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When Casita is revived and everyone has a new door, even Mirabel — aside from the front door — everything seems like it’s going right. 


As a family they are healing, coming together to support each other and take some of the load off everyone’s shoulders. But that doesn’t mean that they just forget how everything was before Casita fell in the first place.


Which is how Mirabel got herself into this predicament. 


It was no surprise to her that her door, covered in her golden, butterfly crowned visage, was the closest one to Bruno’s tower. It just seemed correct in some way, that the two of them would be together again after everything they went through. It also meant he got to witness her opening her door with starstruck wonder and she got to see the way his face fell as the many stairs built up in front of him again. 


She still didn’t have a gift, at least not an obvious one.


He was still an outcast even if everyone was happy he was back. 


Scared that her one true friend was going to leave again or even just hide in the walls like a rat, she grabbed Bruno by the arm and offered out in the open while their whole family was throwing open doors and inspecting their new rooms, for him to stay with her. 


By her standards, her new room was huge. With a huge bed and a sitting area that was already meant for two people in the opposite corner of her sewing area. The chairs were even the stuffy red kind, a more comfortable version of the one she remembers from his place in the walls. It was perfect to share. 


Her Pa told her that he was so proud of her and that with her kindness she definitely took after his darling wife. Her Ma and Camilo look at her with knowing looks. 


Julietta went as far as to corner her later after dinner, “Your Abuela might not like it but it’s not uncommon… well the age gap is a little more than the ones I’ve seen in town, but I love you and Bruno more than enough to overlook that.” 


Mirabel is almost confused by it until she catches Mamá's eyes flickering to the basket of contraceptive drinks she makes for her table in town. When she finds a few in her bag later she shoves them flushingly into the drawer by her — now shared — bed. 


Mirabel doesn’t honestly think it will be a problem. Sure, she has a somewhat unfortunate — and massive — crush on her Tío Bruno. That doesn’t mean anything is going to happen. The man doesn’t even see her like that, even if his stupid rat telenovela’s always give her a little too much hope that he might. If anything, she’s living her dream. She’s included now, closer with her family than she’s ever been before. And she has Bruno, always beside her from the breakfast table to her bedroom. 


It’s just a little more frustrating than one would think to have someone always beside them. Especially when you are a hormonal teenage girl, and that person beside you is the person you are slowly realizing you’re in love with. 


Somehow, no matter how hard it is for her to fall asleep or how much she tosses and turns in the night it never seems to bother Bruno. She learns that he can fall asleep nearly immediately, always chest down with his arms crossed beneath his pillow and his face turned away from her. She also learns that no matter how big their her bed is and how far away they are when they fall asleep, they always wake up together in the middle with Bruno’s arms wrapped around her. 


It’s nice. 


Mirabel likes it a lot actually, and ends up not being such an early bird at the breakfast table anymore. Just so that she can pretend she’s sleeping a little longer to get more time in her Tío’s arms. There’s just one problem. The increased contact between her and Bruno sends her libido through the roof, and having someone practically glued to your side doesn’t make handling that libido easy. 


She tries to take care of things in the shower at first since she is one of the few people that doesn’t have one in her room. The thing is, she’s always nervous that she’s taking too long or she can’t get comfortable enough to do anything. Shower shenanigans are thrown out pretty fast and she decides that she’ll just have to ignore it. Or exhaust herself so she isn’t thinking about it late at night anymore. 


Exhausting herself seems to work pretty well actually. 


She goes to sleep a lot earlier, too tired to have time to toss and turn and think about how sexually frustrated she is. 


It’s just, falling asleep early means she wakes early too, sometimes even before the sun, and she has to lay trapped in Bruno’s arms with her pussy wet and pulsing from either proximity to the man she loves, dirty dreams, or both. 


Mirabel likes to think she holds out for a long time after those mornings start, almost a month even, but in the end she is weak, and wanting. Her fingers sneak beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown and bloomers, arm awkwardly curved underneath the one wrapped around her providing her with Bruno’s warmth. She spends a few mornings like that with her face turned into her pillow, muffling her ragged breathing as she takes care of herself under the cover of the pre-dawn light. 


