#THE DRAWING??? THE SPANISH SPEAKING ATTEMPT?

[mrsfancyferrari]

Can you do an imagine about the reader going out with an F1 driver (I imagine Charles or Carlos), where the reader speaks their language, but doesn’t tell them. One day they walk in on the reader talking to someone on the phone in French/ Italian or Spanish respectively, and have a talk about it. Reader was hiding their abilities due to an insecurity about their ability. Alternatively they could be at a restaurant, where the reader is forced to use that language to order something.

Speak Baby

Summary: you are going out with Charles, you can speak his language, but don't tell him. You were hiding your abilities due to an insecurity about your ability.

Song: Heaven and Back �� Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! Also please follow for more! 🫶

Word count: 3.7k

MASTERLIST - F1

The soft glow of the lamp painted the room in hues of amber and gold, the late afternoon sun already having dipped below the horizon.

You were curled up on the plush armchair, a worn copy of “Les Misérables” resting open in your lap, though your attention was entirely focused on the phone pressed to your ear. The French words flowed effortlessly, a melodic stream of conversation with your cousin, Élise, back in Paris.

Laughter bubbled in your chest as Élise recounted a particularly disastrous attempt to bake macarons, the familiar cadence of your mother tongue a soothing balm to your soul.

"…and then, the oven, mon Dieu, it was like a volcanic eruption of powdered sugar!" Élise’s voice, tinged with dramatic exasperation, crackled through the speaker.

You chuckled, a genuine, unrestrained sound, “You know you should just stick to painting, ma chérie. Baking is not for you.”

"Oh, very funny," she retorted good-naturedly, “But you should have seen it! The cat even had a dusting. Anyway, how is le charmant Charles?"

You paused, a smile playing on your lips. "He's…fine," you said, a soft giggle escaping your throat. "He's been working late again, as usual."

“And still no clue about your… little secret?" Élise teased, the question a whisper of anticipation.

"No," you replied, your voice dropping slightly, a hint of nervousness creeping in. "Absolutely not. It's…it's better this way, Élise. I’m not ready."

You knew that you were holding out on Charles, but the thought of him judging you for your French was an insecurity that had been haunting you for years.

You had always felt like you were not good enough, that your accent was too strong and that your grasp on the language was not as good as it should be, even though you grew up with it.

You always felt the need to hide, to not draw attention to yourself, and so this was how it was with Charles.

It was easier to communicate in English with him, to be safe, even if your heart yearned to speak in the language that made you, you.

"You're being silly, ma belle. He'd be enchanted, I'm sure of it," Élise said, her tone gentle, trying to reassure you.

Just as you were about to respond, a distinct sound reached your ears - the click of the front door. Your heart leaped into your throat. Charles was home.

Panic seized you, and you quickly pressed the “end call” button, the dial tone a sharp, jarring contrast to the lilting French you had been immersed in moments before. You closed the “Les Miserables” book with an audible thud, feigning a casual air.

You straightened yourself in the armchair and tried to look as though you were simply relaxing, a wave of frustration beginning to wash over you for not being able to share this part of yourself with Charles, but also relief because you almost got caught.

"Hey," Charles said, his voice laced with that endearing weariness you had come to adore, as he walked into the room, tossing his keys onto the side table.

He hadn't noticed the phone in your hands and he pulled off his suit jacket and hung it up on the hanger behind the door. He looked exhausted. "Long day."

"Hi," you replied, your voice a little too high-pitched, betraying the sudden jolt of adrenaline still coursing through you.

You tried to act as nonchalant as possible, hoping he wouldn't notice the flush creeping up your neck, or the way your fingers were still tensed against the phone.

He glanced at you, his blue eyes, usually so bright, clouded with fatigue. "Everything alright? You seem…tense." He took a seat on the sofa opposite you, his gaze intense as he looked at you.

You had been with Charles for a year now, and he was always able to suss something out.

You forced a smile, "Just had a long chapter to read, that's all.” You showed him the book, hoping it would be enough distraction. “It’s quite intense, actually." You pointed to the book, gesturing with your hand. "This guy Valjean, he's been through it."

He seemed to accept your explanation, dropping back against the sofa cushions with a sigh. "Well, whatever it is, you should relax. Maybe we could order some food? I'm starving."

You nodded, relieved. The moment had passed, but the unspoken secret hung heavy in the air between you. The rest of the evening unfolded in its usual way, a comfortable rhythm you both had established.

You talked about your day, laughed at a silly movie, and shared a meal under the soft lamplight. Yet, beneath the surface of normalcy, the secret you harboured continued to prick at you.

He kept stealing glances at you, making you wonder if he might suspect something, but he never said anything.

“So you’re telling me he still hasn’t found out yet?” She asked with a teasing lilt in her voice.

“No, and I’ll keep it that way,” you replied, your smile fading. “It’s too risky, Élise. What if he thinks I’m a fraud? What if he thinks I’ve been lying?”

“Oh, come on,” Élise scoffed, “He’s clearly smitten with you, mon amie. I can hear it in your voice!”

You sighed, staring out the window at the grey sky. “You don’t know him, Élise. His native language is French, he knows it like the back of his hand. He’d notice if my French isn’t perfect.”

“And what if it is?” Élise countered.

You were about to reply, when you heard his voice from the kitchen. You jerked, your heart leaping into your throat. “I have to go, Élise. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, bisous,” Élise said, and the line went dead.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The roar of the Ferrari engines was a constant hum, a background score to the chaotic elegance of the Formula One paddock. You watched Charles, a whirlwind of charm and practiced ease, navigate the PR games with Carlos Sainz.

They were a study in contrasts – Charles, all focused energy and effortless smiles, and Carlos, a more grounded, almost playful foil. You knew this dance well, the mandatory media obligations that came with the territory of being a Ferrari driver.

You were happy to be a spectator today. You knew, with a familiar twist of warmth in your chest, that Charles would find you later.

You had a few hours of freedom, a rare commodity in this world of tight schedules and constant movement. You decided to explore. The paddock was a labyrinth of team trucks, hospitality suites, and workshops, a microcosm of the competitive energy that fueled the sport.

You wandered, absorbing the sights and sounds, the clatter of tools, the clipped conversations in a dozen different languages. You’d always been drawn to the undercurrents of these places, the human stories unfolding beneath the glossy veneer of glamour and speed.

That's when you heard it – a voice, high-pitched with panic, cutting through the general noise.

"Est-ce que quelqu'un parle français?" it called out, the words sharp and rushed. " S'il vous plaît, quelqu'un ?" Does anyone speak French? Please, someone?

The man, standing near a catering area, was clearly distressed. He was middle-aged, his face flushed, hands trembling slightly as he gestured erratically. A small crowd of staff had gathered around him, their faces a mixture of concern and helplessness.

They spoke encouragingly in English, but it was clear that they didn’t understand a word he was saying, which was why he was getting more frantic.

You hesitated. You knew French, fluently after all. It really was an insecurity you'd carried since childhood, a fear that your accent wasn't good enough, that you wouldn't be considered “truly” French.

Charles, in his easy, casual fluency, only amplified that feeling. It was easier to let him be the French one, to navigate that world without your input.

But looking at the man, his distress growing with each passing second, your resolve crumbled. You couldn't stand by and watch him suffer.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed past the people, your voice hesitant but clear, "Excusez-moi, monsieur. Je parle français. Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" Excuse me, sir. I speak French. What's going on?

The man's eyes widened, his face flooded with relief. "Ah, merci mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, his hands coming to clasp yours. "C'est terrible! J'ai perdu mon sac, avec tous mes documents et mes clés. Je dois partir cet après-midi, et je suis complètement coincé."

His words tumbled out in a rush, a torrent of worries and anxieties. This is terrible! I lost my bag, with all my documents and my keys. I have to leave this afternoon, and I'm completely stuck

You listened patiently, your own French flowing effortlessly as you reassured him. You asked him for details about the bag, about where he’d last seen it.

You found out that he was here for a family visit, and he had to catch a train in the next couple of hours. With a mixture of calm questioning and reassuring words, you helped him retrace his steps.

You spoke softly, your voice a calming balm to his panic. The staff around you, previously frustrated, looked on with a mixture of curiosity and gratitude.

You felt a small spark of pride, a quiet satisfaction in using the skill that you have always kept hidden.

After what felt like an eternity, you spotted it – a small black bag tucked behind a stack of boxes in a corner. The man let out a cry of delight, his face cracking into a wide, genuine smile. "Merci, merci mille fois!" he cried, taking the bag and beaming at you. "Vous êtes un ange!" Thank you, thank you a thousand times! You are an angel!

You helped him check through the contents, making sure nothing was missing. You even offered him some water and a seat to calm him. He thanked you profusely again and again. He finally started to relax and calm down.

"Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done without you." he said again, this time speaking English clearly, even though he had not, before. He smiled warmly at you.

"It's no problem," you replied, smiling back. A small voice interrupted.

"Hey babe, what's going on here? I saw this crowd?" Charles asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He placed a hand on the small of your back.

"This gentleman lost his bag, and couldn't communicate with anyone here. I was just helping him," you explained.

"Ah, but you were speaking French? I didn't know that you spoke French. Good job ma chérie," Charles said a little surprised.

"Oh, I... I learned some in school," you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. You felt a flush creep onto your cheeks.

You could feel the lie hanging in the air, heavy and uncomfortable.

Charles tilted his head, his eyes searching your face, "That’s really cool." He turned his attention to the man, addressing him in perfect French.

You watched Charles smoothly reassure the man that everything was fine and offer him any help that he needed. The man seemed mesmerized by Charles, thanking him profusely.

You watched them briefly, the ease with which Charles switched between two languages, how comfortable he was in the role of translator. It was a stark contrast to your feelings of self-consciousness.

“So, should we get going?” Charles said to you, turning to you, his hand finding yours.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. You’d helped someone out, and it felt good. But the lie, that little secret you still held, bothered you. More so than usual now that he knew.

As Charles led you away, you could feel his gaze on you, a silent question in his eyes. You knew you couldn't keep this hidden much longer.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, dancing shadows across the Ferrari base. The air, still warm from the day’s heat, hummed with a quiet energy. You lay nestled in the hammock chair, Charles’s strong back providing a solid anchor as you sat comfortably on his lap.

The gentle rocking motion lulled you both, a peaceful rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the quiet whispers of the wind. You’d been dating Charles for a year now, and these quiet moments were your favorite.

Being alone, intertwined, was bliss.

He nuzzled his face into your shoulder, his breath warm on your skin. You closed your eyes, your own breathing slowing, the world fading away.

You’d almost drifted off, the line between sleep and wakefulness blurring, when a voice sliced through the tranquil silence.

“Monsieur Leclerc, le débriefing commence bientôt!” a young voice called out, the French words sharp and clear. Mr. Leclerc, the debriefing begins soon!

You blinked your eyes open, startled, and looked around for the source of the sound.

A young woman, her face etched with a mixture of frustration and relief, stood a short distance away. She was clearly a member of the Ferrari staff, her uniform a stark contrast to the relaxed atmosphere you and Charles had created.

