#IT’S LIKE AN UNCLE AND NEPHEW TYPE BOND I LOVE IT-

[whereismyhat5678]

Hey peppino you re ok? I like you and gustavo😀

I don’t know what else to say except Sonic didn’t tell Pep about THAT part-

(Also should probably say I won’t be doing asks with Sonic but I let this one slide since I thought it was pretty funny-)

[fujoshirat]

When the Shouto Todoroki saves you and your kindergarten students at the aquarium during a villain attack, you can't seem to get him out of your head. Bonus: you're quirkless and he's a pro hero, so you live in two different worlds. The glue? His cute nephew that's obsessed with rocks and that just so happens to be in your kindergarten class.

In short: You've become obsessed, you suppose. But that's all right, you're not the only one that's obsessed.

WARNING: infatuated Shouto = a ditz who embarrasses himself in front of his crush <3; female reader (srry I forgot to add this to the first part but you can choose the gender^^); Shouto and Kaoru bonding!!

Part 1 here!

2 - You're Obsessed With Me

Shouto has never seen a woman so perfect.

He had heard of you before. Every so often, when Shouto would take Kaoru out on a playdate or visit Natsuo, his nephew would casually bring you up.

"Y/N-sensei let me bring my rock collection for show n' tell."

"Oji-san, Y/N-sensei cuts her apple slices like rabbits. I wan' rabbits too."

"Today was Y/N-sensei's birthday, so I gave her a rock."

In a way, Shouto knew you. He knew about how you loved to take your students on field trips and that you want to travel to Venice someday and that you cry at every little milestone. He knew all of this from the lovely little stories that his lovely little nephew would tell him.

What he did not know was how obsessed he'd be with you once he'd finally met you. That afternoon, about an hour after eating his lunch and about 30 minutes into his patrol, he had received a call from his secretary and the authorities that there was a villain wreaking havoc at the Hosu City Aquarium. That afternoon, when he rushed to the scene with his five-year-old nephew's safety and the safety of others occupying his mind.

That afternoon, you laid there on the tile floor, wrists bound together and arms cut up, with the most beautiful face ever- 'Eugh! Weirdo!' Shouto mentally gives himself a slap to the face while shaking his head, prompting him out of his daydream. He looks down at Kaoru, the little boy holding his uncle's hand and observing the passing cars. Reaching the agency, Shouto types in his password and enters, bringing Kaoru along with him.

"Kaoru-kun, I just need to finish up a report before we can go back to your house, okay?"

"Okay, oji-san." As they approach the elevator, Kaoru looks up at Shouto with puppy eyes, making Shouto chuckle. "Go ahead." The five-year-old cheers and makes a beeline for the elevator, reaching up to press the up button. The elevator arrives, and the white-haired boy leads his uncle inside, also reaching up to press the 4th floor button.

Once they reach Shouto's office floor, Kaoru sits on the couch and looks at Shouto patiently, though his face reflecting expectancy. Shouto quirks a brow and kneels down at his nephew. "Yes, Kaoru-kun?"

"Do you have games on your phone?"

"..."

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

"Kaoru-kun, do you have your subway card?" Turning off the lights, Shouto leads his nephew into the elevator. He observes the little boy nod in response, a pleasant hum escaping him.

"That's good. We'll take the subway back to your house, okay?"

"Okay, oji-san."

Opening the main door for Kaoru, the two exit the agency and head to the nearby subway station. Almost 6:40pm, they board the train and Shouto makes sure that his nephew has a seat. As the subway starts moving, Shouto's thoughts once again wander. 'Does she take the subway home too? How long has she been a teacher for? And she's quirkless too? She's so brave.' Amidst the sound of chattering tracks and pleasant thoughts, the pro hero hears a little rumbling sound and smiles softly.

"Kaoru-kun, are you hungry? I can buy you dinner before we get you home." Kaoru nods shyly. Shouto nods in acknowledgement and helps the little boy find his way to the subway doors before they open. Once the subway stops, they exit it and push past the large herd of people. "Kaoru," Shouto squeezes his nephew's hand comfortingly. "What do you want to eat?" His gaze meets round, doe eyes.

"Salmon onigiri!" Hearing that, the heterochromatic man takes Kaoru to the convenience store and buys him his dinner.

---

"Kaoru! You're safe!" Natsuo envelops his son in a hug, receiving a whine of protest. Shouto laughs at the sight. "I already fed him, Natsu-ani. No injuries and no problems." His elder brother lets out a sigh of relief and looks face-to-face at his son. "Thank goodness... thank you so much, Shouto. I was so worried." The man in question shakes his head. "I'm glad I was there on time, and Kaoru behaved." "Really? That's good." He ruffles Kaoru's hair. "Thank you, kiddo." Looking up at Shouto again, he stands up and offers a smile.

"I made hambugu (hamburg-steak) for dinner, do you wanna stay and eat?" "Thanks for the offer, but I ate already with Kaoru. I'll just head home now." Natsuo nods. "If you're sure, thanks again, Shou." The brothers both bow in respect to each other, Kaoru copying his father. Shouto smiles and gently pats his nephew's head. "Goodnight, Kaoru-kun. Have a good weekend." "You too, oji-san." The pro hero heads back out and walks to the station to return to his own home.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

Shouto thinks that the American idea of Manifest Destiny must be true, because here you are, blessing him with your magnificent presence at his local grocery store (SPOILER! Shouto Todoroki is a Japanese citizen for a reason. That is NOT what Manifest Destiny is). You miraculously don't seem to notice his jaw-dropped expression, too busy reaching up to grab the specific brand of honey shampoo that you always buy. You're not wearing anything fancy: comfy sweats and a turtleneck for the slightly chilly weather.

But god, Shouto thinks that you're fine.

And did someone turn up the thermostat? Because suddenly, when you finally notice him and smile, the left side of his face flairs up. Thankfully it's not much, just a few flames that lick his face. Both yours and his eyes widen as Shouto quickly gets rid of the flames, leaving his cheeks dusted pink. "S-sir! Are you alright?" Oh goodness, you're coming closer! The air gets knocked out of Shouto's lungs when you look up at him with those doe eyes and worried expression. Clearing his throat, the pro hero attempts to save his ass.

"Ah, L/N-sensei, I apologize. I'm alright."

"No need to apologize! And no need to call me sensei." Your voice sounds like an angelic choir to Shouto, tone so sweet like candy. The tall man can only hope not to embarrass himself even further.

"Do you live in this area? I've never seen you here before." You nod cheerfully. "Mhm! I actually just moved here a few weeks ago because I got a pay raise. It's a beautiful area, and all the residents that I've met so far are lovely." Shouto likes how you're so cheerful and positive. Your face is welcoming and so far, you always seem to have a smile on your face. His eyes observe your left wrist, recalling the events of the day before. "Is your wrist okay?"

"Yes! I put some ice and it really helped with the swelling. I still try not to use it, but it doesn't hurt as much. Hopefully it will be back to normal soon!" Shouto's gaze softens, a soft smile appearing on his face as he adjusts his shopping bag hanging from his arm.

"That's good." He suddenly remembers something. "If I may ask, how long have you been teaching for?" "Hm..." Shouto can feel his heart do somersaults as he watches her slightly furrow her brows while thinking. 'Cute.' "This is my fourth year teaching. Ever since I started my career, I've been the kindergarten teacher for the school!" You giggle when Shouto's eyes widen. "Teaching young children is my passion. I love my students and want them to succeed. Sometimes it's a little hard when graduation rolls around the corner." He watches you dismiss yourself with a sheepish laugh, impressed at your dedication to teaching. The red- and white-haired man thinks it's absolutely adorable when you gush about teaching and your students. Every word that came out of your mouth, tumbling out of your kissable lips this loser really really really wants to kiss you :(, he becomes even more hooked.

And then, you take his breath away once more when you twirl a strand of your glossy hair and smile.