Bruno never moves, never wakes up, and she thanks all the saints for that. She doesn’t know how she would handle the embarrassment if he caught her, and when he almost does once, stirring in his sleep, she quits. She goes cold turkey. Too afraid of the risks. Too afraid she will be caught and he will be disgusted enough to leave their shared bed for his tower or the familiar comfort of the wall. 


The thing is, now Mirabel has gotten a little taste of satisfying that urge and it just proves to make her more frustrated now that she can’t do anything about it. She lasts longer this time despite her increased frustration, past her sixteenth birthday into the months where the Encanto gets cold simply because Tía Pepa works as hard as she can to give the children of the Encanto the snow they love. So despite the usually warm Colombian weather, for a few short weeks around the holidays it’s always cold. 


While she’s bundled beneath warm blankets with Bruno’s hands unconsciously sandwiched between her thighs to keep warm. Mirabel can’t decide if she loves snow or wants to ask her Tía to cut it out a few weeks early this year. She doesn’t, that would be rude. Especially when Tía Pepa is finally learning to be comfortable in her emotions and let her gift do as it wants. 


Instead she squirms out of Bruno’s arms for the first time since they began sharing a bed so that she can take a tepid shower and calm down. 


Bruno asks if she slept okay, clearly worried. She assures him she just woke up early so that she could take Antonio out to play with the other children in the snow. She wakes up like that and sneaks away three more times, excuses like bad dreams or hunger falling from her lips. Just to make sure he knows it’s not his fault that she’s leaving their bed early, it’s hers. 


And then one morning she wakes up grinding her clothed clit against the hands pressed between her legs. She’s groggy, still rolling her hips as she wakes up. Feeling a harness pressed against the curve of her behind is what makes her realize what she’s doing but by then her hips are stuttering and she can feel herself clenching down on nothing as she tumbles over the edge. 


She manages to turn her head into the pillow, muffling her moan of completion behind bitten lips and plush cotton. 


Bruno doesn’t wake. She guilty wipes his hands on her nightgown just in case and escapes the room, rushing to the shower with flushed cheeks. Dodging right past Dolores who is blushing just as brightly. She tries not to think about the reason behind that as she strips down and slides under still warming water. 


Today’s excuse is that she woke early to beg her Mamá to make fresh pico de gallo with breakfast. Bruno tells her it’s a wonderful choice and he’s been craving it with his eggs lately, a satisfied little smile on his handsome face. 


She falls for him a little more. 


The day is spent trying extra hard to exhaust herself. Playing with children in the snow with Camilo. Helping Isabela decorate the town for the holidays. Shopping with her Papá who wants help picking out gifts for Camilo, Isabela, and Bruno — who he is convinced she knows better than him — she’s not sure how he manages to break his foot but she does know that she can support more than half his weight and a basket of hand-bound papyrus journals. 


Mirabel manages to fall asleep immediately when she falls into bed that night, before Bruno is even back from his shower, which should have been her first clue that she was going to wake up way too early. It’s not even pre-dawn when she wakes, and she’s pretty sure if she were to press open the shutters behind their embroidered curtains the moon would still be out, low but still there. 


She wakes wet and aching with one of Bruno’s hands between her thighs and his other arm threaded beneath her to wrap around her. The warmth of his hand seeping past the thin fabric of her nightgown into her upper-ribs where it is splayed merely a fingers length from the roundness of her breast. 


She slides her hand under her clothes easily because she is weak and horny and he is holding her so preciously with his nose in her curls and his breath on her neck and his chest pressed against her back. She’s so wet that it’s already coating the crease of her thighs and it drenched her fingers in contact. 


Almost entirely too slick to get any real friction against her clit. 


