𐔌 . ⋮ wet dream .ᐟ ֹ₊ ꒱ — tio miguel o'hara x male reader
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 summary: you woke up your step!uncle in a different way... Or maybe it's another perverted dream of his...?
♡ smut totally inspired by my bot on janitor a.i ♡
♡┊tw: somnophilia, cnc, dub con, v!sex, dark romance, smut, v!sex, oral fixation, ftm reader, use of lingerie, afab anatomy, dark themes...+
Tio Miguel was back at the farm that night, another damn excuse for the family to get together, drink themselves stupid, and pretend to care about some meaningless celebration. The smell of beer, sweat, and smoke filled the air, blending with the loud, slurred conversations of relatives who would say anything after a few shots. He didn’t care about any of it — not the food, not the laughter, not the festivities.
He was there for one thing, or rather, one person: you.
Ever since his wife died, Miguel had been a shell of himself. He wasn’t the strong, untouchable man people once admired. He was broken, hollow, and full of desires that made him question every shred of decency he had left. Falling for you — his so-called “nephew” by family consideration — was proof of how far he’d fallen.
You weren’t even blood, just a boy with a face and body that made his cock stir every time you were near.
However, it didn’t matter.
He knew well how wrong it was, how twisted it looked, but that didn’t stop the fantasies from creeping into his mind every time he saw you.
And tonight, you were in everywhere — your laugh cutting through the crowd, your body moving in that damn shirt that clung to you in all the right ways. His eyes never left you, burning holes through you from across the yard. He tried to act like he wasn’t watching, like his blood wasn’t boiling every time you so much as looked his way, but the drinks in his system made it impossible. Every word exchanged between you two was laced with tension, your innocent smile betraying the way your eyes lingered on his lips or the way your voice dropped ever so slightly when you spoke to him.
By the time the party wound down, with most people passed out drunk or stumbling around like idiots, the man had enough. He muttered some excuse and made his way inside your parents’ house, heading straight to the guest room. He kicked off his boots, let his hat fall to the floor, and collapsed onto the bed, trying to drown out the heat coursing through his body with the haze of whiskey and exhaustion. But it wasn’t enough to keep his thoughts from wandering back to you.
Sleep came quickly, but it didn’t last. A sharp, intense sensation dragged him out of his slumber. He groaned, his brows furrowing as his mind struggled to piece together what was happening. Then he felt it again — hot, wet friction against his cock. His eyes snapped open, and there you were, straddling his lap like a wet dream. Your hips rocked against him, your pussy slick as it slid over his pulsing length. The soft light filtering through the window highlighted the way your body moved, and for a moment, he thought he was hallucinating.
"Is this real...? Baby- is that really you?" His voice came out muffled as you continued your shallow movements, the delicious friction of your hips making him throw his head back. He struggled to adjust his eyes to the full view of your lap—your body adorned in delicate lingerie, the lace of your panties pushed to the side, granting him a perfect view of your wet pussy grinding against his aching length.
The slick mess you were making was almost too good to be real, too intoxicating to be just another wet dream conjured by his obsessive mind. Miguel's breath shuddered as he reached for you, rough hands sliding up your thighs, gripping tight enough to bruise.
His head was spinning—whiskey, exhaustion, and now you—but this?
His fingers twitched as they traced the damp lace barely hanging onto your hips. He groaned low in his throat, his cock throbbing beneath you, slick with the evidence of your need.
"Dios mío..." His voice was thick, hoarse from sleep and disbelief. His grip flexed, digging into your skin as if trying to ground himself. His dark eyes dragged over your body, drinking in the way you moved—slow, teasing, grinding down against him like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
A guttural groan ripped from his chest as his hands shot up, grabbing your hips and forcing you down harder, deeper, making sure you felt every inch of him. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot, ragged.
"Fuck..." He hissed through clenched teeth, his thumbs digging into your skin as his lips brushed over yours—not kissing, just breathing you in. His hips rolled up instinctively, chasing the friction, the heat, the unbearable need clawing at his gut.
"You know what you're askin' for, don't you?" His voice was low, dangerous, his lips grazing against your jaw as his fingers slipped beneath your panties, pushing them further aside. "You're not gonna take it back, cariño?"
But he already knew the answer.
"Mierda... Fuck it... Just use my cock..."
He whimpered as you finally positioned his thick, precum-dripping tip at your soaked entrance, his broad hands gripping your hips with bruising force. Then, without warning, he drove himself inside, stretching you open with a deep, shuddering groan. The moans spilling from both of you were low, laced with raw hunger, the obscene slickness between your bodies making it impossible to hold back.
Fucking you raw had been an obsession—something he fantasized about every time he fisted his cock, every time he caught your scent, every time you so much as looked at him. And now that he had you, bare and perfect around him, his control frayed with every desperate thrust.
Your walls clenched around him like a vice, hot and wet, and the thought slammed into him like a freight train: he needed to fill you. His breath hitched, and his pace stuttered for a second before he fucked into you harder, deeper, chasing something primal. His heavy balls slapped against you, already aching, already desperate to claim.