"You know, it's really nice interacting with a pro hero outside of their 'hero mode.' I've never done this before, and you're really kind, Todoroki-san!" Shouto's cheeks flush even more red at your sentiment. You enjoy talking to him??? Inside, he's mentally cheering screaming, on the outside, he's just looking at you with a shocked expression.

Yeah, you broke him. Yet, you don't seem to notice because instead of teasing him (like what his friends would have probably done), instead your cheeks turn a slight shade of pink like peaches and begin to speak again.

"If you're willing, I'd love to grab coffee with you sometime!" Shouto was definitely broken now, because his left side flares up with small flames again and you panic over him.

"Todoroki-san!?!"

In simple terms, Japan's Hottest Hero, Shouto Himura Todoroki, was definitely a loser boy man in love.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

A/N: Yayayayay! Part 2 is finally done (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) Thank you all so much for reading and (hopefully) enjoying this part as much as Part 1! I kind of suck at writing POVs for other characters, so I hope that this was still an enjoyable fic >< I love a strong independent hottie but I also love it when that hottie is a loser when in love <33333

On a similar note: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your amazing, sweet support for Part 1!! I did not expect it to blow up 🥺🥺🥺 and cause my other (old) fics to also receive support! I was very surprised and elated to see my inbox flooded with notifications, so thank you for making my days ♡♡♡ I will take a short break from writing, maybe a week or two depending on how I feel, so I apologize if Part 3 comes out a little late!

Also!! I'm starting a tag list so if u wanna be tagged for the next part, just lmk!!

TAGLIST: ♡ @roseapov

[pricesprincess]

you hadn't had time to text kyle and let him know you're watching your brother's kids.

they kept you busy running amuck around the house, their giggles and little feet slapping against the floor made your heart ache.

you had wanted kids since you could remember.

it was always a dream of yours to see a little one that was part you and your lover, a physical manifestation of your bond with them.

none of your past boyfriends wanted to be tied down to that type of commitment so you tucked it away putting it up high on the shelf.

watching your nieces and nephews play with toys in the living room distracted you enough not to hear the front door open and the footsteps that stopped at the entryway.

"love?"

four heads snapped up at their uncle kyle's voice and shot up from the carpet to run over to him screaming his name, seems like he's everyone's favorite and you didn't blame them.

hes your favorite too.

"they've been running me ragged baby, sorry i didn't get a chance to text."

kyle waved your apology off with a warm smile that made your stomach clench and toes curl.

you couldn't help but watch him with four little ones hanging off of him pretending to be an airplane complete with the noises as well.

he kept them off your back as you made dinner making sure to run around the backyard as you kept an eye on them through the window.

a flutter rippled through your womb when he scooped up the youngest bringing her inside to tend to her scraped knee.

"i'm a magician, in three seconds your knee will feel better." kyle assured her with a soft voice as he crouched in front of her and blew on the scrape causing her to gasp then smile wide.

she wrapped little arms around his neck hugging him tightly thanking him.

later that evening after your brother picked them up begging for you to watch them again tomorrow you and kyle settled on the couch.

"we should have a babe, you'd make a wonderful mum, the best." without knowing your deepest secret he breathed life into it.

and an hour later he was pumping load after load in you.

comments and relogs with tags are really appreciated <3

[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k  

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 

“Sorry. Wh��sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

[daisyblog]

The Month of December

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN’s Instagram posts leading up to Christmas.

ynstyles

liked by annetwist, lottietomlinson and 2,652,871 others

ynstyles first christmas with our girly🤍🎄✨🩷 view all 8,728 comments

harrystyles My favourite girls❤️

lottietomlinson So cute 🎀 🤍

gemmastyles An exciting year for both our girls💕

annetwist I love your matching outfits🥰❤️

the.daisytomlinson 🩷🩷🩷

niallhoran Can’t wait for my Christmas visit xx

louteasdale my heart🥹

zoesugg soooo cute🩷

daniellepeazer sweethearts💞

markyyferris Aww darlings🥹💕

louisfan Grace has light hair like the Tomlinsons🥹🥰

harryfan it still surprises me in 2024 that Harry is married to Louis sister and they have a baby!!

ynstyles

liked by louist91, gemmastyles and 5,832,467 others

ynstyles 2am selfie because this mama was craving tea and toast🤰🏼 view all 11,922 comments

louist91 Poor Harold looks half asleep!!

gemmastyles I don’t miss those 2am cravings😂😂

annetwist Hope you’re getting plenty of rest my love🩷

lottietomlinson I bet you woke Harry up to make it too🤦🏼‍♀️😂

marktommo1111 You two make me laugh😂😂❤️❤️

niallhoran I don’t mind babysitting Grace if you both need some rest ❤️

the.daisytomlinson You always eat tea and toast?😂

harryfan7 dreamy😛

harryfan5 HARRY😍😍😍

ynrryfan How good does Harry look even at 2am😫😍

ynstyles

liked by j_corden, zoesugg and 803,793 others

ynstyles our type of date nights🤎 view all 6,892 comments

annetwist Save some for me☺️

jefezoff Keeping my job easy😅😂

zoesugg Omg these looks amazing😍

j_corden Look at you two all grown up😂

mitchrowland Send me and Sarah the recipe please!!

the.daisytomlinson Can we make these together for Christmas plsssss🥰

louteasdale how times change ey? from being caught making out to baking gingerbread😂

harryfan4 the dream date night💙

harryfan7 ❤️❤️❤️

ynrryfan LOVE YOU BOTH❤️🩷❤️🩷❤️🩷

ynstyles

liked by zayn, thephoebetomlinson and 4,519,701 others

ynstyles baba is growing nicely🤰🏼🎄❤️ view all 8,682 comments

harrystyles ❤️

niallhoran Aww cuties xx

zayn Beautiful photo🖤

annetwist Absolutely precious💞

thephoebetomlinson your bump🥹🥹

the.daisytomlinson can’t wait for another niece or nephew🤍

anastasiakingsnorth You’re glowing✨🥰

markyyferris I’ve never seen a more stunning couple☺️❤️

harryfan2 they’re so love in love😫

harryfan8 Anyone else see these two and realise how single they are??!!

louisfan9 Tell Louis I love him🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

ynstyles

liked by annetwist, gemmastyles and 908,652 others

ynstyles Christmas fun at auntie Lotts house🎄🫶🏼❤️ view all 7,283 comments

lottietomlinson our babies🥹🥰

gemmastyles Little cuties🥰🫶🏼

lewisburton ❤️

the.daisytomlinson aunties babies😫🥹

marktommo1111 my grandbabies💙🩷❤️

sallietommo Precious memories🥰❤️

annetwist Awww memories to last a lifetime❤️

louisfan9 They’re growing up so fast!!!

ynrryfan Have the best Christmas as a married couple and parents❤️❤️❤️❤️

ynstyles

liked by harrystyles, lottietomlinson and 4,681,721 others

ynstyles A huge happy birthday to the best brother and uncle that us girls could wish for!🥳🎈

Louis, my older brother, my best friend and one of my favourite people! Have the best day and we can’t wait to celebrate with you later❤️

The absolute best uncle to Grace and watching your bond grow is priceless. Grace can’t wait for birthday cuddles and more belly laughs because your the funniest person she knows🩷

Love you millions Lou xxx view all 9,713 comments

louist91 Thanks tiny!! Love you both so much!!xx

harrystyles Happy Birthday Louis!

annetwist Happy birthday my darling! Have a lovely day🥰xx

gemmastyles Have the best day🥳

lottietomlinson ❤️❤️

the.daisytomlinson ❤️

niallhoran Happy birthday lad!!

louteasdale happy birthday babe🤍

louisfan7 HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOUIS🎉🥳🧁❤️

louisfan4 The bond these siblings have is so beautiful💖

harryfan3 Happy birthday Louis!! Have the best day/Christmas❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats@harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour@bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl@buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream@treehouse-mouse @mrs-anna-styles211994 @macy-tpwk @mrs-anna-styles211994 @fruity-harry

