than happy to get lost in it, to relinquish control and let it wash over you.

It’s so much that tears collect at the corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks when you eventually regain the strength to sit up.

This is the sentimental part. Miguel sits back on his haunches, wipes his soaked lower face against his bicep, and leans over to wipe the tears away with his thumb. When there’s no trace left, he leans in a little further to press kisses on the apples of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your lips that part against his.

It’s enough to make you ache, but everything else is so enjoyable that it keeps your mind elsewhere. You don’t want to overthink and ruin this. That’s the last thing either one of you needs; the loss of this outlet.

You run your tongue against his lower lip and he groans, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. You kiss him fervently, tasting yourself on his mouth, and notice how the already-noticeable bulge in his pants hardens even more as you start to rock back and forth against it.

He kisses back hungrily, strong hands gripping your waist. Every time he kisses you it’s like the first chance he’s ever had to do it, as though he’ll never get the opportunity to do it again.

Somewhere in the haze, you remember the actual first time; the time you closed the bar early on a particularly quiet night. He helped you lock up, stack away chairs. He laughed at your shitty jokes and toasted the night with a shot of whiskey, and then you two were kissing, he was backing you up against the door, caging you in with his arms as you started to tug his shirt off.

Though you dispute the exact date, you both agree on the details. How could you forget images of him holding you up against the door, legs wrapped around his trim waist, your bare shoulders pressed against the cold wooden panels but not caring because everything else was burning, so hot and so perfect -

“Help me with my belt?” Miguel murmurs into your ear, warm breath over exposed skin raising goosebumps all over your neck.

He likes to see you do it, likes to see your fingers scramble to get the loops of his belt undone, so desperate to wrap your hand around his length – as much as you can, anyway, since your fingers don’t meet with you stroke him.

You manage a little nod before working his belt open, willing your fingers to stay steady, and soon, his pants are pulled down and tossed to the floor with the rest of the clothes, leaving him in black boxer briefs that do little to hide the straining in the front.

He’s the one who takes off his underwear since the sight of you rocking against his thigh is too much for him to keep up the pretence of teasing. Soon, he’s completely bare before you, his thick cock bobbing against his stomach and …

You want your mouth on it. Not just to return the favour, either, you want to hear the desperate grunts that escape him as you suck him off, you want to feel his hand at the back of your head, guiding your movements.

You want it, so you do it.

“Oh - ah, ah, fuck, you - you’re gonna kill me,” he says, half-slurring as you wrap your lips around the head, lapping at it so you feel it throb against your tongue. “F-fucking hell, oh - oh my god.”

You’re not sure why the sound of him so desperate gets you going like this, but it does. Miguel, for a man so secretive, contains multitudes; he’s animalistic, possessive, but he’s not afraid to show desperation. Maybe even vulnerability.

In bed, of course. Only ever in bed, but you’re fine with that. Completely fine.

You moan as he leaks onto your tongue, hitting deeper and deeper with every thrust into your mouth.

A couple of minutes later, you pull your head up and run the tip of your tongue down the prominent veins on the side of his length. The noises he makes have you feeling more than a little self-satisfied, knowing your touch reduces him to this.

You go to take him fully in your mouth again but he stops you, cupping your jaw carefully as he sits up straight.

“Can I fuck you?”

You know that he’s asking now because he’s getting too close with you sucking him off. He doesn’t like the risk of edging before he gets to actually fuck you, and when his voice gets all low and heated and with just a hint of pleading buried deep in you, you know it’s a matter of urgency.

By way of answering, you climb back into his lap. You kiss him again, sliding up and down his length as you do so.

You look down, but Miguel catches your chin with his thumb and forefinger. He tips your head back up so you’re looking him in the eye.

Your next breath comes out shaky and tattered, your chest rising and falling.

He’s so close. Of course, since you’ve fucked countless times before, you’re no strangers to closeness. But the intimacy of this, of the eye contact and the embracing and the pretty names he calls you when you ride him … it feels new every time.

“I want to see your face as you sink down on it,” he grumbles, his throat bobbing between the words. You want to bite him there, sink your teeth into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck — not enough to draw blood, but enough to feel him tense underneath you. You want his body to go rigid, taut, you want him on a hair-trigger, you want him to be free of the thoughts that haunt him and just surrender to this sensation.

You want him to be able to lose control, for once. He’s earned it.

You kiss just under his ear, teasing the sensitive skin with your teeth as he gasps - gasps - and cants his hips up, his fingernails pressing into the flesh of your ass so that it’s just shy of painful.