Mirabel becomes frustrated quickly, her thumb keeps slipping wrong against her bud and her fingers can’t reach deep enough inside her so take away the pulsing ache. She rubs her thighs together, trying to create a tightness so that it’s harder for her fingers to skate over her wetness, and Bruno’s hand flexes minutely between them in response. She freezes, but he’s still asleep, breathing evenly against her. 


He never wakes up, she thinks. 


At that thought an even more horrible one follows. She’d like to say she makes an effort to shake the thought off, but she can’t because as soon as she has it she’s pulling her hand out of her bloomers to grab his. He doesn’t react to the slickness of her hand or even the way she gently starts to move his, sliding her hand along his until her palm rests against the back of it and her fingers follow his. 


Bruno’s hands are large and rough, fingers long and thick. Perfect and so incredibly warm against the skin of her lower stomach as she slides their hands under her clothes. 


His calloused fingertips press along her clit just right and she manipulates his middle finger in jerky little circles until her hips are twitching with the stimulation and she’s thoroughly coated her inner thighs with her own slick. Still, Bruno’s chest rises and falls against her back steadily, his damp breath tickling her neck in the same rhythm as always. 


So Mirabel dares to take it farther, leading his hand down so that she can slide his middle finger into her using her own. Bruno’s fingers are long and his knuckles stand out because he is still thin despite the fact that his fingers are still thicker than hers. She can measure exactly how much of his finger is inside of her both by the way her own fingertip teases at her hole and the fact that she can feel his knuckles as she clenches down. 


Her hips roll down to try and get more of his finger inside of her, her walls flutter and tighten looking for the feeling of fullness. She pulls his finger out slightly, pressing her ring and middle fingers together, and by proxy his own, so that she can lead two into her instead. 


Normally the stretch so fast might hurt. But she’s so wet and loose and horny already that her small discomfort from the stretch of it is replaced immediately by the pleasure of having her Tío’s fingers inside her. Any additional sting is washed away when she grinds the meat of his thumb against her clit. 


Mirabel is foolish enough to get lost in the feeling of having a part of him inside of her. Her hips are rolling with practiced ease from years of dancing and riding her own fingers like this. The fact that the fingers inside of her aren’t her own seems to just coax her into it more. She doesn’t realize she is no longer being careful until Bruno’s breath hitches, and all at once she freezes. 


It’s so still, so quiet for a long moment. 


Neither of them breathing, and then Bruno curls his fingers inside of her. His hand flexing under her palm as he presses against a sensitive spot inside of her forcing a breathy moan through her lips. His other arm goes tight around her ribs, his fingertips digging into her flesh as he uses both hands to drag her back into his body. He’s hard against her plump behind and he’s leaning up. Dragging lips and scruff over the sensitive skin of her throat forcing her to gasp and arch into his touch. He presses his hairy chin against the soft, thin skin where her neck meets her jaw and scrapes his teeth across it causing her to shiver as his hot breath hits her ear. 


Mirabel ,” his voice is riddled with sleep and sex, deep and grating and she’s always loved how he says her name, as if it’s something precious or holy. “You’re supposed to be the good one.” 


He flexes his fingers inside of her again and her eyelids flutter, lips falling open in a gasp. 


“Good girls don’t do this.”


“I’d like to meet a girl good enough that she wouldn’t take the chance if the man she loved had his hands between her thighs,” Mirabel whispers. It’s bold, but she’s never been shy with Bruno before and she can hide behind boldness just so she won’t have to feel the embarrassment of being caught. She thinks maybe she said something wrong when he begins to pull his fingers out of her. She clenches down with a whine and he nips at her throat. 


“It’s wrong you know,” he says but he doesn’t try to pull away from her hold. His rosary is on her bedside table next to her embroidery hoop, sitting innocently where there are contraceptives within the drawer that her own mother gave her, knowing that Mirabel wanted this. “I’m old enough to be your padre. I am your tío.”


“I don’t care,” she confesses, “I love you anyway.”


His fingers move but they don’t withdraw. Instead, his index finger slides over to tease at her hole where his other two fingers are already buried. “Be a good girl and open for me then.”