[egg-emperor]

Tfw you don't ship shadria because you're a fag and pervert only interested in m/m as you only ship characters for them to fuck and prefer them to both be ones you're attracted to. But ALSO you find it kinda bothersome how much people push the insistence that they are LITERAL siblings so hard and you're not allowed to see them any other way (like transcending it but can be somewhat likened to it hence it being put that way in bios, that's how I personally see it) and have to force their bond into a traditional family box in the most generic way possible as their idea of found family always just seems like an attempt to replicate literal nuclear family units with tradtional family bonds which irks you and sucks when it makes people remove all the things about them that make it different and more interesting in that, regardless of how you like to look at them- *GASP* that was a lot to say I need a breather lol

Because it's like yeah Gerald calls Shadow his son at the end of SXSG but then before that he was telling him he had two sons and wasn't like "they're also your brothers because I am your literal father and also Black Doom is your father too" Even when the latter was literally linked by blood and yes it's also because he's a POS and his ex so Gerald wouldn't want him to be but he didn't even say he logically was. And also Shadow and Eggman aren't LITERALLY uncle and nephew as funny as the technicality is, neither see each other as actual family at all and they're more interesting for it. Just like how the Commander isn't like "Shadow you're basically my brother because Maria was like a sister to me" and so on

Like fandom's answer in recent years to "there's too much romance and sex shipping so I'm going to make something more pure and wholesome with family bonds instead of that horrible icky stuff" and do it in the most generic forced boring way possible which I feel like completely ruins the whole point of the found family thing they claim to love when they're just trying to reinvent nuclear family and shoving characters into boxes of literal family roles that taek away every part of it that makes it subversive and interesting. Like isn't part of found family that family can look like something completely different than what society expects and demands and that it's okay?

That's also why people can't comprehend and fathom Eggman and Sage's dynamic absolutely not being a literal tradtional family role and not fitting into a nuclear family type box- because of how it's a case where the characters do see and call each other by familial titles. But really even then, they show themselves to have anything but a traditional dynamic a father and daughter would have with Eggman still being her boss and master and Sage being a servant valued by him for her loyalty and effiency, Sage being the guardian and protector instead of Eggman, etc

So Maria saying "we're your family" to Shadow in her dialogue doesn't force them into a literal sibling box and also family can take all kinds of forms. Fandom's pushing of literal family roles assigned to every character that isn't a ship is very regressive. You say not everything has to be shipping, well not everything has to be literal traditional nuclear family mimicking either lol

[small-world-au]

Sora Aguilar

———INCOMING BIG ASS POST———

Full name: Sora Marcelo Aguilar Yuki

Age: Same as the main trio

Personality type: ISFP

Ethnicity: Asian (Japanese) & Hispanic (Mexican)

Hair color/type: Dark brown/straight-slightly curly

Eye color: light brown

Skin color: super light tan/dark pink

Gender: Male

Family: Natalia Aguilar (maternal grandmother)

Gabriela Aguilar (Mother 🪦)

Shino Yuuki (Father 🪦)

Dante (Stepfather)

Noelia Aguilar (Maternal aunt🪦)

Unknown (Maternal uncle)

Rowena Pagonis (Older half sister🪦)

Kip (therapy dog)

Stone (childhood sweetheart/husband)

Friends: Bailey, Jasper, Finn, Skipp, Zaria, Vinnie, pebble, maggot, Bailey’s kittens, Finn’s rat babies, old man Howard, Maroon, Olive, Ray, Rui, Maple, Chris, Zaria, Charlie, and Allay

Neutral: Tre, Rigel & cen, karma, Doña Mari, and Ivan Franzwick

Enemies: Fritz (the butler), ditch, Nadia (personal reasons), Jay, arrogant lootbags, street gangs, and AVRILLE!!!!

LIKES

Books

Sewing

Baking

Poetry

Cute animals

Stone

Spending time with friends/family

Exploring

Springtime

Food!!!

Caring for the young

DISLIKES

SHOESSSSS!!!!

Rude/whiny scraps & loot-bag

Leaving kip behind

Being treated as a 🏆

Discrimination

Art/writing block

Not being good enough

Disappointing his family/friends

Leaving Stone and friends

Obsessive creeps

His dad and avrille

His beloved ones getting hurt

Being unable to help/being useless

Thunderstorms

Arguments

Street fights

Being cooped inside for too long

Sora Aguilar is one of the main character of my au. A sweet, gentle, and kindhearted young man filled with curiosity, who would do anything for the sake of his friends and family, even if it means sacrificing his own needs and wants.

He is Rowena’s younger half-brother, Gabriela’s and Shino’s only son, Natalia’s grandson, and Noelia’s nephew.

He’s a close friend to the scraps and a mom-friend who cherishes his own group dearly. He is also Stone’s childhood best friend/sweetheart.

He and his puppy (Kip) lived happily (???) in their mansion, until they wake up one night inside a big bag that was left on the streets of ramshackle.

More facts below!!!!

[ipostwhatiwant1202]

Headcanon: Type of Uncle They Are

note: Happy Autism Awareness Month! To anyone who is on the spectrum, I see you. You are valued, you are smart, and you are worthy. Your Autism does not define you. A healthy reminder to those who are not on the spectrum, they call it a spectrum for a reason because it presents differently in everyone.

This is a safe space. 💙

Leo: Third Parent

It's in Leo's nature to be a more authoritative and more strict. Doesn't mean he isn't fun, he just prefers order over chaos. This also applies to any nieces or nephews he may end up with. That being said, even if he's more authoritative and strict, the children trust him wholeheartedly.

If it's his turn to babysit, yes there's a bed time, but there's always a story. He will read or tell any story the kids want to hear and he even does different voices for each character. He also will sit with them until they fall asleep. One has a nightmare? Yes, you can sleep in his bed (just this once....for the 10th time).

Homework is always the first thing done at his place if he's babysitting. The kids don't feel like it? He'll find something to do at the table with them so they feel more motivated to get it done. He's also very patient, so if it's frustrating to the kids, he'll even learn it with them to make them feel better.

He's also the one the kids know they can go to for guidance. He remains unbiased so if one of them needs an honest opinion, he's willing to give it. While emotions aren't necessarily his thing, nothing cheers the kids up more than a hug from their uncle Leo.

Even if the kids trust him wholeheartedly, they don't always like him. They don't like that he gives stricter punishments or is a harder teacher than their actual parents. Don't be fooled by the pressure he gives, the first sight of the children crying and he's off putting on cartoons.

Raph: The Protector

You know those mafia uncles, the ones with the thick accents? That's him. Raph is, by default, the family bodyguard. When he has nieces and nephews, he keeps a very close eye on them. Where they're at, who they're with, and when they're supposed to return. It's not to be controlling, the kids know he means it kindly.

That being said, he's also the most interesting. He's been through a lot, he's got a lot of stories, and he loves to boast. The kids find him cool and are always eager to hear about his life. He also hides hidden messages in his stories about being a good person and watching out for others (mostly because 5 years olds shouldn't be hearing about murder), he has good intentions.

He's also very good at comforting the kids. Usually it's Mikey's job to be the family sounding board, but Raph is a very good listener. The kids know they can vent to him about anything with no judgement. He'll even make them a late night snack if they can't sleep because they're upset.

Babysitting usually consists of him putting the TV on and letting the kids do whatever, within reason, of course. He lets the kids pick what they want to do and is known to join them. He's usually the referee if the kids are wrestling or the supervisor when playing board games. He's a master at uno.

His protectiveness can be overbearing but he backs off if he knows he's in the wrong. The kids know he just wants them safe and they love him for it, but they're comfortable enough to speak their mind. The first sign of danger, Raph's usually one of the first to jump in.

Donnie: Teacher Friend

While he loves to educate and spread his knowledge, Donnie also enjoys bonding. He doesn't impose his knowledge on his nieces and nephews, but he teaches them enough for them to be dangerous. This is also the time he takes to create connections with them without them really knowing. He's very sneaky about what he does.