“Mademoiselle, je vais bientôt réveiller Charles, alors ne vous inquiétez pas,” you said, the words flowing easily, a comfortingly familiar cadence in your mind. Miss, I'll wake Charles up soon, so don't worry.

You watched her face register surprise, then a wave of relief.

“Merci beaucoup mademoiselle Y/N, je vous laisse faire,” she replied, her voice softening. Thank you very much Miss Y/N, I'll leave you to it.

“De rien, je suis désolé de t'avoir fait le chercher,” you said, a slight blush creeping up your neck. You felt a pang of guilt for making her search for Charles. You're welcome, I'm sorry I made you look for it.

She gave you a small, thankful nod before turning and heading back towards the base.

You were about to nudge Charles awake when you felt a movement in your lap. His eyes, a startling shade of blue, were already fixed on you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"That didn't sound like 'school French' ma chérie," he muttered, a playful yet probing tone to his voice. Your heart lurched, and a cold dread settled in your stomach.

You could feel your cheeks flush, the blood rushing to your head. This was it. Your little secret, the one you'd guarded for so long, was about to unravel.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice coming out a little higher and breathier than you intended. You tried to play it off, hoping your denial would be convincing enough. "I learned some French phrases, that's all."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, his gaze unwavering. "Some phrases? You just held an entire conversation with Nathalie, in perfect, effortless French. Where did you learn that?"

You fidgeted, your fingers toying with the drawstring of his sweatpants. "Uh...well...you know, it's just...I've always been a good language learner." The explanation sounded weak even to your own ears.

Charles gently tilted your chin up so that your eyes meet. His touch was soft, but his gaze was intense. “Y/N,” he said, his voice lower now. “You’re fluent. Why have you been hiding this from me?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your unspoken secret. And you knew you couldn’t lie to him any longer. “It’s stupid, really,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was always just…insecure about it. My native language is English, and I'm fairly average. When I started learning French, which was young, it just came naturally to me. I didn't think I was actually... good. I thought if I spoke it around you, you'd think I sound awful, like those tourists that always try and speak French to you.” You looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

He took your hands in his, his thumbs stroking your knuckles. “Ma chérie, that’s ridiculous. I’m fascinated by languages. I spent so much time learning other languages for the sport, plus how could I ever think you sound awful. You could never sound bad.”

His words were soothing, a balm to your wounded pride. You looked up, your eyes searching his face. “Really?” you whispered, still a little unsure.

He chuckled, a warm, comforting sound. “Bien sûr, Y/N. You’re amazing, in every language. And I am so incredibly curious. When did you learn it? How good are you even?” He had a teasing glint in his eyes now, and the tension that had been plaguing you started to dissipate.

“Since I was a kid. My grandmother was half-French and she taught me, always using French. She wanted me to have another language to use. She wanted me to have something special, so I never told anyone in school or anything.” you admitted.

“And you kept this hidden from me? For all this time?” Charles asked, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

You nodded sheepishly. “I thought you would think I was trying to show off, I guess, and I was honestly just scared I’d be awful.”

He squeezed your hands, his thumb drawing small circles on your skin. “You are far from awful, Y/N, and I promise I never would have thought that, ever. But,” he added, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, “I do have a few questions. And you're going to have to answer them… in French.”

“bébé, il faut que tu fasses le point avec l'équipe!” you said, the words slipping out naturally in French. Baby, you need to check in on the team!

Charles only grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me, ma chérie,” he said, his tone warm and affectionate and full of love.

“I know I’m so sorry.” you said, putting your head in your hands, feeling a flush of embarrassment wash over you. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I was just so scared.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “Don’t be sorry, mon amour,” he murmured, his voice husky. “It’s incredibly endearing, and it's one more thing I love about you. You have to tell me everything though from now on okay?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

He smiled, then his eyes glinted with a new mischievousness. “So, you’ve been keeping secrets from me, have you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Only this one, I swear.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning in closer. “I think that deserves a punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, raising an eyebrow, excitement coursing through you.

His lips found yours and he deepened the kiss, pushing you gently back on the hammock. The language barrier was forgotten as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt.

You could feel the passion in him, the soft moaning as he kissed your neck. You could feel yourself falling further and further into him, completely and utterly in love.

It was a long time before you pulled away for air, your cheeks flushed and your heart racing.

“What was I saying about meetings?” you breathlessly said, putting a hand on your chest, hoping your heart would slow down.

Charles chuckled, running his hand through his slightly dishevelled hair. “They can wait,” he murmured, his eyes locking with yours, “There’s something much more urgent that we need to deal with, my petite française.”

You laughed then, and pulled him in for another kiss, knowing that your hidden language was now just another way to connect with the man you loved.

The rain outside continued to fall, a soft and gentle melody to the start of another chapter in your love story.

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that this new language you had shared with each other would only bring you closer, in ways you could never have imagined. . . .

[alisblackgf]

YO ZAC WELCOME BACKKKKK,

But yk I got a request 🤞🏽

Earth-42!Miles with fem!spider-reader

Like reader was from 1610!miles universe but when he went to earth-42 she went with him and maybe like there was a prowler!reader in 42!miles universe but she died and hes like “look at the power you had here…with me”

(The rest up to you…yk how I like it zacy 😏)

YEAH OFC <3

𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: earth-42!miles x fem!spider!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst(?)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in his universe, you’re dead. it’s not fair that some inferior version of him gets to have you alive and well while he’s stuck grieving you. he makes it his number one priority to show you what you could have with him. what you had.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: inhales exhales i don’t like this and idk if i did him justice but HOPEFULLY I DID. it’s a little messy idk if i did this right HELO i hope you like it anyway (shout out to rae for helping me with the spanish 🫶)

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: hermosa - beautiful; tú eras mi vida y mi mundo - you were my life and my world; mi amor - my love

you woke up in a daze.

your surroundings were dark with only a little illumination coming from a small window. you tried to get up, but you were quickly dragged back down to notice you were tied to a pole. the more you pulled against it (to no avail), the more you lost hope.

you took a shaky breath and looked around the room to find miles tied up on a punching bag. he didn’t look conscious. his head is hung low and you could barely see his closed eyes. your heart dropped and made it your mission to get his attention.

“miles? miles!”

then, your spidey-sense goes off.

you hear footsteps drawing closer and closer to you, and you desperately try to break free from the pole.

“i wouldn’t wake him just yet, hermosa.”

your eyes widened as you looked back at miles, who was still knocked out. you were extremely confused at who was talking to you. they sounded just like your miles, but it wasn’t. you were about to speak, but then the mystery person came out of the shadows and kneeled down to see you.

it was..miles? but not your miles for sure. this miles had braids, and judging from the term of endearment he called you earlier, he could for sure roll his r’s. he gently took your face in his hands and scanned you for any sign of injury. when he makes sure you’re fine, he smiles at you.

“you’re just as beautiful as i remember,” he says.

“i’m sorry?” you ask, seeing as you’ve never met him in your life.

he sighed at your words and untied you from the pole. when your hands are free, you rub your wrists in an attempt to ease the soreness that enveloped them. you tried to shoot a web, but you soon notice that your web-shooters are gone.

“c’mon, mami, you don’t think i’m dumb, do you?” he chuckles at your attempt before untying your feet, and you stretched your legs in response. once he’s up, he holds out his hand to you. you hesitantly accept. he helps pull you up from the floor and you dust yourself off.

he looks at you before asking, “i’m assuming your name is (y/n)?”

you nod in response, looking a little concerned before saying, “how’d you know?”

“because that’s what my girl’s name was, and you look and sound just like her.”

“your girl?” you ask curiously. he nods and shows you a polaroid picture of him and a girl. he was right, she looked exactly like you. “why isn’t she here?”

his facial expression went from relaxed to serious. he sighed before speaking, “she’s dead.”

your eyes widen. you know you’re not his (y/n), but hearing that a version of you is dead sends shivers down your spine.

“tú eras mi vida y mi mundo, (y/n). you were taken from me for the same reason you save people now.”

“and what’s that?”

“your compassion,” he says with a slight bitterness to his tone. “you cared so much for people. too much. i shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.”

you listened eagerly. even if she wasn’t you necessarily, you were still curious to hear how a variant of you died.

you put your hand on his shoulder and nodded, and he took it as a sign to continue.

“we were handling business. two guys had crossed us. i was taking care of one, you were with the other. he was begging for his life, and you showed him kindness and spared him. then, he..”

you could hear his breathing getting shaky, and you began to rub his shoulder.

“you don’t have to finish, i— i get the gist of it,” you assure him.

he nods and pulls you into a hug. you hesitantly hug him back, feeling bad for him. once you wrap your arms around him, he whispers to you, “i’m never letting you out of my sight again, mi amor.”

your breath hitches and your eyes widen.

“i’m so, so sorry for your loss, miles. but i’m not her. i don’t belong here,” you try to reason. you hear shuffling on the punching bag and you can see miles—your miles—stirring awake.

“miles! you’re okay!” you gently move the other miles off of you and run to your miles.

“for the most part,” he tries to joke.

“i don’t think you get it,” earth-42 miles begins to speak. you turn away from your miles to look at the other one. “you had so much power with me, (y/n).”

“what’s this dude on about?” earth-1610 miles whisper-asks you, but all you can do is shrug in response to him.

“look, i’m sorry that your girlfriend died, but i’m not her, and i never will be,” you spat, getting annoyed.

“i’ll give you two options,” the other miles begins. “you can die with bug-boy here, or you can come rule the streets with me.”

your eyes widen as he walks over to you guys, now in a prowler suit. he puts his gauntlet on and shoves you out of the way, putting his hand around your miles’ neck, choking him.

“pick your poison, mami. let’s hope you make the right choice.”

I REALLY HOPE I DID HIM JUSTICE OMG

tags: @pr0wlerpunk

[stellaaarree]

thinking of jacking miguel o’hara off while he tries to keep his pride 😇.

handjob, degrading, sub!miguel. G/N!reader

sat on his lap, lips attached to his already abused neck as you whisper shameless things to him. being greeted with a look or grunt full of disdain. as you continue your tactics of breaking him down the lightest sigh departs from his plush lips.his cheeks instantly turning pink as he forcefully scrunches his eyes and lips shut, gauging the endless teasing from his slip up.

“what was that, baby?” your voice coos, thumb coming up to put pleasurable pressure on his throbbing neck. getting him to speak. “d…don’t call me that.” he groans, unexpectedly getting the blissful feeling of miguel’s hips jerking up into yours by instinct. his lips drop open into an ‘o’ full of shame and need. you’d successfully broken him. not like he was gonna still fully submit though.

your thumb leaves the throbbing mark on his neck to the crotch of his suit. the digital hologram faltering as his fully erect cock and all of its girth goes straight against his stomach. so he does go commando, lyla had mentioned that once or twice. as miguel hears your snicker his hand comes to grip your hip. “don’t.” he warns sternly, a part of his pride joining him again. completely disintegrating as your thumb circles his pink mushroomy tip. “fuckkkkk..” his words strained. you had barely touched the man and he was already trying to push himself through an inexistent hole in your hand.

your hand ever so slowly sinks down, feeling every hard inch of him. finger pads feeling through the neediest veins. “don’t fuck around.” he chides replied with a snarky, “thought you didn’t want this? you’re waayy too proud for some pleasure. got a multiverse to save, right?” your words shameless. as soon as he composes himself to gather some words your hand jerks him fully. balls to tip. trying to purse his lips, fangs sinking in drawing a trickle of blood he has to moan. pushing his hips up for more friction he’s met with a grip around his tip that can only get him to melt backwards and let you continue.