Your breasts bounced with every movement, hypnotizing him, making him groan as he latched onto a nipple, sucking with messy, open-mouthed need. You were so fucking soft, so warm—his mind spun at the thought of pumping you full, making sure his release stuck, watching it drip out of you only to fuck it back in.
The pressure coiled tight in his spine, unbearable now. His grip on you tightened, possessive, as his thrusts turned sharp, desperate.
He was going to breed you—whether you realized it or not — the thought of getting his step-nephew pregnant was as sickening as it was tempting.
Miguel was gone. Lost. Drowning in the unbearable heat of your body as you sat flush against his lap, stuffed full of his cock. His breath came in ragged pants between deep, messy kisses, his lips swollen and wet from how hungrily he devoured your mouth. His hands gripped your waist tight, almost bruising, as he rocked you against him—desperate, frenzied, like he couldn’t get deep enough.
"Mi—mi niño precioso," he groaned, forehead pressed against yours as he forced you to take every inch. "So fucking good—so perfect, just like that."
His head fell back against the headboard, eyes glassy, half-lidded as he stared at the lewd mess between you. His thick length was completely buried inside your wet, twitching heat, your slick dripping down to his heavy balls, coating them in proof of how well you took him. The sight alone made him throb inside you, his hands trembling as they roamed your body.
Another sharp slap landed on your ass, making you jolt, but Miguel only grunted, rolling his hips up hard as if punishing you for squeezing him too tight. His fingers curled around the delicate fabric of your lingerie, tugging it aside to expose you more, his breaths turning ragged.
"Want me to fill you up—do you want me to get you pregnant? Make you the father of my children?"
He didn't even know what he was saying anymore. His mind was drunk on the way you clenched around him, the way your body sucked him in, begged for him without words. It made something raw and desperate coil in his gut, his grip on your hips growing almost frantic as he fucked up into you, making the bed shake.
"Tell me it’s real..." he rasped, his voice cracking as his nails dug into your soft skin. "Tell me you’ll take it—fuck—tell me I can really give it to you."
His thrusts turned erratic, brutal, his whole body trembling beneath you. Another slap, then another, hard enough to leave your skin burning. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t hold back.
Miguel's breath hitched as his orgasm slammed into him, a deep, broken moan tearing from his throat as he came inside you, filling you to the brim with thick, hot ropes of cum. His body locked up, muscles tensing, fingers gripping you so tight he might never let go. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, his lips trembling as he whined through the aftershocks, burying his face in your neck.
"Take it—G-God—please, take all of it."
His hips gave a few more shallow rolls, making sure he was as deep as possible, making sure none of it would go to waste. Even as the haze of pleasure started to settle, his hands were still possessively holding your hips, as if afraid you’d slip away before he could fuck you all over again.
Miguel barely registered the loss of warmth when you lifted yourself off his cock, the slick drag of your walls pulling away making his breath shudder. He felt it—his cum leaking out of you, trailing down your inner thighs, wasted. His fingers twitched, instinct screaming at him to grab your hips, push you back down, make sure you kept every drop.
No teasing remark, no soft moan—nothing. You just slipped off him, standing on unsteady legs, your body still trembling from the way he had ruined you. Miguel’s dazed eyes followed the mess between your thighs, his jaw clenching at the sight of his seed dripping from you, his mark already fading as if it had never been there.
Then, without a glance back, you left.
The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Miguel alone in the dimly lit room, his body still burning with the ghost of your touch. The air felt colder, the silence almost suffocating, but his limbs were too heavy, his mind too sluggish to chase after you. He exhaled a deep, shaky breath, his head falling back against the pillows.
Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was just a dream, right?
Maybe it was just another one of those sick, forbidden dreams—another twisted fantasy his mind had conjured up to torment him.
Sleep pulled him under before he could think too hard about it.
Morning came with golden light bleeding through the blinds, painting warm streaks across Miguel’s face. He stirred, a low groan leaving his throat as the dull ache in his muscles reminded him of the night before. His sheets smelled like sex, like sweat, like you. But the haze of sleep convinced him, again, that it wasn’t real.
Just another sin his mind had indulged in while his hands worked over his cock in the dark. A damn perverted old man, with another dream of fucking his own nephew.
With a tired sigh, Miguel reached for his jeans on the floor, shaking them out before sliding them on—until his fingers brushed against something soft in his pocket.
He pulled it out, and the second he saw the delicate lace of your panties, his breath caught in his throat.
A slow exhale left his lips, with amusement flickering behind his eyes as he let the fabric slip between his fingers. He should’ve felt guilt. Maybe he did, buried somewhere beneath the thick, heady satisfaction curling in his stomach.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, lazy, smug, still laced with sleep.
"Oh God... How I love that boy..."
His voice was hushed, almost to himself, as he tucked the lace back into his pocket.
After all, he wasn’t done with you yet.