He's always the one to help with homework but he won't do it for them. Instead, he pays close attention to learning styles and teach accordingly. More patience than Leo ever thought of having when the kids get frustrated. He's always calm and willing to explain a million ways until the kids pick up what he's putting down.

His babysitting is the best (i don't make the rules) because he can multitask like it's no one's business. He can be doing a project, help with homework, and discipline all at the same time. He's also always doing something and if the kids want to help, great! If not, he'll find something he knows they'll like and they'll do it together.

He also just always knows when something isn't right. The kids don't even have to tell him if they're sad or angry, he just knows. He doesn't push but instead, he offers them to come sit while he does work or invites them to join him. He knows they'll open up to him if they want.

Sometimes his knowledge clouds his brain so the kids have to remind him they aren't as smart as him at times. They also have to remind him that they're children and no kid needs to know how to blow up mount everest in one big boom for a 5th grade science fair project.

Mikey: Comforting Therapist

Where the others lack, Mikey brings to the table. He's always been the most emotionally intelligent and level headed of all his brothers in that department. Even with his ADHD, his observance is through the roof when he has nieces and nephews. He takes interest in every aspect he can of their lives. He just likes to be involved and listen to whatever it is they're up to these days.

His babysitting is chaotic but also very practical. He's strict and fun all at the same time. The kids are definitely a wake up call on his maturity. He makes up games for them and does activities with them. He also caters to each of their likes and they all take turns picking the activity or game. It teaches them patience and sharing, as well as having fun, it's a win win!

The kids know education is not his strongest suite by default, however he's always the first to know their grades. He never gets mad if it's not good, instead he assures them it's just a grade and not the end of the world. If the grade is good, then he gets very loud and overly excited over it. He just wants the kids to feel good about themselves.

Speaking of feeling good about themselves, the kids trust only him to help with big events where they need to dress up. He has the best fashion taste and makes sure the clothes are just right and flatter what should be flattered. He's also the kids' number one hype man and if they go clothes shopping, he very much would like a fashion show.

Mikey's ADHD can be overbearing to the kids at times, but they feel comfortable enough to tell him he's pushing boundaries. He always apologizes and listens when this happens. The kids know he means well, but sometimes it does get a bit too overstimulating, so boundaries are pre-established.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

~*~

1. Hi! I'm looking for a fic which was about LWJ and his feelings about relation WWX&LSZ. It was post-canon fic. LWJ felt hurt because Sizhui was formal while speaking to him meanwhile he treated WWX like parent, calling him Baba (or other word but with the same meaning)or joking with him etc. LWJ haven't told anyone. I remember that they were going to nighthunt but LWJ fainted and that's how WWX noticed that sth is wrong. WWX told Sizhui sth like "your father miss you"

~*~

2. Hi, I was wondering if you know a fanfic where it’s like during war time,wei ying and nie mingjue get together and than add lan zhan to the mix. Thank you @chloecov4506

FOUND? Bruises be damnded red and green by amykissthedark (T, 44k, WWX/NMJ, wangxian, NMJ/WWX/LWJ, canon divergence, everyone lives au, character study, PTSD, trauma, canon-typical behavior, pining, blood & gore, YLLZ WWX, golden core reveal, sunshot campaign, warnign: JGS, polyamory, fix-it, slow burn, WIP) not sure but it could potentially be this one. At least the description reminds me of this one

FOUND? Better Things to Do with a Flute in Wartime by Anonymous (E, 365k, MingXian, WangXianJue, Sunshot Campaign, Fix-It, Magical Healing Cock, Dual Cultivation, mild Dom/Sub, Undernegotiated Kink, Golden Core Reveal, Breathplay, Choking, Painplay, Subdrop, Topdrop, Major Character Injury, Canon Divergence, What-If, Temperature Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Fisting, Spanking, PTSD, Trauma, Self-Harm, (in the pursuit of cultivational badassery))

FOUND? An Elegant Solution by giraffeter (E, 205k, niewangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, fix-it, everyone lives au, courtship, polyamory, smut)

~*~

3. Hey! Hope you guys are doing well.

I was looking for this fanfic where the sects send their heirs to vanquish the Yiling Patriarch, but none of them return. Even Lan Sizhui goes missing, and Jin Ling takes matters into his own hands and goes to find the Yiling Patriarch himself because he's grieving.

So he goes there but the situation is entirely different. All the sect heirs are at Burial Mounds safe and dound they just didn't go back because of all the responsibilities their parents have for them.

Also, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are actually together, and Wangji just sent Sizhui because the teen misses his other baba. And so when Jin Ling gets to know and Lan Wangji comes and they establish them as a new sect and all that jazz.

I'm not sure if the fix is actually complete. But please find this for me cuz I really really love the feels in this fic. @poetic-writes

FOUND! Safe in the Arms of a Demon by Starlight1395 (G, 19k, JC & JL & WWX, wangxian, LJY/LSZ, canon divergence, angst w happy ending, hurt/comfort, WWX doens’t die instead quarantines in BM, WWX adopts every child he sees, uncle nephew bonding)

~*~

4. help to find a fic please. So there was this Wangxian fic, where Lan Wangji is rescued after being tortured. I don't think it was very long; probably on the shorter side. One quirk I remember is the narration being in second person, though I don't know if I'm remembering correctly. There was a mention of sea glass near the end of the fic. That's all the details I remember. Please help me find the fic.

I think #4 is one of those mer type fics, where lan zhan is held hostage and either his scales are being harvested for medicine or he's tortured to give tears, I have to research some more , but does the requestor think it could be along those lines ?

FOUND? ocean eyes by bunnylan (weiyingpretty) (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, Human WWX, mermaid LWJ, Childhood Friends, Memory Magic, Getting Back Together, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Mutual Pining, Temporary Amnesia) tho I don't know if this is 2nd person narration ?

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5. Hi!! I'm looking for a fic where lwj is a fanfic writer and wwx was a podficer? is that the word? anyways that's all I remember from it because I only read the summary :')

FOUND! Your Words, My Voice by AverageFandomEnjoyer (T, 5k, wangxian, modern, canon divergence, fluff, kissing, pining, falling in love, writer LWJ, podficcer WWX, meet-cute, minor miscommunication) and has a podfic! :)

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6. Could you please help me find a colored-blood fic? It was canon divergent, where people with golden cores had golden blood (and normal people had normal red blood). After the core transfer WWX’s blood slowly turns back to red and he has to be careful not to get injured or it will show that he lost his core. In that scene after he is revived JC doesn’t whip him, WWX pretends to be MXY and shows his red blood to “prove” it. I am dying to read this again! It was most likely on ao3.

FOUND? who cares when you're gone by camellialice (M, 22k, WangXian, Hades (Video Game) Fusion, Canon-Typical Levels of Self-Sacrifice, Canon-Typical Levels of Spitting Up Blood, Canon-Typical Levels of Pining) this is a bit of a stretch, but 'who cares when you're gone' by camellialice on ao3 might be #6 on the fic finder. it has the gold blood / red blood thing but not the mo xuanyu part of the ask.

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7. Hi can you help me find a fic I read a couple of years ago? It was a modern au where all the sect heirs were sent to another planet/alternate reality (?) for some kind of reality TV show. I think JGS was behind it but for some reason also sent JZX. I remember that NMJ is killed while they are trying to escape and WWX stays behind alone to allow the rest to escape. He has to survive in a wintery wilderness until the others manage to rescue him.  Thanks for your help. @i-amnotawriter​

FOUND? and from our own/live to ourselves by betweentheheavesofstorm (M, 105k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fantasy, Reality TV, Arctic Survival, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Getting Together, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Bloodletting, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Animal Death, Hunting, Mild Sexual Content)

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8. helluu! i have this one fic that i really want to re-read, but i cant find it for the life of me. i remember it was pretty long and so well written so i really hope you can help. what i remember is it took place during (after?) the guanyin temple arch, and i think JGY forced WWX to make a time travel array for him. dont remember much but i belive WWX LXC NHS and JC end up sacrificing themselves to get the array working and they send back the junior quartet to the time of Jin Lings one month anniversary party (i just remember random facts from here and there) but i think the try to fix things up with jin zixuan’s death so it doesn’t happen..? i hope any of that makes sense. could you please help me find it? @constant-brainrot-24-7​

FOUND? ❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

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9. Hi! It's me again hahaha.