“fuckin’ needy. you know that? what would people think if they saw you like this. getting your needy cock stroked by your assistant. bet you do this with everyone who gives you the chance huh?” your degrading words just getting him to moan and attempt to buck further. he had a thing for that to i guess. your other hand comes up to his abdomen, circling around his base and balls. “you like this?” you ask rhetorically, being greeted with no answer just more moans your hands both wrap around him. one stroking him harshly upwards while the other circled and pressed on his leaking tip. “sí, sí joder me gusta.” he pleas in spanish. poor little head not being able to comprehend english while he was being pleasured so good :(

“i’ve barely even touched you.” you scold. “gonna cum ,you slut?” this was the one time you had control of him. it was being used to the advantage clearly with all the degrading words. not knowing if it was your words or your actions, maybe both he comes. the substance dripping onto your fingers as you jack him through his high. while his mouth was temporarily open in bliss your cum-coated fingers stuff his mouth full. without thinking miguel’s tongue instantly slipping around and sucking your fingers. collecting his own pleasure as he swallowed harshly. a sour taste throughout him. it was nasty. nobody would have expected this from their set on professional boss.

“good boy.” you praise for the first time. other hand working through his still hard cock as you took him through his second orgasm, hips bucking as his thighs shook. if this was what he was like over a simple handjob, blowjobs and cowgirl would certainly fry his now needy brain as he panted for more.

a/n, omd sorry i dipped for like a week haha, i really jus wasn’t feeling it. but i’m back and horny as ever😚😚!!

[samkerrworshipper]

massage therapy | mapi leon x reader

mapi gets injured… reader tries to resolve some of the tension in her body

warnings: injury, hurt/comfort, smut, cunnilingus, fingering

“Maps, baby, I swear to dios just let me massage your knee, I have to, hermosa.”

María just glares at you from her position sitting on the couch.

She’s been next to unbearable ever since her meniscus injury, rightfully so, you would be two if you had no choice but to stop playing the sport that you loved for months.

But the whining, the wayward glares, the constant anger and tension is beginning to get to you, beyond it making you annoyed at your lover, you were worried about her more than anything.

Mapí had her fair share of mental health problems in the past, the two of you had gotten through them together, but whenever something like an injury arose it always seemed to signify the start of a rougher patch in her mental health.

So that had been your main focus, making sure that María’s mental health stayed intact, you thought you’d done a fairly good job, mentally she was doing well, but attitude wise she was acting like a little bitch.

Always snappy and critical, always annoyed about her lack of mobility, always refusing your help.

Alexia had attempted multiple times to reign her in on your behalf, the Catalan woman had practically moved in as soon as the news of the injury had come in, insistent on being a support system for her best friend, but it worked to no prevail, Mapí was angry with the world, with her knee, with everything that moved or breathed.

“Estoy bien.” I’m fine

Her words are forced out, gruff and croaky from her spot on the couch.

You’re pretty sure there is a half permanent Mapí shaped dent in the pillows that your girlfriend had been living in the last week or so, ever since her surgery.

“María, when are you going to stop being so stubborn and just accept my help?”

For a person who had some fairly serious surgery just over a week ago, Mapi was a menace, trying to do everything on her own, which was fairly hard when you were hopped up on pain meds and hardly mobile.

“Estoy bien, ni siquiera estoy adolorida.” I’m fine, I’m not even sore.

It’s a complete lie, Mapí’s been moaning and groaning for the last half hour as she tried to find a comfortable position amongst the pillows and blankets.

She’s practically crafted a nest on the couch, a big pile of blankets absorbing her completely.

“María, por favor.” Maria, please

Your use of Spanish seems to draw her attention, it’s not your first, or second language, you don’t speak it very often.

Both you and María understand each other's languages, just find it harder to speak them, so it just works that you normally speak in English and she normally speaks in Spanish, it saves either of you from having to awkwardly translate all of your words every time you want to talk with your girlfriend.

“Pequeña, estoy bien.” little one, I’m fine

Estoy bien seems to be at the forefront of Mapí’s vocabulary recently, it’s always I’m fine, even when she’s lying through gritted teeth and teary eyes.

You stand up from your spot sitting at the kitchen table, tiptoeing towards Mapí slowly, a deep frown set on your face.

Mapí’s watching some Spanish soap opera, something you're unfamiliar with, which makes it seem like it's more background noise for her than anything of interest.

You walk around the couch, until you’re standing in front of her, blocking her view of the tv so she’s forced to look at you.

“You can’t tell me your knee isn’t killing, the physio said it needed to be stimulated daily, let me help you, love.”

Mapí bites down on her lip, there is so much frustration playing across her face, so much anguish.

“Estoy bien.” i’m fine

It’s like being repetitively punched in the face, hearing the same two words fall from her lips, it’s incredibly aggravating, all consuming.

“María, you aren’t fine, hate me all you want, push me away, but give me the respect of not lying blatantly to my face over and over again.”

Mapi’s whole body tenses, her face scrunching up at your brutally honest words.

“Princesa, no es así.” princess, it’s not like that

You don’t give up, not when you know that this might just be your opportunity to get something back, anything at all.

“Maps, just a massage, we’ll go at your pace, your muscles need to be strengthened and that starts with loosening them up, por favor.”

María’s face is stubborn, unmoving.

She’s fairly good about recovery, doesn’t need any reminders to do her exercises or move her knee as often as it needs to, the massaging is the only thing she can’t do by herself, and because its Mapí that you’re talking about, she’d never ask you to help her with it, or accept a offer from you to help her.

You take her recovery seriously though, and you’ll be damned if she misses out on a crucial part of her recovery just because she is too bullheaded to ask for some goddamn help.

“No necesito ayuda.” I don’t need help

You scoff, it’s the biggest lie ever, Mapí can’t walk without crutches, can’t stand for much longer than a minute, she needs help with almost everything.

“Maps, I love you so much, no matter what, but this whole independence thing is just getting annoying. I’ll make you prawn paella for dinner if you let me give you a massage, how’s that for a deal?”

It’s Mapí’s weakness, you know it, it’s one of her mothers oldest recipes that she taught you when she was still alive, whenever Mapí’s having a particularly hard day it’s always your go to, it’s her comfort food.

“Promesa?” promise?

You nod your head, smiling to yourself as you realise that you’ve managed to somehow convince Mapí.

“I promise, I’m going to go and get the massage oil, can you try and take off your sweatpants for me, please, love?”

Mapí nods at you, a little smile teasing at the corners of her lips as she watches you walk off into the direction of the cupboard where the both of you keep all of your recovery related items.

You were quick to find the oil and creams that you required, returning back to Mapí to find her sitting on the couch, her sweatpants pushed to the side leaving her in just her boxer shorts.

Her knee was the only part of her legs that weren’t visible to you, hidden by a brace and plethora of bandages and gauze.

You perched yourself down on the pillows beside her knee, ditching the items in your hands and gently reaching for Mapí’s brace.

She flinched away from the contact, her knee jerking at the feeling.

“Maps, baby, just relax for me, yeah?”

She nodded, her teeth gritted, her eyes watching your every move around her knee, trying to gulp down her worries and discomfort that originated from places beyond her knee.

Once she’d relaxed a little bit more, you reached for her brace again, she still flinched, but it wasn’t as major, and you decided to continue, reaching for the velcro, exaggerating your movements so Mapí had a clear view of everything you were doing.

Once you’d managed to undo the velcro straps you gently un tightened it and then slid it down her leg, leaving gauze and bandages as the only thing covering it.

“Deep breaths Maps, if anything hurts or feels uncomfortable just tell me, sí?”

Mapi nodded at you, she looked like a woman who had just run a marathon, her face all scrunched up and red.

“Sí, gentil, por favor.” Yes, gentle, please

You smiled at her, nodding, like you’d ever be anything else.

“Sí, I’ll be gentle, how about I tell you what I’m going to do before I do it, just so you have some warning, would that make you feel a bit better, love?”

Mapi nods like your words are her saving grace.

“Okay, I’m just going to unwrap the bandages now, just let me know if anything hurts.”

Mapí nods her head, so you continue on, finding the tucked in part of the bandages and beginning to unwrap them, your touch and movements feather soft.

You flex her knee a little bit and notice how her face crunches up a little bit, you hate that she’s in pain, that something that should be so simple and basic for her has become a struggle.

She doesn’t tell you to stop though, so you continue, slowly unravelling the gauze and bandages until you are met with the sight of her bruised and swollen knee.

The stitches had been removed two days ago, so the scar is risen and red, but luckily, not infected.

You notice how Mapí’s eyes suddenly drift from her knee, you know she’s been struggling to come to terms with her injury, that she’s been denying it as much as one could.

“Maps, I’m going to apply some oil, I’m just going to start with your lower leg, nothing near your incision, just tell me if anything is uncomfortable, okay?”

Mapí nods, so you reach for the oil bottle and a towel, gently lifting her knee to slide the towel under her near and then dripping some of the oil onto your hands and then gently pressing them to Mapi’s shin, snaking your hands behind to her calf and working your fingers into her muscles.

The only thing you know is that she’s extremely tight, her calf and achilles practically pushing against you as you lightly apply pressure to the skin.

It takes a generous amount of time working up her calf, working out all the kinks and knots, María is lenient enough though, she looks like she’s in a different place, normally you’d probe her, check if she was okay, but you know that you’re winning right now by having her allow your to do this, so you count your wins and not your losses.

“Maps, baby, I’m working up to your knee and incision now, I know it's going to be uncomfy but the muscles need to be jostled, tell me if anything hurts, okay.”

María’s eyes are glossed over, but she nods absentmindedly.

So, you daintily and carefully begin the trek up to Maria’s knee, your fingers dancing around her non incision side, gently giving the tissue and muscle a rub before moving your fingers to the other side.

You start by just hovering your fingers over her scar, something that seems to capture her attention, and has her throat bobbing as she looks down at you with wide eyes.

“Maps, honey, talk to me.”

It’s clear there are words waiting on the tip of her tongue, and if you can get her to voice them that you will.

“Por favor.” please

It breaks your heart how vulnerable Mapí sounds, it truly does.

“Please, what, love? I’m going to need more than that.”

Mapí pushes her tongue out against her front lip, a fairly clear tell that something is turning the cogs in her head.

“Por favor, no me hagas daño.” Please, don’t hurt me

Your heart clenches at her words, your fingers removing themselves from the scar and gently resting down on her thigh, your palm flat and open against Mapí’s skin.