You smile, lips curling against his throat. He’s just where you want him.

Moving slowly, inch by torturous inch, you kiss every part of exposed skin you can. As your eyes move further down you see a constellation of pink bruises forming on his throat, and, keeping your unspoken promise, you lift your head to look him in the eye as you lower yourself down on his cock.

Even after having his fingers inside you, it’s still a stretch; but again, a pleasurable one. You can feel everything, every ridge, the shallow thrusts as he adjusts to the feeling of you wrapped around him.

The only light in the room is from the lamp at your bedside, but you swear you can see his pupils dilate – no, you definitely can, they darken so much his irises go almost black. Hungry, like before. Somehow tender as well, as though you’re his favourite prey.

And he’s yours, too.

You start to lift up and down, balancing yourself on your left knee and the ball of your right foot as you ride him, the pace gathering a momentum of its own.

Both moaning with every thrust, you still hear the sound of skin-on-skin bouncing off the walls around you. Your bedframe creaks, your sheets crumple underneath; you don’t care about that, only focusing on riding him so well that praise spills from his pretty lips.

“Beautiful, beautiful, so fucking perfect for me,” he whispers, the words sounding almost torn, “you were fucking made for me, d’you know that?”

“Hm?”

You ask only because you want him to say it again. He’s happy to oblige.

“You were fucking made for me, made to ride my cock, made to have my tongue in your pretty cunt,” he says, voice bleeding into a low groan. “So … so perfect, I could fuck you for the rest of my life.”

You know you’re both only hooking up with each other, nobody else. You had that conversion before, right when you went on birth control and started forgoing condoms, but the words sound different now. Like they carry a weight even Miguel doesn’t realise.

It sounds reverent, adoring. In the deep, dark, fantastical part of your brain that you only occasionally indulge, he’s saying he only ever wants you. He needs you and only you, always, and this is the only time he allows himself to admit it.

But that train of thought will lead to overthinking, and, as you noted earlier, this isn’t the time for that. Right now, Miguel’s words are having other effects too; you’re throbbing around him, wet, more turned on than you ever remember being. Your clit grazes against the thatch of dark curls at the base of his cock, and every time you take him fully, the sensation has you choking out weak-sounding mewls of pleasure.

Keeping one of his hands on your hip, Miguel lifts the other up to play with your breasts, biting his lip so hard you think he’ll draw blood. He tweaks one of your nipples and you tighten around his length, and you know by the way his brows furrow that he’s close.

You love this moment the most. Seeing Miguel lose control, surrendering to the pleasure, it’s gratifying in a way that you can’t put into words. For the weeks when he doesn’t have the time to go home with you, because of work or responsibilities or whatever it is that keeps him away, it’s this image that you picture in your mind when you lay in bed, touching yourself.

His strong jaw tenses, his features twist with pleasure, and you come undone just looking at him.

He bucks up into you as he comes, pulling you against his chest while you writhe helplessly, boneless in his arms.

It’s good, too good, better than the first. It radiates throughout your whole body. Every limb, every muscle, every nerve is bathed in a warm glow that doesn’t pass until the sweat starts to cool on your skin, until Miguel’s breathing has slowed back to normal.

You stay like that just a moment longer, head resting against his chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat.

You savour it while you can – you think you were wrong earlier. There’s a sixth fact you know about Miguel, and it’s this; after you’ve finished fucking, after he kisses you another time and helps you get dressed, he always, always leaves afterwards. You stopped taking it personally after the third time and now, it’s just part of the routine. It doesn’t sting quite like it used to, but it’s not exactly something you look forward to, either. It’s just another unanswered question.

You pull your head back and give Miguel a lazy smile, one that he returns. He kisses you, soft and slow, unaware of how it’s messing with your mind – but you don’t stop the kiss, either.

When you eventually break apart, you sit back on the bed and smooth down the covers as best you can, distracting yourself as you await the inevitable.

Miguel doesn’t move. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds pass, and he goes nowhere.

You stop your fidgeting, throwing him a curious glance. Another beat passes of surprisingly weighted silence. Miguel opens and closes his mouth a few times, seemingly having a tough time getting the articulation just right.

You don’t say anything, but you don’t need to – for the first time since you’ve known him, he eventually answers your unspoken question.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

The words are delivered plainly, devoid of a deep sentimentality, but you know the significance of him asking them. His expression is earnest. He means what he’s asking.

It’s not like it’s life-changing. It doesn’t mean the routine is disrupted, it doesn’t mean that he’s your boyfriend or that you’re in love or any of the other nonsense that forbidden part of your brain filters in every now and then.