I was reading a fic and suddenly I remembered another fic, but I can't find it in my bookmarks. It's a Canon Divergence where WQ transfer the half of the golden core back to WWX with the permission of JC.

I hope you can help me, thanks ☺️. @wangxiansgirl

FOUND! The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou ( E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts)

Not FOUND in this place where we don't have a prayer by Cerusee, Mikkeneko (T, 42k, WangXian)

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10. 👋Hello! I'm a big fan of your blog! ❤️ I've seen that you help to find fics and I'd like to ask for help to find one. 🙏

It's a Wangxian and takes place after the war ¿? 🤔 I think. I remember that Lan Zhan has to accumulate power in his golden core and then transfer it to Wei Ying.

And Idk if it's the same fanfic, I think not, but Lan Zhan has to create a second golden core for Wei Ying.

I'm sorry, that's all I can remember. I have a terrible memory. Please help 🙏😔

FOUND? 🧡 Discarded by teawater (E, 141k, WIP, WangXian, Lots of Angst, Hurt/Comfort, YLLZ WWX, Golden Core Reveal, Case Fic, Depression, Family Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Multiple, BAMF WWX, dubious morals in the Lan sect, Feels, Pining, Grief, Fix-It, BAMF LWJ) I remember a scene where LWJ gives WWX the second core he slowly grew over the years specifically for him in this one? - Mod C

FOUND? these colours fade for you only by doodlebutt (T, 36k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, Golden Core Transfer, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, …eventually, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Mutual Pining, like really unreasonable amounts of pining, Slow Burn) i'm not sure about the details, but maybe this fits? iirc lwj starts cultiivating a new core during sunshot and gives it to wwx right after

FOUND? three surgeries and a mercy kill by MarbleGlove (T, 11k, Medical Procedures, Demonic Cultivation, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Self-Indulgent, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

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11. Hi,This fic has the whole group thinking wei ying commited suicide but actually he ran away thinking everyone hates him and living in streets. Accidentally meets Lanzhan in a coffee shop who feels connected to him even though LZ thinks he is Mo xuanyu. starts taking care of him and the huisang plots to reveal weiying to all so things happen.LZ is super protective and its super angsty. Also LZ sleepwalks. Know the fic? @mridhu6​

FOUND! Where You Fell by Sweet_William (E, 303k, wangxian, 3zun, NHS/JC, JYL/JZX, modern, coffee shop au, angst w happy ending, homeless au, pining, getting together, slow burn, implied/referenced child abuse, suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, autistic character, WWX has ADHD, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, implied/referenced sex work, implied/referenced substance abuse) but i dont remember reading about some of the details the asker mentioned, so it might not be the same fic

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12. Hello! Read a fic a couple months ago and have been scouring the internet to find it for the past week. (My apologies for the very bad recalling of what happened in the fic) Anyway, basic plot points that i remember was wwx had been asked to paint lwj bedroom walls and was given a key to his apartment (fairly sure they were already friends before this tho) also lwj had a pet rabbit that wwx would often feed. Sorry! I know there's not much to work with it for finding fic but I'd really appreciate @mopdopplophop

FOUND? show me a quiver, give me tonight by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 115k, wangxian, modern, artist au, communication failure, pining, angst w happy ending, demisexual WWX, mentioned past LWJ/OMCs, eventual smut, gossip, getting together, crack treated seriously, friends to friends w benefits to lovers, WWX pov)

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13. Hi! I'm trying to find a fic I've read a while ago. On that fic, an old person at Yilling confuses Wwx with a woman, and gives him a discount because they think he's a young woman who was abandoned with her son by her husband. Wwx starts dressing as a woman to gain people's sympathy and get discounts. He accidentally describes his husband as being Lwj, and when Lwj goes to Yilling people all but siege him because they think he's the scoundrel who abandoned his wife and son.

FOUND? Mother Knows Best by misbehavingvigilante (M, 12k, wangxian, canon divergence, crossdressing, food issues, gender identity, gender noncomforming, trans WWX, poverty)

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14. A) Hi, I'm trying to find a fic where its female wei ying who becomes pregnant with twins and is perilously I'll so lan zhan volunteers to marry her but something about a caravan attacked by jin and her becoming so I'll happens.. any idea

B) Hi, I'm trying to find a fic where wei ying is disguised as lan zhans bride fo be and weirdly makes friends with lan Quiren by being he model in law? @quxxnrandonmness27​

14A)

FOUND? Could be Pancho's hidden fic 'A Home, Not a Prison?'

14B)

FOUND? Wei Wuxian, Who’s That? by bumbledees (T, 48k, wangxian, crossdressing, pining, sibling feels)

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15. Hi could you help me find this fic, I think it's been deleted

I know the summary went like this

Wei Wuxian begins weakly, but Lan-laoshi, cruel as he is, continues speaking.“Well? I have provided you with three choices. You move, you act, or you let Wangji tutor you after school.” Lan-laoshi raises an eyebrow. “I, of course, recommend option two, as it would solve everyone’s problems, but alas. Teenagers.”He should choose to move classes. Lan-laoshi is right – it would help him focus, and it would help his grades, and Madam Yu would be less disappointed in him than she usually is. And Lan Wangji would be rid of him, which would undoubtedly make him more comfortable in his own damn class.But Wei Wuxian is weak. And horrible, and selfish, and so he chooses the third option. “Lan Wangji,” he says, turning to him with pleading eyes, “Lan-er-gege, light of my life – would you terribly mind tutoring me after school?”

Any help would be appreciated @imgonnablogtheworldtodeath

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16. Hi so i read this fic but i cant remember its name.this is a fic in which wangxian adopt a abused ayuan .he was abused by xue yang i think.and they adopt him and ayuan still has that trauma but slwlu overcomes it @rosy1324

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17. Hii for the next fic finder pls help me with a story where 

wwx gets de aged (post canon) and doesn’t remember that Jiang Yanli is dead but he gets happy to see jin Ling even says something about JY to him (that he should address him better cause he’s his nephew). Then he goes to lotus pier because he wants to be with JC but he starts remembering more things and is sent back  to cloud recess. The more the time pases the more he remembers and he gets where he remembers the wens, he’s happy to see Sizhui but discontented with the fact that after all he dies. 

After that, His body kind of shuts down (replicating  the years that was dead) and lwj has to keep passing energy so he doesn’t die and after a week or something he finally wakes up with full memory of what happened. 

Thank you!! 💙💙

FOUND? Rewritten by yamadori (Katsumi27) (G, 6k, wangxian, JC & WWX, age regression/de-aging, hurt/comfort)

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18. Fic Finder for a twitter thread fic? It was Modern AU, LQR POV, and he was Convinced WWX was abusive toward LWJ. LWJ gets very sick and isn't answering LQR's phonecalls, and LQR assumes WWX is isolating LWJ from his family; it's implied LWJ had actually pulled away from LQR because of LQR's behavior. WWX and LWJ owned a farm with the wens and were raising a-Yuan. LQR goes to the farm for the first time and ends up seeing how much WWX cares for LWJ. @lewiscarrolatemybrain​

FOUND? Twitter thread by enigmatree

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19. Hi! Can you help me find a fic? it is a time travel fic wherein Wangxian, Ayuan, Xicheng time traveled in the middle of Past wwx and jzx's fight? Yilling Laozu was hurt and he's craddling ayuan. There's also a part where the past characters thought HGJ and YLL were married and had a child which is Ayuan. It is also not Xicheng friendly if I remembered correctly. Thank you! @sandralyne07

FOUND? How did I end up with this Frozen Heart? by Grace_ShadowWolf (TaubeLePigeon) (T, 53k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Fix-It, PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, YP!WWX, twin prides of yunmeng are horrified at the relationship between their future selves, YP!WWX has short hair, Canon Divergence, Self-Indulgent, wangxian get together early, Songfic, JC Bashing, LXC Bashing)

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20. Hello! I’m looking for a fic where I think WWX was a dragon or fox who imprinted on LWJ and refused to leave him. I don’t remember much but I think there was a scene where LXC says he can’t do anything about it because dragons/foxes are celestial beings and that LWJ should study some books… or something like that.