This stretch stings a little more but Bruno is already distracting her from it, sliding his other hand under her nightgown to trace it up the pudge of her stomach and between her breasts along the line of her sternum. He wraps his hand around her throat, just under her jaw and uses the hold to turn her face enough so that he can lick between her gasping lips. She moans around his tongue at the taste of him and the feeling of three of his fingers pushing deeper than she was able to get them when she was directing them. 


Bruno pulls back from the sloppy kiss when she starts grinding down against his fingers, choosing to instead pull her nightgown completely off of her. It falls in a silent heap over the side of the bed as she settles with her shoulders pressed to the pillow, looking up at him. His face is flushed, curls wild and bedraggled and his lips are slick and dark with blood. He kisses her again, faster and less invasive before moving his wet lips down, along her jaw and throat where he scratches his teeth and sucks fleetingly as if scared to leave any lasting marks. 


That sentiment doesn’t hold when he gets to the roundness of her breasts. Feather soft, he runs his lips over the tops of them before stopping at the one closest to him. He picks a spot on the top side of her breast a breath away from her nipple and sucks, twisting his fingers inside of her so that he can press the pad of his thumb up against her clit as he leaves his first hickie. He doesn’t move his thumb, just presses it firmer as he slides his mouth over to the other breast to leave a nearly identical mark. 


Mirabel writhes against him, trying to get his thumb to move or his fingers to press deeper into her and his big green eyes flick up to meet hers. His pupils are blown, blending right into the darkness of his irises and he lets out a ragged breath. “Your mother is going to kill me.”


“Unlikely.” Mirabel can’t help but huff a laugh as she reaches her arm out to the bedside table, fumbling with the drawer for a second. She manages to get it open and withdraw two of the contraceptive bottles between her fingers before nudging it back shut. She holds them up between them. “She’s been sneaking these into my bag since we started sharing this room.”


Bruno pauses, looking a cross between shocked and mortified for a minute before he reaches out to pluck one from her hand, looking her in the eyes. 


“Do you want this?” His voice is serious but it’s still raspy with how turned on he is. 


“I’ve wanted it for months.” She nods too, just to drive the point home. 


He pulls his fingers out of her and she whimpers, clenching down on nothing. He takes her bloomers with him as he sits back. The blankets fully falling off of them as he drops them off the side of the bed to be with her discarded nightgown. He makes quick work of his sleep shirt and his boxers before looking back on her as he breaks the wax seal of the contraceptive between his teeth and swallows it down. She does the same. It tastes like passion fruit ironically enough. 


The empty bottles click against the beads of his rosary. Thrown hastily onto the bedside table as he slips between her spread legs, covering her body with his. He kisses her again, slow and deep and she sucks on his bottom lip until he gives her his tongue to suck on instead. His fingers slide against her folds, teasing her hole as he collects her slickness on them and she can feel his movements and his hitched breath as he covers his dick in her wetness. 


Bruno pulls back from the kiss when he leads the head to her hole and he caresses along her rips with his free hand. “Breathe for me, mi mariposa,” he murmurs and as she does he presses in. 


Mirabel arches into him with a moan because he stretched her out so beautifully and thoroughly that all she can feel as he slides into her is the pleasure of being filled up. He pauses as if to give her time to adjust but she’s already rolling her hips down against him, and he groans, dropping kisses and praise along the elegant lines of her collarbones. 


“You're so hot and tight around me, mi amor. You take me so well.”


It doesn’t take them long to work up a rhythm. Sex is a lot like dancing, she thinks. She figures out just how to grind and twist her hips to meet his thrusts and she knows how to role and arch her body into his touch reveling in the way he’s sucking a curved line of hickies into the crease where her breasts meet her ribs, connecting them in the middle like the line of a bra. She wonders how long she can get away with keeping those. 


How hard will it be to convince him to do them over again?