But it’s something. It’s a start.

Your routine has changed before, it can stand to be changed again. Maybe you’ll learn something new.

“Yeah,” you answer after just a moment spent thinking it over, heart quickening in your chest for reasons you can’t quite explain, “yeah, you can stay.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #may tries to write #miguel o'hara x you

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 1 year ago

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I just wanted to say that the way you characterize and talk about Miguel has actually really helped me with thinking about how to write for him 😭 genuinely I love the way you describe him as an actual like person and not just some sex addict or someone who's extremely distant and cold. I hope you continue writing mild Miguel because it's so refreshing compared to all the other shit I see 😭💕

THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS A MIGUEL SAFE SPACE AND LIKE- CAN I BE REAL FOR A SECOND???

MIGUEL ISN'T AN ASSHOLE YOU PEOPLE ARE JUST MEAN - A.K.A -

My Defense & Evidence of a Milder, Non-aggressive Sympathetic Miguel O'hara.

[This is a half-break down half rant about Mild Miguel, when we see Miguel's true nature, and what fandom gets wrong about him. I have my evidence.

this is shorter than my usual posts but I'm going absolute apeshit Miguel Mode by the end so sorry you have to see that.]

I think Miguel and Hobie are the two most complex characters in the film. Like - both of them equally.

It's just really easy to explain one over the other.

I feel this way because every character we see in the entire movie - Miles, Gwen, Peter, Jess, Rio, Jeff, The Spot, everyone - is forthcoming and clear about their intentions and motive throughout the movie.

When we're watching the movie the first time, we understand Miles motive, and Peter's, and Gwen. In real time. It's there and stated. Miles wants to save his dad, Peter wants to be a better mentor, Gwen just wants peace basically.

But when we're watching for the first time - we have no idea what Hobie OR Miguel is capable of until they do it.

They are the two we're surprised by. (And they're also exact opposites who somehow don't seem to be complete adversaries)

They're the only two within the film who we are left to speculate their motive, their drive, and what they'll do next.

They're the only two in the film who are truly meant to catch us off guard with their behavior.

Leading up to Hobie's big twist, there was a LOT of misdirection. I think the same is true for Miguel...but like..the fandom isn't picking up on the misdirection AT ALL.

I have a lot of ideas and thoughts about Miguel and his character and honestly I think it's the exact opposite of what the fandom sees.

But when its's Hobie, it's very easy to understand him, just read the wiki on Punk and you're good.

But I don't think anyone has look closer at Miguel yet.

I genuinely believe that the reason Miles got away was because Miguel went soft.

He was watching the videos of Gaby to remind himself why he was doing this - why he had to stand his ground, but when Miles started panicking, and begging to know how much time he had left - Miguel slipped up. He went soft.

And he told him 'two days'.

You can see it in Miguel's face when Miles is asking.

That's not the face of a man considering assault. That's not anger. He's wavering.

He didn't have to tell Miles how long he had left. But he did - why? Cause he thought 'I'd kill for two days with Gabby. A lot of people get less warning about death - Maybe he can spend those two days with his fath-'

and then Miles is like 'word?? two days to stop you?? iight im out also fuck yall' - which understandable have a nice day

But like......Miguel wouldn't have said it if he knew it would fuck him over. He didn't KNOW Miles was radicalized cause he didn't know Hobie had spoken to him. He thought that telling him might convince him. If he knew Miles was gonna run - there's no need to tell him anything.

He could've lied and said "I DON'T KNOW. But maybe let's talk about this."

But he didn't. He slipped up.

He's SOFT. Everytime he's mean, or angry - He has to think about it. Like when he looked at Hobie - and thought about it. He has to MAKE himself do it. It isn't natural to him.

Nobody else in the room was gonna answer Miles. Miles wouldn't have known. But Miguel told him two days. And because of that, that specific slip-up, Miles is trying to save his dad.

Why? Because he's SOFT. CAPITAL S SOFT.

Miguel is not a raging monster. Or aggressive. Or manipulative.

He's a guy who thinks he's holding the universe together with duct tape and a kid is in front of him begging to know how long they have left with their father and he tells them and because of that they get away and now everything he worked for is gonna emplode in his face because he had a SOFT SPOT FOR A KID AGAIN AND DID SOMETHING HE SHOULDN'T AGAIN AND TOLD HIM AND NOW PEOPLE ARE GONNA DIE AGAIN BECAUSE HE MESSED WITH THE MULTIVERSE AGAIN FUCK-

Like...yeah- he snapped. A normal person would snap. I've snapped for way less and a lot of other people have.