FOUND? To lurk, to lie in wait by trippednfell (M, 124k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Huli Jing, strangers to co-parents to lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Dragons, Kid Fic, teenage juniors, background NieLan, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Fox Spirit WWX, Dragon LWJ, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note)

#20 sounds like a fic where Wei ying was a literal tiny noodle dragon 🐉  that literally imprinted on lan zhan and would ride on his shoulders and go to classes with him lol and they had to research how to get him back to human form. Wei ying apparently was messing around with arrays or something and sumoned and then was trapped by a celestial dragon being form.   they fix it and then Wei ying becomes human and wakes up in bed with lan zhan lol

FOUND? Strange Magic by Sabinasan (T, 18k, wangxian, Alternate Universe, Cursed WWX, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Cuddling & Snuggling, Possessive WWX, Protective WWX, Sharing a Bed, Sharing Clothes, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Hair Brushing)

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[abundantchewtoys]

HS:BC re: p666.3

So, a new path has opened.

And oh man was it a good one.

Even if we never saw the conversations Vriska had with Eridan, John & Kanaya. Still good to know she resolved some of her feelings regarding them. As for what she ended up admitting to them, or what her issues really were towards them, we might still find out later.

I wonder how her epiphanies regarding Tavros & Eridan changed how she acted towards GCATavros & Erisol during her stay.

It's really surprising but heartwarming, seeing Vriska have such a good relationship with Nannasprite. I'm a bit curious to see more of Nannasprite 2, since she's the one that should be closest to Jade. But she's really developed a lot in this update!

Man, I hadn't even thought about the parallels between Dad Egbert & Tavros Crocker. But yeah, on the whole, Jane Egbert turned out a LOT better adjusted! Even after becoming a one-handed harlequin ghost.

Really cool to see her animated talksprite here, she truly is Nanna Jane. Also, she's talking a lot more subdued. And making all these blue lady puns! Guess Grandpa didn't develop his obsession with those specific types of paintings out of thin air after all. Assuming the sprites are really there and not projections of the Plot Hole, it makes sense. She's had a lot of years by now to become adjusted to her state of being. … Man, now I'm picturing what it could have been like if Nannasprite had stuck around with John & the others on Candy Earth. How would she and Harry Anderson have gotten along?

Nannasprite and John holding "jam sessions" though. :D I guess they put a spin on holding "feelings jams".

And man, Nanna had her own tome to bond with her father through, jeesh, never considered that. Despite lacking Maid of Life powers (at the time), she 'resurrected' her father by bearing him a grandson.

And yeah, she really lacked in human contact, huh? I mean, she got raised by an alien! One that "stole" her "life"'s potential, yeah I see what they did there.

In any case, it's cool we have confirmation now that Dad Egbert's Jane's biological offspring. Meaning him and Dad Crocker are more like uncle and nephew, pffff.

Makes me wonder if that means Nanna and John share "love of pipes, harlequins, cakes, detective stories" genes. Also, the big nose gene :D Maybe their other maritial halves were in fact siblings carrying that DNA. :B

That Nannasprite sees Jane's development and concludes some things about herself. chef's kiss She really is the OG Nanna, I figure Candy Jake should have a chance to meet her again.

… Wait, yeah, but Nanna refers to herself as Jane Crocker here, isn't that a first? I mean, logically she must have been called that, if not Jane Sassacre, but it's a first to read it being said, I think?

"NANNASPRITE: Is that how you kids think these days? My lord, no wonder none of you go outside anymore." Truth. Also, funny, cause people not going outside are… Well, homestuck. :p

When first Vriska said she got stuck on 'her', my first thought of course was Terezi. See, I figured she might have had to have conversations with Spidermom & perhaps even a nebulous manifestation of Mindfang.

But this? Oh man.

This was really a fine way to inspect all the fucked up ways her childhood was twisted. Even, apparently, according to Alternian standards!

Her 'custodian' never fed her, raised her or anything. She has so much in common with the Striders, in fact. Having to fend for themselves in a hostile environment.

Like Dirk, all she knew about her role model was hearsay. She didn't even have facts to go on, just a self-indulgent journal.

Momfang is an appropriate stuff of nightmares. It's what would have happened had she doubleprototyped with Mindfang's journal, perhaps.

Imagine Dualdadsprite, or Summonbullsprite… Momglaresprite! Oh man.

It's so sad, but yeah, I understand how the only thing Vriska can really do with her fucked up childhood… Is move away from it and leave it behind.

Dang if this wasn't an exquisite look behind her old blustery facade. I also like that she's shown in guardian mode now, as of being 12 sweeps old :D

And having grown out of FLARPing a little… Wow. Well, like John, maybe she'll find her way back into appreciating it. :D

Also crazy how this version of Mindfang is a mix of the book version & Vriska's FLARPsona.

And that Vriska has started comparing Vrissy favorably to herself!

In any case, cool for her to have closure on that part.

Now, I wonder if this means the rest of the conversations are less of a challenge for her and more a way to round things off.

But confronting Doc Scratch (if he's behind the cueball) and her inability to beat Lord English (if that's what the conversation behind Davepeta's feather is going to be about) might be tall hurdles for her to pass still!

[phoenixlionme]

Encanto: Madrigal Family Relationship Analysis Part 23 - Bruno and Mirabel

They were one of my favorite dynamics from the movie. Both have such a deep, intimate, understanding, and loving bond; plus, they are an uncle and niece, which is rare to see in most forms of media. The seflless acts they perform for each other is mutual and constant - Bruno exiled himself to protect Mirabel from possible ostracizing; Mirabel stating that Bruno doesn't cause bad visions and that "family wierdos" like them get a bad rep; Bruno telling Mirabel she's what their family needs (something Mirabel most likely wanted to hear); Mirabel defending Bruno from Alma's harsh accusations; Bruno running on horseback to protect Mirabel again from Alma's supposed anger. They have hardly interacted prior to the movie (with Jared Bush confirming that Bruno began alienating from the family before the time Mirabel was 5) and yet quickly form a healthy and collaborative bond speaks volumes to their profound kinship. And for some extra trivia, in the Japanese version of the movie, Mirabel referred to Bruno as "Bruno-oniichan" (an affectionate term younger siblings use to refer to their older brother); this means that Mirabel (at least in the Japanese version), thinks of Bruno as more of a brother than an uncle. In fact, their whole relationship is more like a brother-sister than an uncle-niece. They each give each other the validation and respect they don't often receive from their family and community, especially before the movie's conclusion. And they are symbolically tied to one - Bruno's green eyes is similar to Mirabel's green glasses and both bare a strong resemblance to each other (and deceased patriarch Pedro). And as for the strong resemblance part, I have a headcanon, that if anyone outside the village were to meet the duo, they automatically assume their father and daughter. And that adds another headcanon of mine: While Mirabel does have a loving and affectionate bond with Agustin, I think a part of her also views Bruno as another father figure. Similarly, while Bruno loves all his nieces and nephews equally, I think a part of him views Mirabel as more of a daughter. I can also see them being the type of best friends who constantly trade sarcastic quips and banter (with a dark sense of humor), basically having their own language. They are a true team and duo of loyal friends, who just GET each other.

[akariarda]

Family bonding-Part 3

Request fro ao3!