“María, I’m not going to hurt you, and definitely not on purpose, I’m trying to help you. I know it might not seem that way, but if you relax for me it’s definitely going to feel better.”

Mapí scoffs, sarcasm seemingly ready on the top of her tongue.

“Maps, you need to relax honey.”

Mapí’s face scrunches up, her nose and eyebrows furrowing together.

“No puedo.” I can’t

You don’t doubt Mapí, which makes it so much harder for you to reply to her, because she genuinely looks like she’s struggling, and somehow frustrated.

“Maps, honey, why so tense?”

There’s an inkling of an idea beginning to form in your head, but you don’t want to read this wrong, and a part of you wants to hear what Mapí has to say.

“Tus manos están en mi muslo.” Your hands on my thigh

You snort a little bit, but then reign yourself in when you see the unfamiliar hopelessness on María’s face.

“Yes it is, what’s your point?”

You're toying with her a little bit, for your own fun and genuine curiosity.

“No puedes poner tu mano ahí.” You can’t put your hand there.

If Mapi wasn’t whining at you, you would remove your hand, but there’s neediness hiding behind her tone, that leaves your hand exactly where it is.

“Why not?”

You cock your head at her, pushing down into her thigh a bit and choking on air when an almost breathy moan leaves her mouth.

“No cuando no puedes terminar lo que estás empezando.” Not when you can’t finish what you are starting.

You smirked up at her from your spot hovering between her sore knee resting on the couch and her good leg which is resting off the couch.

“Why can’t I finish it?”

This is uncharted waters with injured María, ever since her knee injury all bedroom activities had been abruptly stopped, you were terrified of hurting your lover and Mapí was always tired or grumpy so it hadn’t really been an issues.

It was clear though, that the both of you were apparently desperate, and as fearful you were of hurting Mapi, you also knew she had given a lot of herself to be this vulnerable with you, so she probably deserved some kind of reward.

“Princesa.”

Mapi’s whining again and all you can do is smile up at her.

“Usted no quieres?” You do not want?

Mapi shook her head, her deep brown eyes sparkling down at you.

“Por favor.” please

You knew that was permission enough, but you were enjoying seeing her slightly vulnerable.

“Please, what?”

María’s almost glaring, a little twinkle in the corner of her eye.

“Por favor, ayúdame.” Please, help me

You would have probed further, if her eyes hadn't fallen down to the centre of her boxers, her hand resting on her hip gently tugging at the waistband of her boyshorts.

“You want this?”

Mapí nodded frantically, making you giddy on the inside.

“Pull your boxers down for me baby, I think it’s time I massage more than your leg.”

Mapi moaned again, her hands falling directly to the waistband and tugging it off with as much force a crippled individual could.

“So eager baby girl, how long have you been needing me?”

Mapí doesn’t reply to you, just continues to tug her black boxer shorts down her ass and carefully over her knee and ankle before tossing them somewhere.

When you look up, you're rewarded with the view of María’s dripping sex, her clit poking out of it’s good and her hole clenching around nothing, her hips canting up to you desperately.

“Look at that, you're all wet for me and I haven’t even touched you where it matters.”

The noises that leave Mapí’s mouth are completely sinful, her head leaning back against the couch, little pleas leaving her mouth.

You trail your fingers up from her thigh, gently grazing against the inside of her thigh until they finally make it to her lips.

You do the same with her lips, trailing wet and sloppy kisses up the inside of her knee and thigh, until your lips come into contact with her dripping and throbbing clit.

You don’t waste any time, trailing a single finger down to Mapí’s hole and swiping up some of the wetness before gently beginning to push it into her eager hole.

Mapí’s pussy practically sucked your finger in, you fell into a fairly easy pace, your mouth suckling gently on her clit whilst your singular finger worked in and out of Maria.

When there was absolutely zero resistance or stretch you began to ease a second finger in, slowly increasing your pace and your pressure on her nub.

Normally, in situations like these, when you and Mapí hadn’t been with each other intimately for so long you’d take your time, show her just how much you loved and appreciated her, but this wasn’t the moment for that.

Mapí needed love, she needed to be worshipped, but in this moment you were acting as nothing more than a relaxant for her, a tension reliever, which you were completely fine with, if it made her feel better than you would do anything for her.

You found her sweet spot, the little pad inside of her and began to target it directly, simultaneously sucking on her clit and caressing her g-spot.

It was a combination that never failed to work during a quickie, sending her directly over the edge in a matter of minutes.

This time was no different, you could feel Mapí tightening around you, her hands finding home in your roots and tugging you up eagerly into her.

Her moans all of a sudden stopped and her hands relaxed, not a second after that she tightened around your fingers and her thighs spasmed on both sides of your head.

You gently worked her through her aftershocks, only removing your fingers when all of the post orgasm shakes had left her body you moved you reached your hand up to her mouth, allowing her to suck her own taste off of your dexterous fingers whilst you lapped up any of her leftover juices and cum that was dripping out of her.

Once Mapí had sucked every last drop off your fingers and you’d salvaged every last bit of her pussy juices you lifted your head out of the apex between her legs, to be rewarded with the sight of a far less tense looking María León.

“Feeling a little bit more relaxed now, bebé?”

Mapu just gave you a little post orgasm grin, her eyes glassy in a completely different way as how she had been a few minutes ago.

“Si, muy relajada.” Yes, very relaxed.

[oddballwriter]

Personal Nurses

Summary: You get sick with something and need to stay home, and so your lovely boyfriends take up the job of nursing you back to health.

Warnings: Mentions of being sick (sore throat, stuffy nose, and fever). Taking medicine. Half Google translated Spanish, my high school Spanish is really rusty the grammar may be weird. Other wise a nice wholesome sick comfort fic.

Author’s Snip: Fun fact, this was originally going to be a fic where it was about Abi (the reader and system’s daughter that have a bit of an unofficial series with) getting sick. But I decided to make it about the boys taking care of you because I got a nasty cold a while ago and wanted to see this.

Notes: Again, the grammar in Jake’s Spanish speaking might be not so good because my Spanish is rusty as hell.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 692

Being sick wasn’t that great. Sure, it got you out of needing to do things, but you also had to deal with actually being sick. And that’s never great.

You went to bed last night with a tickle in your throat and runny nose that you thought would pass in the morning, but then you woke up dying for water, barely able to breathe through your nose, and now you were burning up like a whore in church.

When Steven eventually woke up and found you in the kitchen you could tell he knew. You made an attempt to brush it off by saying “I’ll just drink some tea and sit under an air conditioner today.” but you could see Steven and the rest of them in that brain vote no on even letting you get out into your work clothes.

So now you get to wallow in bed and have three personal nurses.

Since Steven was the one who woke up with the body, so he was the one who set everything up. He politely shooed you back into bed, placed extra pillows, called your work for you, made you your tea and breakfast, and brought all that to you in bed with a cold rag and medicine. He also checked your temperature which, of course earned an “Oh, love. That’s no good.” that seemed more like him thinking out loud.

Steven was the one mostly in charge of your comfort and doing things for you when you’re sick. If you wanted an extra blanket, you got one. If your fever rag got lukewarm, he made it cool again. Do you want more water or tea? You got it. Is it too bright? He’ll draw the curtains for you. If anything he was more of a bell boy than a nurse. But it still made him blush a little when you called him that.

Marc was the one in charge of making sure you got your medicine in, and he was on top of it. Apparently, when you were taking a nap after eating breakfast, Marc took the body to go to the pharmacy and get new medicine and vitamins because “The one we have isn’t strong enough.” as if he was able to tell just by looking at you. When he came back, he had you eat some bread, saying “So that it doesn’t mess with your stomach if it's empty already.” and also “It helps it stay down. It has something to stick to.”.

“How do you know all this?” you questioned, to which Marc simply said “Trial and error,”, “Now take the vitamins. It helps your immune system fight it off.” Marc orders. You just shrug and comment “Whatever you say, Nurse Spector.”.

Jake was dead set on making food for you, making Marc go to a whole different market while he was out, just to buy ingredients for the soup he wanted to make you.

“Qué no, Marc. No puedes compras los sopas enlatadas.” Jake said to himself with a laugh. “Mind letting me in on the joke?” Marc asked as he watched Jake cut up the ingredients from the reflection in the soup. “You couldn’t buy them canned soup, Marc. Canned soup doesn’t do it. You gotta make it.” Jake explained, clearly referring to the whole ‘make it with love’ thing. “Well, that’s what we would have,” Marc mentioned. “Because that’s all we got.” Jake said back, “But not for them.” he added as to pointed to where you were resting. “They’d do the same for us.” Jake stated confidently.

When the soup was settled and done, and cooled down enough, Jake brought the bowl straight to you in bed. You thought he was going to bring a little table like Steven and Marc did, but it was clear when Jake kept holding the bowl and took up a spoonful of it and held it towards your mouth. You say his name with a scoff and he smiles. “Come on, mi amor. Steven and Marc got to play nurse today.” Jake teased. You roll your eyes and decide to humor him and let him feed you.

[what-even-is-thiss]

What do you think gay men are attracted to in men that they can’t be attracted to in women?

It can’t be anything about femininity or masculinity obviously. That’s both sexist, and cultural so can’t be what drives men-only attraction.

It can’t be anything about stated identity because someone could lie just as easily as they could tell the truth in such a statement, and it makes no sense because homosexuality and heterosexuality exists in other species with no stated identities. It’s not like other animals without gender are all pan.

Saying idk it’s the vibes or some indescribable trait men have that women can’t but “I can’t explain” is a nonanswer.

Soooooooo what is it? Or do you think any sexuality but bi/pan is just cultural performance or an identity rather than an inborn orientation?

- [ ]

There’s whole subsets of philosophy and science dedicated to this sort of thing, dude. If you’re looking for one particular answer that applies universally to all gay men or all of one orientation or gender etc that’s not useful and if you insist upon getting that one particular answer you come across as dangerously ignorant.

Asking what it is that makes someone gay is a bit like asking “What’s an American?” or “What’s a country?”

At first they seem like straightforward questions but once you dig even a bit below the surface you’ll find that everyone and every place and every situation has a different answer. Is the EU a country? Is India? Is Idaho? Why? Why is a Mexican an American in Spanish but not in English? Spanish speakers will be insulted if you say they’re not American but Canadians will be insulted if you say they are. And Americans as in persons and from the United States of America aren’t as clear cut a group as that quick little definition I gave you would suggest. Why would someone living in the US for over a decade not consider themselves an American? Why would someone who just moved here insist they are American? Is it citizenship that makes you American? The continent you live on? How do you draw lines between continents? At what point do you identify more with your adopted country than the one you were born in?

Being gay is similarly complicated. What makes you gay? Your gender? Your attraction? Who you’d prefer to marry? Who you’d prefer to have sex with? Is gay a political position? Does it mean you’re happy? Is it a girl’s name? A surname? Is it only for men? Is it also for women? Is it a slur? Is it a reclaimed slur? Is it just a word? Where are you in time? What language are you speaking? Are you personally more attracted to genitals or hands or smells or the whole package? Can you sometimes fall for someone not typically your type? Is it a personality thing? How much of your attraction is influenced by your genetics, the balance of hormones in your parent’s womb, your society, your upbringing, your friends?