Bruno’s hands find her thighs and her hips, pressing fading white marks into her skin because as soon as he realizes how tight his grip gets when he falls into chasing his own pleasure he lets go immediately, as if afraid to hurt her. It never stalls him for long, his hips keep moving, driving deeply into her, but he rubs at those spots with careful fingers until she distracts him again. Rolling her hips a different way or clamping her thighs tight around his to urge him on, whatever it is he always loses himself in her again. 


Sloppy kisses and blood dark marks pepper over her chest, her sternum, her ribs but he never goes too far up as if he instinctively knows where the line of her blouse collar sits, or maybe he’s memorized it. He moans her name against her sweat damp skin when she tangles her fingers in his hair and it sends a zing of heat down her core making her clench around him which only serves to gain her another stilted moan. 


Bruno wraps his lips around her nipple as if it will stop his sounds and lavishes it with attention. Rolling it carefully between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue until it’s hard enough to suck. She throws her head back into the pillows at the feeling, cursing and crying out his name. When he pulls away from it he meets her eyes, a thin line of spit connecting his bottom lip to her wine dark nipple before it breaks as he moves to abuse the other in the same way. 


She clenches down on him and he gasps out a moan against her breast, lips going pliant around her nipple for a moment as he loses himself in thrusting deeply into her again. When his hands go too tight this time and he realizes it, he begins to soothe the already fading marks but he doesn’t slow down again. Instead he goes right back to lavishing her nipple with attention as he moves one of his hands to her pussy. 


Mirabel's fingers tighten in his curls and he sucks harder, pulling back while still sucking until her nipple separates from his lips with a pop. She tugs at his hair and leads him back to the first one, pleases and ‘Tío Bruno’ falling from her lips, so close to begging as he begins to circle calloused fingers around her clit. 


With the combined stimulation her climax washes over her like a wave. Something like radio static dances under her skin, hot and wonderful, and she thinks she’s never had an orgasm this good. 


Bruno makes it better though, burying his face between her breasts crying out to her and god above as he shoves his dick deep inside of her and tumbles over his own edge. It fills her up in the best of ways, hot and thick and she knows she’ll be begging for it again and again, glad now that she has the contraceptives. His hips make these aborted little thrusts, sending aftershocks of pleasure up her spine as his cum moves inside of her with his thrusts. Coating her insides and slipping out of her hole every time he pushes back in. 


When he recovers, he starts kissing down her body. Pulling out as he goes which makes her whine at the loss of that fullness and tug at his hair. He rubs his scruff against the start of her pubic hair in some sort of strange silent apology and keeps kissing down. His lips flutter across her engorged clit briefly before they continue down to spread around her hole, his tongue darting out. 


It takes her orgasm ridden brain a second to realize he’s eating his own cum out of her before he’s carefully sliding a finger into her over sensitive hole to begin gathering what he left inside her to bring it to his tongue. It feels good, really good, with how sensitive she is. Mirabel thought maybe it would be uncomfortable but he’s eating her out soft and slow, tasting himself on her pussy as he works her towards a second, smaller climax. She cums again against his lips with his tongue curled into her next to his finger and his nose pressing up against her aching clit. 


She comes back down again to Bruno massaging the stiffness out of her legs as he looks down at her moon eyed with this happy little smile on his face. He dresses her in her nightgown only and pulls on his shirt and boxers, carrying her to the bathroom for a shower despite her saying she can walk. She can barely stand without his help in the shower but by the time they are back in their room she’s mostly recovered. Perfectly pleased with the sensitive feeling of her breasts and the lingering ache between her legs. 


Her Mamá is in the kitchen when they walk in, one of the few people awake as the sun barely creeps across the horizon. Behind her Dolores stands with her arms wrapped around the older woman and her chin propped on her shoulder. When they see Bruno and Mirabel, Dolores flushed bright red with a little squeak but Julietta only smirks knowingly, pointing to two baskets of empanadas. “Good morning. Those heal, those do not.”


Bruno chokes on his own spit. 


Mirabel chooses an empanada that doesn’t heal.