Part-1, Part-2

Lloyd accepted Arin as his temporary son. Now Kai and Sora get involved, and Garmason is not the happiest.

Send me requests if you have them!

"Temporary dad?" Arin asked Lloyd when they arrived at the monastery. "When do we start training?"

"Tomorrow morning, temporary son. I think we all deserve a little rest," Lloyd replied.

"Hey, what's the deal with these temporary dads and sons?" Fire ninja interrupted as he arrived at the monastery's door.

"And where were you guys?"

"First, we decided to temporarily adopt Arin until we find his real parents," Lloyd explained. "Second, we were celebrating."

"Without me!?" Kai exclaimed in shock and disbelief. "And the others?! How could you?"

"You weren't here, and Sora was asleep," Arin calmly responded. "We're sorry..."

"It's okay, temporary son," Lloyd reassured him. "Sometimes he just loses it. You know how he is..."

"Crazy?" a mocking voice suggested.

"Who's saying that to me, Garmadon!" Kai replied scornfully.

"Didn't your parents teach you not to talk back to your elders?" Garmadon provoked, feigning affection.

The next second, Lloyd found himself between his father and his best friend.

"That's enough!" he shouted, and they separated.

"Alright," Kai said once he calmed down. "Since we're already family, can I be the temporary uncle?" He acted as if the incident had never happened.

"And why would you be the temporary uncle?" Garmadon, clearly in a good mood, continued to provoke.

"Kai, please be reasonable," Lloyd pleaded with him.

"Wait, what-" Garmadon shouted.

"Of course!" Arin replied to calm the argument.

"Come here, temporary nephew!" Kai said, spreading his arms.

"I'll teach you how to treat Lloyd to get what you want."

Lloyd exclaimed, "Hey!" as they entered the monastery together.

Garmadon was still standing outside,pouting at the insult

~~~~~~

"Why is everyone so happy?" Sora asked tiredly. "I just managed to get up now, and my body hurts from the training."

"Don't worry," Kai waved his hand dismissively. "That's how it is for everyone in the beginning."

"Yeah," Lloyd laughed. "I used to hate training, I always wanted to do something else, but I hated just the training itself."

"But you must become a ninja," Sora told him, then corrected herself, afraid she had misunderstood. "At least, that's how I understood it."

"There's some truth to that," Lloyd told her. "Don't you want to be a ninja?" he gently asked.

"No, I don't know. I want to be here with you all, but..." She shook her head. "I feel like I don't belong here."

"Nonsense!" Kai told her.

"You're part of the family." Lloyd confirmed,

"Look," he said when he saw Sora sigh. "Arin is now my temporary son. I would be honored if you could be my temporary daughter."

She looked up. "But of course, without any pressure."

"You don't understand," Sora sounded nauseous. "I don't want you to be my temporary dad, I want you to be my permanent dad."

"That's a great idea!" Garmadon yelled when he entered. "If Kai won't be your permanent uncle."

"Hey!" Kai exclaimed, offended. "Of course, it would be my pleasure." Lloyd was speechless as he hugged Sora. "Not only that, I would love to, truly be your father."

"Thank you, Dad," Sora said when she pulled away from him and wiped her eyes. She noticed that his eyes were also moist.

It was so emotional that Kai and Garmadon stopped arguing for a moment.

DING!

"Pie always comes at the right time!" Arin sniffled. "Let's celebrate for our new family!"

"Yes, all of us," Kai said, scanning the room, even looking at Garmadon, who nodded at him.

"Then let's go, kids, temporary and non-temporary." Lloyd said, grabbing Arin and Sora by the shoulders.

~~~Christmas morning~~~

"My favorite time of the year!" Kai exclaimed excitedly.

"Mine too," Arin agreed.

"Even though I'm more of a fiery type, I love Christmas!" Kia exclaimed. "Who wouldn't love it?"

"Sora, daughter," Lloyd called Sora to come over. "I know it's a bit early for gift-giving, but I can't wait to give you this."

"What is it, dad?" she asked, confused, seeing an empty box.

"Take a closer look," Lloyd told her.

"Adoption papers? " she read, her face filling with joy.

"Yes, I wanted it to be official," Lloyd nervously scratched the back of his head. "I hope you like it..."

"Thank you, dad! Thank you!" she said and hugged him tightly.

"You're welcome, officially my daughter now."

"It's not time for presents yet!" Kai angrily exclaimed when he saw what was happening.

"I have a gift for you, Kai, and for you, temporary son, and for you, dad," Lloyd said.

"I also have a gift for you, son, and for the grandchildren. And of course, something special for Kai," he smirked.

"Uh," Kai swallowed. "I'm scared."

"Temporary dad?" Arin called out to Lloyd. "How about taking a picture before that?"

"That's a great idea!" Sora agreed.

With a lot of pushing and a little less arguing, everyone finally managed to stand in the right places.

"Say 'first Christmas with the new family!'" Arin shouted.

"First Christmas with the new family!" they all exclaimed.

[cardboardflamingos]

I am cringe.. But I am free.

UHMN... Okay so I made him up a family tree because I've been thinking about his niece a lot. And the fact he still seems on good terms with her even if it was a super brief mention. D2b family HCs?! 🤯

I ALSO COLOUR CODED IT BASED ON WHAT I THINK HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH THEM WOULD BE (AS A RESULT OF NO LONGER BEING STEVEN) I DON'T EVEN KNOW DON'T QUESTION ME

I also wanted to.. Uhmn.. Explain each relationship he has with these family members but just to clarify let me explain the colours more-!

Green || A good relationship, hardly affected by him becoming Dr. Two-brains.

Orange || It's.. Ify. They don't really like him anymore, nobody down right hates him. It's more pity, and distancing themselves from him because of how much he's changed and or because of his crimes.

Yellow || Complicated! They're noticeably affected by the change, but don't dislike him like the oranges. Very concerned. Don't really view his crimes as his.

// FAMILY DYNAMICS / RELATIONSHIPS //

Dad – His dad and him were fairly close when he was Steven, not exactly best buddies but they would talk normally and do stuff together on occasion. No hard feelings about anything. Probably bonded over science a lot when he was a kid. After Steven became Dr. Two-brains and began crimes he feels his son is well. What he is. A criminal. Not taking into account the reasons why, and not having the willingness to reach out to who his son used to be. He wants him imprisoned, for an actual normal amount of time, and for him to stop his life of crime after completing the sentencing. And come back to them. As Steven. Of course they all want Steven back, but he's the least accepting of the new identity.

Mom – He also had a normal relationship with his mother, maybe a bit closer because I imagine her the type to coddle. She misses Steven deeply, and doesn't really understand who or what Dr. Two-brains is. Finding interaction with him awkward and uncomfortable but not wanting to abandon her son for an incident/experiment gone wrong. Tries to talk to him normally, but there's a difference. And they both know it.

Sister – his only sibling! I think they were very very close siblings, and still are, she obviously misses her brothers old ways but does her best to ignore the change and it doing a better job than their mother. They hang out, talk, and still interact like family. Where as others act more as though he's a stranger. Reminds him of a lot of old memories to try to keep that side of him going.

Brother in law – they didn't really know one another beforehand, they had met, but not bonded. His brother in law worries having a criminal around his children, despite Two-brains displaying absolutely zero threat to them it is understandable. Avoids him but will talk to him if interacted with. I feel like he calls d2b “buddy” in a really condescending way. His sister has told him about what he used to be like and he believes her but it doesn't help.

Niece and Nephew – Good! In canon he seems to be on a good relationship with his niece, given the mention of her graduation being a normal thing. I imagine the same for his nephew who is younger than his niece. They remember how he was before, they think Steven is more fun. But are both worried in their own ways.

Uncle – I think our resident weird uncle had a weird uncle of his own! Had to learn the trade from someone. Dynamic is about the same as his mother, but a but more open and joking with d2b. Also trying to keep his memories intact.