The only available answer is a non-answer because sexual orientation isn’t an arithmetic question. There’s no A+B=C that can be applied universally to all people who identify with a certain term. Any more than one singular definition can be given to a country, a gender, a continent. There’s some things that just don’t have one solid iron clad definition and anyone attempting to give them one typically has an agenda.

Anon, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and hope that you’re not here attempting to cause trouble and that you’re genuinely curious. But if you’re here attempting to set up bait, please reconsider how you think about definitions and queer identities and identity more broadly.

[oddlydying]

Slides in nervously I really like Vanilla and Crispin and I think they’re really cool and silly and I’d like to know more about them if you’d like to ramble :3

Wahh yea sure I took a small break but I can talk about them. (Huge ramble in read more)

Have a cute album redraw with Crispin on it as a treat too

In the scp timeline for the pyras there’s generally a few phases they go through and I pick and choose which timeframe I wanna draw.

Phase 1: Meetings

• Vanilla enters the foundation after being caught sleeping in his van in the middle of the woods

• Vanilla is initially uncooperative with all staff and tends to speak Spanish to those who can’t speak it and just stays quiet for those who can

• Eventually his file falls onto Gear’s desk and he’s tasked to interview him, Iceberg joins too. Vanilla is immediately intrigued by Iceberg’s lameness but it’s not romantic feelings atp just general wants for a one night stand.

• Vanilla does his usual schtick but notices that Iceberg can understand him so he teases him subtlety. Iceberg doesn’t know how to speak Spanish and is embarrassed by Vanilla making fun of him.

Phase 2: The other one comes in

• Vanilla’s analysis falls onto Iceberg after Gears noted that Vanilla is only cooperating under Iceberg’s presence and direction.

• Their relationship starts to grow during this time and Vanilla doesn’t mind being contained at this point as Iceberg visits him semi often when he can.

• Vanilla eventually nervously tells Iceberg that he’s got a brother who’s also a reality bender and has been chasing after him for a year now. He also warns Iceberg that he might die too if his brother were to see his first boyfriend is some lame chump.

• Crispin comes in after willingly letting himself get captured and then starts fucking shit up. Recently sober with a grudge for answers and justice for the victims of his brother’s crimes Crispin is extremely short tempered and causes as much damage he can until he can find Vanilla.

• He gets recaptured by Clef and immediately sent to containment with reality anchors keeping him mostly weak. He’s still violent to staff who try to make contact with him and eventually they decide to let him meet Vanilla. Crispin beats Vanilla up but he’s mostly happy he’s not dead or hurt. Vanilla gives Crispin the main rundown and that he’s got a boyfriend which enrages him again.

• Crispin is a lot more difficult to contain as he hates containment and being dehumanized. Multiple attempted breaches leave staff wondering if he’s even worth keeping. Iceberg nearly dies to an angry Crispin who finds out that not only his brother has a boyfriend but it’s one of the staff keeping them locked up.

• After pleads by Vanilla for Iceberg to find a solution to not kill Crispin he suggests Crispin join the MTF ranks and work as an agent. Crispin rejects it initially but then sort of gets forced into it by Clef who’s been dealing with Crispin the whole time. The Pyras barely interact in this timeframe.

Phase 3: Team rocket ass siblings.

• Crispin becomes Agent Sulfur now and it’s reflected in his more feminine appearance. It’s easier to do his job when seduction is a card he can play.

• Crispin has an apartment in the foundation and is still monitored and evaluated but a lot more chill about it since he can see the outside world again.

• Crispin still disapproves of the power imbalance in Vanilla and Iceberg’s relationship but takes it out on Iceberg more.

• After a few missions that needed Vanilla to come out of containment Crispin realizes that he’s going to need Vanilla to be at his side more reliably than (making Iceberg process) paperwork constantly.

• Vanilla is more forced to into his agent job than Crispin was but went through normal training since he’s more compliant and less of a threat reality bender wise.

• Vanilla goes by Agent Calcium or Cal for short. He and Crispin turn into agents of chaos together but manage to get the job done one way or another.

• Vanilla gets out of containment and moves in with Iceberg. They sometimes act like a married couple despite never getting married.

[roadkillxd]

❝ the jaguar and the rabbit. ❞

I want to preface this by saying this plays with themes of dub-c0n and non-c0n, but is entirely consensual—it is simply fictional characters acting out an established, negotiated scene in a fictional space without explicitly written context, reasoning or justification.

Anyway, I don’t know where this came from. I just started typing and now we’re here...

Valeria x Soap x M!Reader  ↪ 1503 words — 18+ / SMUT

Content tags — cis male submissive reader, cis male submissive Soap, cis female dominant Valeria, dubious consent/suggested cnc roleplay, cuckholding, bondage, pain play, light cock torture, crying, choking, (really rough) oral sex, guided blow jobs, hand jobs, man-handling, mild puppy play, and probably bad Spanish.

Valeria rounds Soap’s chair, defined muscles shifting mesmerizingly beneath her tight t-shirt. A perfectly manicured, pointed nail traces over his cheek, down the jut of the bone and along his square jaw, leaving a white, then red, line in its wake before it fades into his freckled skin.

Soap does not flinch, brow furrowed and plush lips slightly parted, and his tongue tries to dart out to lap at the thumb she brushes along the chapped flesh before abruptly moving away. His body lurches forward in an attempt to chase, the ropes pulling taut around his wrists and chest as the momentum tugs him back into the chair.

She smirks at the small, choked noise he makes, concealing what she knows was nearly a whimper.

She moves to circle you instead, her boots tapping methodically on the cold concrete as she strides. You feel like a rabbit, staring straight ahead, stock-still in waiting as your heart beats too hard and too fast—and you’re sure she can hear it, the jaguar waiting in the brush, pupils blown wide as it rears to strike.

Unlike Soap, you do flinch when you feel her claws along your throat, earning her mocking coos as she scratches along your pulse point, your chest seizing up in fear.

“Focus on me, love,” Soap tries, voice quiet and steady.

“Cállate, gallito,” Valeria chides, her breath hot against your neck as she speaks. 

She presses her lips softly to your throat, humming with satisfaction at the small gasp that escapes your mouth.

You couldn’t focus on Soap if you tried—her hand trailing down your torso, around your slowly tenting crotch to squeeze at your thigh, rubbing her thumb in tight little circles so, so close to where the tip of your cock wets the dark fabric of your jeans. 

“You could learn so much from this good boy, pequeño sargento, mi buen chico.”

You whimper as she cups your crotch, squeezing you through the rough material and making your squirm in your seat, tugging against the ropes when she digs her nails in just enough to hurt.

“Keep yer hands off ‘im,” Soap growls, jerking against his bonds. 

“You’re in no position to make demands, Soap,” she hisses out the name like a slur, releasing your throbbing erection to begin undoing your belt, grinning sharp and dangerous at how your breathing picks up, “y mami quiere jugar.”

You choke on air when your cock is finally freed from its confines, slapping up against your stomach. A breathy moan tears out of you when you feel hot wetness splatter across the sensitive skin, your brain taking a moment to realize Valeria’s spit onto your prick, wetting the skin before she begins to methodically stroke you, her grip just tight enough to border on pain, experienced in the way she rubs her thumb over the slit on each pass and squeezes the sensitive glands under the head on each upward stroke. 

You can vaguely register Soap calling out your name, his voice foggy when he asks if you’re okay, and the question confuses you as you struggle to keep track of all of your faculties, realizing quite suddenly there are hot tears streaking down your cheeks as you gasp and moan, writhing in your bonds. 

“Johnny~” you moan out, your balls drawing up tight—so so close so quickly, so weak in her hands—just to cry out when she squeezes her thumb and pointer finger around the base of your cock hard and painfully enough to stop your impending orgasm.

“Johnny, hm?” She purrs, peppering deceitfully gentle kisses across your tear stained face as you sob, hips bucking.

“Keep it oet yer fookin’ mouth you b—!” He barks, accent heavy in rage, the thick leather collar around his throat tightening enough to accentuate the bulging veins in his neck.

He goes stock still when you wail, jaw snapping shut as he watches her nails digging hard into the base of your cock, dangerously close to breaking the skin.

Soap settles back into his chair, moving his gaze to glare down at the floor in silent submission.

“That’s what I thought,” she growls.

You let out a broken sob of relief as her grip loosens, whimpering when you hear her tsk.

“You’re still hard, mi pequeño,” she sighs, almost like she's disappointed, though her soft hand begins to stroke you again, earning a low moan from you as your eyes flutter shut again, “do you enjoy the pain, puppy?”

“N-no,” you whisper. You’re so tired of being hurt—you just want to feel good, to just— “please, I want to be good, want to feel good—please, I’m sorry.”

Valeria hums, using her free hand to turn your head to face her, pressing a slow, chaste kiss to your lips. You want to cry at this reward given to you, kissing her desperately, memorizing the taste of her before she pulls away with a sly smile. 

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, hm?” she murmurs, cupping your cheek and watching with adoration as you nuzzle into her palm, “so well behaved.”

You could cry when she straightens, hands leaving you as she moves away. Your cock twitches pathetically in search of more attention, and you watch hazily as she moves to stand behind Soap once again.

“Unlike my mutt,” she growls, tugging his head back by his mohawk and watching as he bares his teeth to her, trying to push up onto his tiptoes to relieve the pain of his hair being pulled so tight, “so protective of your little puppy mate, hm? Don’t you realize how dumb he is for me already?”

Soap doesn’t dignify her with a response, tensing when he hears the shick of a knife being loosed.

Valeria uses her free hand to cut the ropes tying Soap’s chest to the chair, dragging him to his feet by his hair to awkwardly pull his straining arms up over the back of the chair.

She shoves him forward and he drops to his knees against the hard concrete with a shout. He’s given little reprieve as she grabs him by the back of his collar, like she’s scruffing a puppy as she drags him across the floor by the thick leather, no acknowledgement to Soap’s vicious struggling—the show of strength has the both of your cocks twitching. 

She drags him in between your spread legs, swiftly moving behind him to lift her foot and press her dirty boot to the back of his head, planting his face against your crotch. 

You moan and gasp at the feel of his hot breath fanning over your aching cock, the tip an angry red and leaking pre from a mixture of the edging, neglect and pain. Soap stays stock still, staring up at you, waiting for Valeria’s orders.

“Johnny, f-fuck, Johnny, please, God—” you whine, trying to wiggle your hips, keening at the feel of his stubbled cheek providing the tiniest bit of stimulation to your aching flesh.

Valeria’s boot is still planted firmly on the back of Soap’s head, and she digs her heel into the base of his neck before finally lowering her leg.