Granted, we don't go mauling children.

I don't know, I just feel like he's an incredibly layered character.

Because when he's ranting and screaming at Gwen like an irritated school teacher we're already like 'oh fuck you dude but also fuck you ;)'

so when he's right there doing things like this - we don't see it. The same way we don't see Hobie's stealing - because we think we have him figured out.

We don't see Miguel's tenderness.

Because we assume we know who he is - he's cold and aggressive and rude and hates Miles,

but like...is he really?

Miles is getting upset - and the whole conversation leading up to it Miguel has talked to him from a far, hands when Miles can see them. He's not trying to stand over him, or intimidate him. Miguel knows he's scary. He knows how to be scary.

He isn't trying to scare Miles. The exact opposite. He's trying to comfort him.

And when Miles starts lashing out - Miguel is genuinely surprised. That isn't the look of someone who THINKS he's about to hurt this kid.

He's telling Miles, hands up "Hey, sorry. I'm not trying to hurt you." He immediately lets go, backs up.

I just---- FUCK, PEOPLE THE MAN IS STANDING RIGHT THERE THATS MILD MIGUEL LOOK AT HIM

If you really really think Miguel is naturally aggressive, or angry, or cold -

If you write him that way -

I ask that you rewatch the leading up to Miles' escape. Look at his body language. Watch him, and look at his face. That's all I ask.

I just kjsjrghjkSIGHIDDGU I CAN'T STAND FOR THIS INJUSTICE AND EMOTIONAL ILLITERACY

HES NOT A GOOD GUY BUT LIKE....HE'S ... THE ONE YALL ARE SERVING...COMPLETELY DIFFERENT MAN.

He's SOFT. The same way he caved for Gwen after a little pushing. He caved for Miles after a little pushing. That's why he told him two days. SOFT

MILD MIGUEL, SOFT MIGUEL, WANTS TO DO THE HARD THING BUT FUCK HE CAN'T DO IT MIGUEL, HAS TO STAND COMPLETELY STILL AND UNMOVING TO NOT CAVE TO MAYDAY MIGUEL, MIGUEL WHO LOVES PEOPLE BUT KEEPS HIS DISTANCE AND SHUTS HIS MOUTH BECAUSE PEOPLE GET HURT MIGUEL MIGUEL MIGUEL

I'm going to go Miguel Mode.

If understanding Hobie was a house, the fandom is standing out on the road.

If understanding Miguel was a house, the people aren't even in the same neighborhood. We're in the next state over. Other side of the globe. Off base by like 12 zipcodes and 4 times zones

Mild Miguel. Please tell me you're seeing this.

Am I crazy for thinking that the slip up - of telling Miles two days - wasn't out of stupidity but PITY? SYMPATHY?

Because Miguel thinks getting to spend two whole days with some you'll lose is a BLESSING to him - not a curse.

Even though to ANY non-traumatized person - it would be a curse.

...... yo

Miguel stepped into Gabriellas life because he didn't want her to lose a father. He KNOWS losing a father hurts.

So when Miles is there in front of him, talking about not wanting to lose his father - Miguel KNOWS how he feels. Gabby didn't want to lose her dad either.

Miguel UNDERSTANDS. He's a FATHER -

HE KNOWS HE'S BEING THE BAD GUY HE KNOWS ITS WRONG NOT TO STEP IN THATS WHY HE STEPPED IN FOR GABRIELLA IN THE FIRST PLACE THIS ISN'T THE PERSON HE WANTS TO BE OR THOUGHT HE'D BECOME YOU PEOPLE ARE MEAN AND HORNY -

I- I can't even i'm sorry I -

I have a longer post about this in the works like breaking down all of his body language from his moments with MJ and Hobie and like teverything

but ITS NOT EVEN LIKE I THINK HE'S RIGHT I JUST CANT STAND PEOPLE BEING THIS WRONG ABOUT IT I CANT

If you see him as aggressive or cold this post isn't meant to be an attack. I am just down bad for Mild Miguel and I'm going delirious with hunger and starvation for him

#Justice4MildMiguel Maybe I'm huffing copium but also i know im fucking not he's RIGHT THERE

[And if you hate Miguel like hate hate him Moche says dishonor on you dishonor on your cow dishonor your family and your land in the name of Aia Paec Almighty]

If you made it this far....Imsorry you had to see me that way I don't know what came over me here's a picture of Hobie to help me calm down.

(aka Hobie judging the fuck outta me in my head)

I need a glass of water. Bye.

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