Cousin – they were friends beforehand, not best buds that talked a lot but they had an okay relationship. Now the cousin is a bit scared of him but tries to uphold the positive memories and realizes that he can still be normal sometimes.

As for Dr. Two-brains himself he feels bad for creating a noticeable shift in his family and loves them all, still acting like their family member. Just a very different one. Squeaky doesn't like them, I imagine, but Steven over powers in this regard.

[rodolfoparras]

Nico is silently affectionate, very much a acts of service type of guy to show his love

Like giving Alejandro a back massage when he noticed he's stressed out, remembering Alerudy's favorite foods, drinks, movies, everything possible for when they just need comfort. He mostly leaves sweet talking for just Ale and Rudy, no one else gets to hear him whisper so sweetly, it's just for them <3

Nico also does that thing where if someone kneels down near a table/counter, he'll put his hand over it so they don't accidentally hit their head on the way up. Nico started doing this for his siblings and now just does it for everyone. unless they're an asshole, they can hit their head on the corner he does not care (he is Graves #1 hater😔)

Bonus, Nico has a pretty pink "world's best uncle shirt" that his nieces got him and he wears it with pride. Some guys make fun of him when he's just lounging in it but he does not care. Price greatly approves of the shirt, probably wants one for himself tbh. First time he wears it, Price laughs because he just finds it so wholesome. One his intimidating soldiers wearing a shirt that's covered in marker drawings, random stickers and glitter that will never come off no matter how many times Nico washes it.

Nico also shows off the pictures on his phone of when his niece did his hair and makeup. He looks hideous in them but his niece worked so hard, damn right he's gonna show everyone

-cherry/sunny

Oh I absolutely know Rudy would appreciate it if you rmred his food preferences or things he enjoys in general! I even wrote a hc like that!! And ale would absolutely fall head over heels if you did acts of service for him 🧎🏻‍♂️

The covering head when ducking under tables is so cute bc I do that too!!🥹 I can imagine nico and soap getting into an argument and Nico purposely letting soap bump his head which only results in more bickering before ones like wanna watch a movie and the other one is like yeah sure 😭

Price and Nico would bond so well I feel bc I think price is also one to save things made by his nieces and nephews hell he probably has things 141 made for him bc he’s just sentimental like that😭

[ninjastormhawkkat]

The Fall of Fair City

"Uncle Brendan. I'm feeling sleepy. Can I go home now? I promise I'll help with your experiments tomorrow."The young boy said in a groggy tone, rubbing his eyes. He had no idea why he was this tired, he usually had more energy and vigor. He loved to help his Uncle Brendan with experiments. The young boy loved science and wanted to grow up to be a scientist like him. His uncle patted his head in a gentle manner. "Just a few more minutes kiddo. I'm almost done here." Brendan spoke, referring to a beaker that contained some type of liquid that was being heated up on a bunsen burner. Brendan then nodded his head to a comfy looking chair. "Why don't you take a nap over there. I'll wake you up when I'm done." The man spoke with a smile, not quite reaching his eyes. The boy, too exhausted to notice, just nodded his head and climbed up the chair, and fell asleep. Brendan then turned his head back to the beaker. It gave an eerie glow in the dark lab, illuminating the man's face, revealing a dark and maniacal glint in his eyes. "Soon my greatest creation will be complete." The man said quietly to himself in a crazed, giddy tone.

Some time later the boy was strapped to a metal table, wires attached to his head through suctions. A tube with a needle at the end was punctured into the young boy's arm. The scientist looked over the equipment for a final check over. Satisfied that everything looked in order, the scientist turned on a machine. As it was warming up, the man was startled by a quiet noise. He turned around and saw that his nephew was beginning to wake up. "Darn." grumbled the scientist. "I thought that anesthesia I put into his food was enough to knock him out for a few more hours." The boy blinked his eyes open and began to look around the room, he still felt groggy so his mind had not yet become aware of the danger he was in. "Uncle Brendan?" the boy groggily asked as soon as he spotted the scientist. "What's going on? Why do my arms and legs feel heavy?" Brendan smiled at the boy with a sinister and maniacal gleam in his eyes. You are about to help me with my greatest experiment kiddo. Although I do wish you were still asleep. The process will be a bit..painful." The man explained. He then gave a shrug. "Oh well as they say, no pain no gain." Before the boy could respond. A rush of electricity shot through the young boy, causing him to scream out in pain. He also felt something enter his body, forcing it's way through his system, causing his insides to feel like they were melting and burning. This caused the young boy to scream out in pain more as tears rushed down his cheeks. All the while his Uncle Brendan watched with elated glee. "It's working!" He exclaimed happily. Suddenly, the door that lead to his basement lab busted open, causing the scientist to turn around ins surprise. "Stop right there Dr. Brendan Boxleitner!" A commanding voice called out. Brendan's shocked face soon formed into rage as he saw who came in. "You! How did you find me?" Brendan yelled out at the figure. "You honestly thought you could keep your illegal activity away from the heroic Captain M." The hero spoke, then his eyes furrowed in righteous fury. "Your going to jail for a long time for unethical experimentation and kidnapping." Before Brendan could stop him, Captain M fired a ray at the man which released a bolo, wrapping up the mad scientist in seconds. Successfully tying the maniac up, Captain M leapt towards the machine and quickly turned it off, ceasing the poor boy's torment. "NO!" Brendan yelled, trying to struggle from his bonds. "You can't do this! You can't stop me from creating my magnum opus!" The hero glanced at the tied man with disgust at his words. "Shut up." Captain M said as he kicked the man in the face, knocking the scientist out. Captain M's face then morphed into concern as he rushed to free the poor child. Swiftly but tenderly, the hero freed the boy from his binding. The young boy was barely trying to open eyes. The hero frowned as he knew the boy was about to pass out from the pain at any moment. He had to get him to a hospital and fast. "Don't worry kid. Captain M has you now, your safe." The young boy looked in a daze at his rescuer. He caught a glance of a unique mouse shaped emblem printed on the man's clothing. "Mouse." The boy quietly said, weakly pointing at the hero's emblem before finally passing out.

@melodythebunny @drtwobrainsstuff

[renee-writer]

The Heart Don't Lie Chapter 56

AO3

They walk into Lallybroch, each holding a baby. Rose and Willa follow with all the gear and presents. This will be the first time the rest of the family meet them. Claire and Jamie decided that for the first few days it needed to just be their parents and sisters.

 

“Welcome home baby Frasers!” Ian booms. A pointed way of reminding them that they don’t know their names.

 

“Sorry guys. It was important to have us, Rose and Willa bond with them first,” Jamie says. He then looks down at his daughter, “Meet Emily Catriona.”

 

“And Thomas Sawney.” Claire adds.

 

“Em and Tom.” Rose is grinning.

 

“Oh,” Jenny hands Rory to his daddy, “let me see my nephew and niece.”

 

They are placed in her arms. Ian, his children, and Beth ground around them.

 

“They are so wee.” Maggie breaths.

 

“Were we that small?” Michael asks for him and Janet.

 

“Aye, you were smaller. Thomas takes after your Uncle.”

 

One by one, they take turns holding them.

 

Beth cradles them, on the couch, Rose beside her. “I want one,” Her girlfriend ‘s eyes go up, “After college,” Beth adds, “I know you weren’t sure…”

 

“I am now.” She runs her hands over their soft heads, “Mama Claire and daddy have shown me the last few days how much they love me. In time, I will forgive Anna ( she no longer calls her mam). I must, for my own peace. Letting go, knowing I have all types of loving families, I am ready to move on. With you and, in time, our own babies.”

 

“Sawney for William,” Jenny is on the verge of tears, “Jamie, it is just perfect.”

 

“Aye, Claire asks if I wanted a Jr. I thought about it but no. Another way to honor William, that is what I want for my son. To have him grow up to be anything like his uncle, it will be a blessing.”

 

Later, they lay the babies down together.

 

“They look like triplets.” Claire says, resting against her husband.

 

“Aye.” They watch them.