“Suck,” she commands, and Soap wastes no time with teasing, straightening up to take the tip of your cock between his lips before sinking down, bobbing up and down the length with vigor, his skilled tongue doing its best to massage the underneath as his jaw accommodates to your girth.

You moan wantonly, crying out his name like a mantra and feeling his returning moans around your cock, traveling up through your sternum with white hot pleasure. Valeria coos again, scraping those nails up Soap’s scalp just to watch him shiver at the sensation before she grabs his hair once again, guiding his movements.

She leans over the side of the chair, using her free hand to guide you once again to her lips, moaning gratefully as she devours you, licking into your mouth with an equally skilled tongue. 

She pulls Soap up until just the tip remains wrapped up in his pretty lips before shoving him back down, forcing the remaining inch or so he’s yet to take into his mouth, listening to the wet gags he makes as his muscles bulge and strain against the feeling of choking. 

The wet heat of his throat—the constricting muscles clenching and squeezing around the tip of your sensitive cockhead has you crying out, blistering heat gathering somewhere near your bladder as your back arches as much as it can with your binds, hot cum spurting down Soap’s throat as your cock pulses in his mouth.

She pulls him off just as his face begins to turn purple, the last few streaks of your spend shooting out to paint his flushed, wet face, thick mucus from the back of his throat still connecting his gaping mouth to your spent and softening cock. 

“Isn’t he so pretty like this?” Valeria purrs, her voice snapping you from your post orgasm daze, “absolutely destroyed.”

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: character death, blood & gore

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

did anyone order a sad blue haired brazilian?

part fifteen

❝ UNWELCOME MEMORIES ❞

SATURDAY — AUGUST 8 — 8:29AM

WHEN BENTLEY OPENED HIS EYES, HE WAS STANDING ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, STARING AT A SEMI-TRUCK WHOSE FRONT HAD BEEN TERRIBLY DENTED AND CRUSHED ON THE PASSENGER’S SIDE. It was raining torrentially, and dark now, obscuring his vision and making it tough to see what was going on behind the one still-working headlight aimed right at his face. He couldn’t really hear anything over the downpour.

He could vaguely make out the silhouette of a man beside the truck, maybe on the phone? He couldn’t tell. Was that Bruce? And when had it gotten dark? Wasn’t it just morning?

He glanced down at himself. He was still wearing his red shoes, t-shirt, and red jacket, the same ones he’d been wearing when they went to pick up Nico. But he wasn’t in a fancy Gotham Heights neighborhood anymore — he was on a street that cut through big trees, and despite the rain, it was warm. It hadn’t been warm earlier. Where was he?

He took a few tentative steps forward, toward the man. As he grew closer, he could hear him speaking — not English, definitely not, but it was a language Bentley had heard before. Spanish? It sounded like Spanish. He had tan skin and dark hair and was wearing a shirt that matched the logo Bentley could see on the hood of his truck. So definitely not Bruce.

Where was he? What was going on?

Once Bentley realized he was very much in the man’s line of sight, he cleared his throat in an attempt to not be awkward. “Uh… excuse me?”

The man didn’t look at him. It seemed like he looked… through him? Past him? Like he wasn’t really there. He just kept talking on his phone, frantically, and Bentley could see a little blood on various places around his body. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the passenger’s side of the big truck, and that was good — it was totally crushed.

With another glance around, Bentley verified that Bruce’s car was nowhere to be found. Had the Secret Keeper taken him somewhere?

He stepped forward again, exhaling lightly and running a hand through his wet, red hair. “Excuse me?”

The man didn’t notice him. Didn’t look down, didn’t brush him off, didn’t startle at his presence, just… nothing. He legitimately didn’t know Bentley was there, standing right next to him, in bright red clothes with bright red hair.

Bentley guessed the adrenaline of being in a crash, like it seemed this guy had, could take a toll on you.

A deafening crack of thunder shook the ground beneath them, and Bentley made a noise akin to a squeak, drawing nearer to the man who didn’t know he was there. The lightning illuminated the dark forest for only a split second, but Bentley saw something. On the left side of the road, there was a hill, a steep drop off, and sitting upside down at the bottom of the hill was…

A car. Wheels in the air, still spinning, making faint noises over the downpour.

The fact that it was dark enough to look black was all Bentley saw, and Bruce’s car was black.

So, despite the terrible storm, Bentley pushed himself forward, toward the edge of the road. Another crack of thunder sounded, and he flinched. It hadn’t been storming this badly earlier. The lightning came again, and allowed him to see something he hadn’t seen before. On the ground beside the car. Something that shot fear through him like a poison arrow, seeping into his bones and threatening to destroy him completely.

A mop of blue hair.

Asten had blue hair, and Asten had been in Bruce’s car.

At once, he started down the hill. How had he ended up on the road when Bruce crashed? And he wasn’t hurt at all? He felt fine, actually, despite the slight headache that was forming at the base of his skull. He did another once-over in his mind, and he didn’t feel any pain anywhere but his head. Leaves and sticks crunched under his shoes as he padded ever-closer to-

“Asten!” He shouted over the rain, drawing nearer to the vague shape of his friend he could see. The Brazilian was facing away from him, on his knees on the ground. “What happened? Are you okay? Where’s Bruce?”

When he got within a few feet of him, he could hear him talking.

“Mãe... Mãe, por favor, acorde. Você-você pode me ouvir?” 

“Asten?” Bentley tried again. He stepped up to his left, and another faint gasp left his lips.

Asten was cradling a woman on his lap. Not Bruce, not Nico, a woman. A woman that, when illuminated by the occasional lightning, looked just like him. Same tan skin, same eyes, same rich dark hair. Asten was crying, sobbing, actually, and his forehead was bleeding all over his face and clothes. Bentley noticed that one of his hands was drenched in blood that seemed to be pouring from the inside of his sleeve. And he looked… younger, maybe?

Bentley glanced inside the car, quickly looking away when he saw the crimson and mangled body of a man. A man he assumed was… Asten’s father, maybe? It definitely wasn’t Bruce. He double checked the crushed car for signs of Bruce or Nico, and there were none. Where was Bruce? Where was Bentley? What was happening?

“Asten?” He asked softly, kneeling down beside him. Bentley could see a huge crimson stain on the woman’s light-colored shirt, and he wasn’t exactly sure her legs were facing the right way. Her stark, emerald green eyes — the same ones that sat on Asten’s face — were open but staring at nothing, reflecting no more than the headlights in the distance and the occasional moon when the clouds shifted. That meant she was…

“Mãe, por favor, não me deixe. Não adormeça. Eu não quero ficar sozinho,” Asten sobbed, tugging his mother closer, pressing her lifeless head into his shirt to close the distance between them as tightly as he could. His bloody and trembling hands were around her shoulders, one laced in her crimson-stained hair, and he was rocking slightly, like he was trying to get a baby to sleep.

“Asten?” Bentley whispered, scanning his friend’s features. Asten didn’t seem to notice him, either. He was just crying, the same hopeless, lost, empty look in his eyes that had been in them when he thought he lost Nico, but magnified and multiplied.

He sucked in a breath, hardly getting any air before he dissolved into more loud, desperate sobs. “Por favor, por favor, não me deixe. Por favor não me deixe sozinho.”

Asten was soaking wet and shivering from the rain, clinging to his mother’s body like he’d die if he let go. He was crying so hard Bentley thought he might throw up. Where was Bruce?

“Mãe! Por favor, não me deixe com eles! Você disse que nunca me deixaria!” 

Bentley watched as he grew more and more frantic, his voice growing louder, more desperate, like the weight of the situation was crashing down harder than it had been.

“Mom!” Bentley startled when Asten changed to English. “Mom, please, don’t… don’t, they… please, wake up. Mom, please. Please! Get up!”

He pulled her close and hid his face away in the jacket she was wearing.

“Please wake up,”

Bentley blinked away the burn in his eyes, dismissing it as raindrops.

“Mom,” Asten hiccuped lightly, hand moving in her hair, trying to stimulate any kind of response. Anything that might suggest she was still alive. “Please don’t leave me here by myself. You promised... You promised! You… you… Please… please, please, please, no.”

Everything started to spin a little, and Bentley sat down on the wet ground. Black dots started floating in from one side of his vision to the other.

“Please, Wake up! I don’t want to be alone!”

The throbbing at the back of his head got more prominent, and he brought a hand up to rest on his skull. The forest started teetering and swirling. Where was Bruce?

“Wake up!”

Pain. Stabbing pain, like his skull was cracking, like someone was stabbing needles into his ears. He doubled over with a soft whine, hands scouring his own head for injuries. They came back with nothing. Where was Bruce? He wanted Bruce.

“Wake up!”

He couldn’t see, but he felt like he was vibrating. Like his head was a balloon being pumped with so much helium it was about to explode. Someone touched his forehead.

“Bruce?” He forced out, quiet and desperate.

“Bentley, wake up!”

He startled back into consciousness with a jerk and a gasp. He could feel his heart beating a million miles per hour, and he blinked rapidly, sucking in air like he’d never breathed in his life. His head was spinning like he’d gotten off of a carousel.

“Oh my God,” 

He finally comprehended what he was seeing. It was the ceiling of Bruce’s car. And Asten’s face was staring down at him, grim and worried.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Asten mumbled, and removed his hand from where it was resting on Bentley’s forehead.

Bentley said nothing, but pushed himself upright with a grunt. He felt Asten’s hands gently supporting his shoulders and back.

“What happened?” Bentley whispered, rubbing at his eyes with a small groan as pain blossomed across his skull again, though not as intense. He felt wrong. Invaded. Like someone had shoved their hands in his brain without asking first, and left it in a mess.

Asten’s green eyes bounced from the Rockefeller’s front door, to Bentley, to the car seat. Bentley suddenly remembered what they were doing, but now, the doorway was empty. “You acted like your head was hurting really bad all of a sudden. You were out cold, for, like, thirty seconds.”

Thirty seconds? That felt like thirty minutes, thirty hours, thirty years.

But yeah, his head did hurt pretty bad.

“What did she do to you?” Asten muttered, his hand still resting lightly against Bentley’s shoulder. Maybe incase he fell over again.

“I saw…” Your mother die? You covered in blood after a car crash? How was he supposed to talk about it? He winced when his head throbbed.

Was this what Dick meant when he said he was seeing other people’s memories?

“… something scary,” He concluded. Reminding Asten of what he’d lost, and telling him that his new friend had literally seen it without his consent wasn’t really something Bentley wanted to tackle right then. The throb in his skull was blossoming into the got-hit-by-a-shovel kind of pain that made even his eyeballs hurt. He kind of just wanted to go back to bed. “My head hurts, bad. I… don’t feel right.”

It took all of his willpower not to cry right then, for some reason. “I want Bruce.”

Asten winced in sympathy, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “You can lay back down. If she comes back, I’ll kill her.”

Asten sounded so absolutely sure about it that Bentley nearly believed him. 

Just as he was contemplating laying back down like Asten said, or maybe crying, a quiet thump from outside of the vehicle caught his attention.

Both he and Asten looked up, and Bruce was coming out the front door of the Rockefeller’s house, carrying Nico like he carried Bentley when he was really upset. There wasn’t any blood, and he was definitely breathing. (hyperventilating so badly Bentley could see it from the car, actually.) Bruce looked fine, too.

“She just… left them alone?” Asten muttered, scooting over into the middle seat as Bruce approached the left door. “What the hell is she trying to do, play us like a game?”

Bentley said nothing. If this was a game, it was one sick, terrible game. Mind games, but for real, playing with their minds and fiddling around just enough to leave them feeling violated, invaded, wrong.

Bruce opened the back door and ever-so-gently put Nico in the leftmost backseat, sending a few glances to Bentley and Asten.

Nico was an absolute wreck. He was shaking like a leaf, trembling, and crying so hard he couldn’t seem to breathe. He was still in a hoodie and sweats, most likely what he’d slept in. Bentley and Asten both shared pitiful glances.

“He was asking for you, Asten,” Bruce stated, closing the door and getting back in the driver’s seat, probably to get out of the open. There was a click as he engaged the locks, turning in his seat to face the three of them.

“Jesus, dude,” Asten muttered, turning in his seat toward Nico, who was wheezing like an old smoker. Bentley saw him dig the little inhaler out of Nico’s hoodie pocket and shake it for him. He simply frowned. He might’ve felt useless if he wasn’t too busy feeling wrong.

“Bentley,”

He glanced forward at Bruce, whose gray irises lingered on his face for a few moments, a slightly concerned expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Bentley glanced over at Nico and Asten, who were very preoccupied by getting his lungs to work again. So Bentley stood up, climbing up and over the center console to plop in the passenger’s seat next to Bruce, who was watching him dutifully.

How was he supposed to explain that feeling to him? The feeling of your mind, your head being boggled by someone else, every thought read, rearranged, scoured.

He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around himself, a bad attempt at supplying comfort. “The Secret Keeper… came outside when you were inside,” He explained in hushed tones, quiet enough Asten and Nico probably wouldn’t hear. His head throbbed spectacularly, and he winced. “She didn’t come to the car or anything, only to the house door, but…”

“But?” Bruce inquired gently.

“But when I tried to call and tell you, she…” Bentley paused, then pointed at his head. “It felt like someone stabbed me in the head. Then I saw something.”

Bruce hummed lightly. “What was it?”

Bentley glanced back at Asten and Nico, satisfied that the Brazilian was getting Nico to use the inhaler as opposed to listening.

“It was like… something that happened to Asten. Like I was really there,” He muttered quietly, glancing back up at Bruce, then down at his hands. “He said I got knocked out for a minute. And now my head hurts.”

He heard Bruce sigh lightly, but didn’t look up.

“And now I feel all wrong. My head, it… it feels wrong. I don’t know how to tell you…” He muttered, resting his chin on his knees, batting away tears that were stinging in his eyes. “Like it’s been all messed up and unraveled. I don’t… I... I don’t know…”

He didn’t look up until he felt Bruce’s hand delicately land on the side of his head, the warm sensation warding off the strange emptiness that had been hovering over his skull, his brain. He couldn’t help but lean into it like some sort of sad little kitten, a nearly silent cry forcing its way from between his lips.

“Let’s get you three back to the Manor, okay?” Bruce said softly. Bentley nodded in response, wiping at his leaky eyes, though the thought of Bruce moving his hand to drive the car was nearly unfathomable.

The hand in question only moved enough to stroke Bentley’s hair as the car started up in the background. “You’re going to be okay, chum.”

He wanted to believe that, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how fast the Secret Keeper took him down… how fast she took Dick down. She didn’t even have to touch them. Didn’t even have to see them to influence their dreams.

How were they supposed to fight against something like that?

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

[sarcastictissy]

Hi, Tissy. I want to thank you for the positivity you bring to this community. It's something that is in short supply around here, and it's greatly appreciated. You have also been fair and objective, which is also appreciated. That is why I feel it is safe to send this message to you.

The past and present QSMP admins deserve support, but only to an extent. There have been instances of them displaying terrible behavior, and the QSMP community needs to stop ignoring/excusing it. The xenophobic remarks made by Lea and Lumi. Lea's baseless speculation on Twitter that Quackity's brother was working for the QSMP is what caused people to dox Quackity. Lea showing no remorse for leaking Quackity's information and causing his safety to be threatened. Some of the admins were very insensitive about the doxxing. Quackity's safety was actually threatened, and they were saying/agreeing with someone saying "womp womp" about the stream where he spoke about how he felt physically unsafe. And now we have the actions of Puella and other admins defending them.

The QSMP community's continued parasocial behavior toward the admins is just very frustrating for me to witness.

🥺🥺 I really, really appreciate your kind words!! Thank you so much, they mean a lot, genuinely. Hearing I help people stay positive, or even enjoy my posts, on qsmp makes my day, honestly. I'm so glad I get to cheer people up and help them. It inspires me to keep doing just that! :D

Onto what you said, I don't know who needs to read this, but you ARE allowed to respect someone/ support them AND be annoyed by their words or actions. You are allowed to like someone, and dislike some of their actions. You can support the admins, be annoyed by how they were treated by QStudios, and also be disappointed by what they have said or done.

Personally, I'm disappointed by Lea's xenophobia in her interview that was strictly about her experience with the studios. She used this as an opportunity (whether it was intentional or not) to say xenophobic remarks towards the Spanish speaking community. Nevermind, the fact she never apologised for, and, even tried to justify, doxxing Quackity. She said that her doxxing Quackity was no where near as bad as what she went through during her time working with QStudios. Doxxing is NEVER the answer. I'm severely disappointed by her ignorance and xenophobia. That does not take away from the fact that she did suffer. I respect she was under poor working conditions and I support her in getting treated correctly and paid fairly. Absolutely I do. But I cannot support and will not support how she treated Quackity or the Spanish speaking community.

You can draw your own conclusions and do your own research on the matter. I am not here to tell you what to think. Those are just my thoughts.

In terms of Pomme, I'm not aware of much she's done. I know her support to Otipep and I read somewhere that she did not translate her statement leaving Qsmp into Spanish, but did so for all Portuguese and English. To be perfectly honest, if she had only posted it in French, I would not have cared or been mad. We can translate it ourselves or use an accommodation to do so. She should not have to do that for us, but she did and proceeded to and leave out Spanish as part of the transition, and, again, i dont know if that was intentional or not. But she didnt make an attempt to fix it. (Korean speakers were not yet added at this point).

I want to say one last thing about the admins:

You cannot fight xenophobia with xenophobia. It's inexcusable and unjustifiable. Support the workers rights and conditions, but under no circumstances, does that allow for xenophobia to go unnoticed. You can do both.

[evanjan2]

𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍, 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐈? - Sae Itoshi

I'M STILL ALIVE!!! Sorry for my inactivity (I forgot I was supposed to post here) Here's one from Sae, originated on Wattpad (it's in Spanish there) So you can go follow me on Wattpad, Instagram, and Tik Tok!!

Wattpad: Evanjan2

Instagram: Miss_.mei

Tik Tok: Evanjan_

As always, as usual, like every day, your super amazing boyfriend was upset with you because you were with his younger brother, Rin.

Every day in the world, since you became a couple, he repeats over and over again that you should not get close to Rin because... He hates it, and well, Sae is super annoyed when you hang out with Rin like a normal and civilized person, and just today, you were with the black haired guy for a while, talking about... Normal things I guess, and when he realized it, your dear boyfriend Sae got angry and jealous, but decided not to say anything to you, literally.

When you got home, Sae didn't speak to you at all, he was ignoring you and even moved away from you when you tried to hug him!! This was unacceptable to you.

- Let's see, Sae Itoshi, what the hell is wrong with you today?

You said with your arms crossed, looking at the maroon-haired man with a frown, who only gave you a cold look and looked at his cell phone again, without even paying attention to you, which made you so offended that you decided to take your own phone and call Rin, arousing curiosity in Sae.

- What are you doing?

Sae asked, looking at you seriously, which is why you smiled maliciously and shrugged.

- Nothing... I was just calling Rin...

You said, turning your back completely to an angry Sae, who raised an eyebrow, looking at you in disbelief.

- I see... And may I know who gave you permission?

Sae said, which is why you turned around, facing the Itoshi and crossing your arms.

- And why would I need permission to call Rin?

You said, annoying Sae so much that he stood up from his seat and walked over to where you were, looking at you with a frown.

- Why do I say that, and I'm your boyfriend, do you understand brat?

Sae said already quite annoyed, you simply shrugged and continued dialing Rin's number on your cell phone, making Sae finally lose it and take the phone from your hands.

- Hey!!

You said trying to take your cell phone back, but due to the height difference, you couldn't do it.

- I told you, didn't I? Now, I'm going to punish you for disobeying me

Sae said, easily carrying you in his arms and taking you directly to the shared room while you tried to get out of his grip.

- P-put me down Sae! P-put me down now!

You said, trying to get away but Sae didn't let you and when they got to his room, he gently threw you on the bed, getting on top of you and a few inches from your face.

- 𝗜 𝘁𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻, 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗶?

Itoshi exclaimed, starting to kiss you passionately and wildly, intertwining his hands with yours, and you, as it could not be otherwise, gladly responded to his kiss.

Sae's hands traveled to your hips and began to caress them softly while he continued kissing you and discreetly, one of his hands reached your butt, squeezing it tightly, drawing a muffled moan from you in the attempt, which made you break the kiss.

- H-hey!

You said blushing and embarrassed while the pink-haired boy looked at you with his typical serious look

- What? Any problem?

Sae said, looking at you like that and getting closer to your face, being centimeters away from it again

- I hope not... I'm going to teach you to behave well, brat...

Itoshi said to finally unbutton the buttons of your pants and remove them roughly along with your underwear, admiring your private parts with a very slight smile, making you blush a lot

- W-wait!... D-don't do that!

Sae looked at you somewhat curious about your reaction but didn't pay attention to it and began to slowly caress your pussy, starting to make circles on your clitoris, getting one or two moans out of you

- Rin will never make you feel like this... Not Rin, not anyone... Just me

He said, finally inserting two fingers into your entrance, reaching as deep as they could go, and without warning, he began to move his fingers quickly in and out of you, eliciting moans from you, showing how excited you were.

Sae continued making his movements until he felt your walls begin to contract as a sign that you were ready, noticing this, Sae pulled his fingers out of you, receiving a growl in complaint from you.

- W-why did you do that?!

You said, upset by what Sae had done when you were about to cum, making the pink-haired girl smile a little

- As far as I know, I'm going to give you a punishment... Not a reward, brat

He said, separating from her for a few moments to take off his shorts along with his underwear, showing his girlfriend his erection, which was hard as a rock

- And your punishment will be that you won't be able to cum... Not until I do it inside you, understood?

With that said, Sae didn't wait another second to carelessly attack you, he began to move quickly and deeply, making you moan loud and uncontrolled.

Sae growled lightly and bit your neck as he continued to thrust into you hard and fast. Feeling how you were about to cum once again, Sae stopped suddenly and pulled out of you, looking at you maliciously

- S-stop doing that!

You exclaimed, looking at Sae, who was looking at you in a wicked way

- What if I don't want to? I already said what your punishment will be, didn't I?

Sae said to fuck you again in the same way, fast, deep and hard, aggressively attacking you while you could only moan and scream, begging for mercy

- S-sae! S-slower! Please!

You screamed and moaned as you began to tear up, and Sae didn't make you wait long, because he finally came inside you, letting you reach orgasm too and then giving you a sweet kiss on the lips

- Did you learn your lesson, honey?

He said softly as he lay down next to you and caressed your hair tenderly, making you blush and frown slightly

- Y-you're the worst...

You said as you felt your legs weak and sore, it would be better not to get together with Rin again

- You've been warned for next time...

[immaculatemadonna23]

Well I guess it's a new year and I haven't introduced myself after being here for a while...

Hi ^^ Madonna speaking. 🪻✨🌊

Eighteen years old🪻 she-her.🪻 Mexican 🪻

• Spanish speaker, although I can read and listen to English perfectly, I don't trust my writing and dialogue, that's why it seems like I hate everyone and don't interact with anyone xD

• Currently studying the career.

•I'm here to fulfill my pubescent dreams of posting dubious quality fantictions, sharing my (equally dubious) drawings, and trying to be friendly without failing in the attempt.

•I love Lackadaisy, my account is mostly going to focus on uploading fandom content for the community <3

Other things i love <3

• Shoujo and Mahou shoujo🪻

• Girly things 🪻💕🎀

•Metallica 🪻✨🥃

• Visual kei 🪻🖤✨

• Music ✨💖

• Writting ✨🌊

• Fairytales and reading in general. 🪻🌊 (I love princesses).

• Shipping <333 🎀💕

And my other me: https://www.tumblr.com/holymadonna23?source=share

That's all ^^

[kisayuri]

The Young Butler (KilluGon Long fic)

An alternative story where Gon is recruited from a young age to work as a Butler for the Zoldycks. KilluGon. Slow-burn romance.

Chapter 1. The Arrival

(Notes at the end) You can find it too on AO3 here: The Young Butler - Kisayuri - Hunter X Hunter [Archive of Our Own] Or here (in Spanish): El joven Mayordomo - Kisayuri - Hunter X Hunter [Archive of Our Own] I hope you like it :)

"You are forbidden from speaking to him, do you understand?".

Killua had never liked being told what to do. He, the heir of the Zoldyck family, a young, skilled, and independent individual, boasting a record of 200 wins in the Heavenly Tower and just recently turning eight years old, considered himself perfectly capable of deciding for himself what he could and could not do. And speaking to the new kid that Tsubone had brought to the Butler's House was, in his opinion, one of those things.

He was walking near the Butler's House when he witnessed his arrival. It was unusual for them to bring in acquisitions so young, he thought, although this wasn't the first time either. What particularly caught his attention about the boy was not only the fact that he was probably the same age as him, but also that despite the situation he was in he didn't seem worried at all. Any other child who had been dragged to the Zoldyck mansion would be crying and begging for their life, but not him. He radiated a vibrant and bright aura, and his eyes—two large brown eyes—shone with curiosity, absorbing everything they saw with the throbbing excitement of discovering a new place.

How did he even get here? Was he bought? Or maybe an abandoned orphan? Did they really think he was good enough to recruit him to join their family's Butlers?

Out of nowhere, those eyes were on him. Gold versus blue, both filled with deep curiosity about the other. He lifted his hand to wave, and the other guy's lips curved into a quick, fleeting smile before Tsubone pulled him inside the building.

"He's just a Butler in training. He's none of your concern," Mother said firmly, pulling him away. "He's beneath you".

Well, that was for him to decide.

~~~~~~

When he saw him for the second time, only a couple of weeks had passed. Despite his attempts to hasten their next meeting by returning to the same place, Mother's constant presence behind him like an unyielding shadow made it impossible. So, when he stumbled upon him by chance, wandering in the forest just a couple of hundred yards from the Zoldyck Mansion, he couldn't help but feel a surge of daring excitement.

That day, something in the forest caught his attention. He didn't know why, but he felt something there was waiting for him. Following his purest instinct, he ventured deeper. Shaking off his caretaker wasn't particularly hard, considering she had to look after Alluka and Kalluto before him. 

At that moment, the forest was in its full glory, not the glory of a radiant spring, but a dark, gloomy splendor, fitting the place and matching his mood. The sun's rays barely reached the ground due to the dense tree canopies, creating a sinister play of light and shadow over the root-filled floor. The scent was far from fresh; it was heavy and thick, filling the air with an earthy, musty smell.

He found him upon reaching the small clearing.

The new Butler was sitting on one of the massive roots sinking into the ground, leaning back against the trunk. His eyes were closed, and for a moment, he thought he was sleeping.

After watching him for a few moments, Killua slowly approached, silent, circling him cautiously as his brother had trained him, making no sound, feeling out the ground before drawing his attention. His eyes carefully studied the boy. He sat stiffly against the trunk, dressed elegantly like the rest of the Butlers there, in a white shirt now dirtied from his escapades through the forest. And his age? From down here, it was hard to gauge, but he didn't seem much taller than him. Maybe…

"Are you Killua?" the boy suddenly asked.

Killua jumped, his brow furrowing, momentarily upset with himself for being caught off guard. He couldn't have heard him, that was impossible. Plus, the boy still wasn't looking at him. He hadn't even turned his way!

"How do you know that?" he reply, unable to keep a slight edge of annoyance out of his tone.

A lazy smile played at the corners of the boy's mouth, unfazed by the other's irritated tone, and now, he opened his eyes and fixed them on him. Once again, Killua saw that same spark of excitement in them, the same one he had noticed days before. But now, instead of being excited about the place he was in, he seemed thrilled merely by his presence there. He watched him intently, with no hint of fear. He frowned again. Was it happiness he detected? Or perhaps, he thought confidently, it was simply obliviousness to where he was.

"Tsubone has told me about you," he said excitedly, adjusting his posture to face him from the root. "She says I'm not allowed to talk to you, nor come here, or even leave the house, really."

"Yeah, but how did you see me?"

He flashed a mischievous smile.

"Well, actually, I smelled you."

Killua paused, trying to figure out if what the boy was telling him was true or if he was just trying to pull his leg.

"So why are you here?" he concluded.

"I wanted to meet you. Are you the only kid here?"

"Maybe. What's your name?"

"I'm Gon! Is all this place yours?"

"My family's. How old are you?"

"Eight!"

"Ah, me too."

They both fell silent. Killua hadn't been far off in his guess then. They looked at each other for a while, sizing up, analyzing each other without a word, deciding if maybe, just maybe, the other was thinking the same thing at that moment.

He wasn't entirely sure how right this was. Not just the fact that Gon was here, so far from the Butler House, but talking to him. Wasn't this exactly what his family tried to avoid at all costs, him having any kind of contact with the outside world? In his eight years of life, he had barely interacted with a couple of butlers and caretakers, other than his own family. But now, the idea of secretly getting to know someone else somehow appealed to him.

He opened his mouth to say it, but it wasn't his voice that asked the question, loud and clear.

It was Gon who said it.

"Do you want to be my friend?"

The stern face of Mother flashed in his mind, and for a moment, he wondered what she might do if she found out. Even worse, he thought about what his brother Illumi might do.

He smiled.

"Okay." Gon flashed him a huge smile. "But," he added, lifting a finger in a warning gesture, "no one can find out. If Mother or my brother or any of the Butlers find out, they might kill you. "

Now it was Gon's turn to pause and think, and Killua quickly noticed how his cheerful expression shifted. Worry? Doubt, confusion? ...Fear? For a few moments, young Zoldyck regretted having mentioned that last bit.

He's going to say no, get scared, and go back to the House.

Then, Gon winked at him, shrewdly.

"Then it'll have to be a secret."

Fearless , Killua thought. And he couldn't help but smile.

~~~~~~

But fearless wasn't the only adjective that could be attributed to Gon, and that was something Killua discovered not too long after. From that day on, Gon's recklessness consistently had him toeing that dangerous line between mere fun and a more than imminent death just to visit him; a line usually defined by Mother's presence behind them, waiting in hiding, shotgun in hand. He was fully aware that on many occasions, he had narrowly saved his own skin by mere seconds.

And yet, Gon kept seeking him out whenever he could. Like a whirlwind of impulsivity ready to challenge any rule, sometimes he'd show up to show him some new bug he'd found, other times to sit and talk quietly away from adults, and sometimes just to say hi in passing, a quick reminder that he was still around while each of them continued with their lives in their own area.

But Gon wasn't just chaotic, Killua thought: he was also brave and determined. In essence, he was everything a Butler wasn't supposed to be, and often, Killua couldn't help but boast from the roof of the House or behind a tree at the sight of Gotoh or old Tsubone reprimanding Gon, trying to discipline him with punishments or training sessions that kept him up all night. Nothing he himself wasn't already used to, in any case.

What they didn't know was that the young Butler hardly cared about all that. Because despite everything, Gon enjoyed it. Meanwhile, a small part of Killua could only wonder how long all of this could last.

~~~~~~

"Are you sure it was this way?"

The constant crunching of underbrush under Gon's feet grated on Killua's nerves behind him. Every step was accompanied by a "crack" of dry branches breaking, echoing in the forest's silence as they moved forward together. After several minutes, Killua finally stopped with a dramatic sigh.

"Gon, you're so loud," he scolded, "what kind of Butler are you if you can't even move quietly?"

"It's not that easy," Gon replied, stopping too to look at him, and as he did, another branch cracked under him. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

Killua rolled his eyes. He wasn't actually worried. Father had taken his brother Illumi on a family mission, and Mother had left the Mansion for a trip to who knows where, so they could proceed without worry about getting caught playing together.

"Yeah, I think it was this way." His eyes scanned the vegetation around them, looking for something. It didn't take long for him to find it, and with a satisfied smile, he pointed at a tree a few meters away from them. "See that mark there? I made it. We're going the right way." He took a few steps towards it and placed his hand on the bark. "We need to climb."

Gon nodded emphatically and moved to stand next to him. The tree was thick and so tall that they couldn't see the top, hidden among the branches of the surrounding trees, but Killua knew that if he had been able to climb it, then Gon was perfectly capable of doing so as well. They glanced at each other, and a mischievous smile crept across their faces: that was all the signal they needed. Without waiting another second, both of them clambered onto the tree and began to climb it at full speed in an impromptu race to the top.

They ascended with agility, panting as they clung to the branches with firm and confident movements, not stopping for a second and with smiles on their faces. Among gasps and laughter, the dispute over who reached the top first erupted as they reached the last of the branches.

"Ha! I won, I won!"

"No way, I got here first!"

"Liar!"

But that little argument died as quickly as it had started when Gon caught sight of where they were, and Killua smiled with satisfaction at his expression.

From the top, the view stretched into the vastness of the landscape, extending beyond the Zoldyck territory. If the forest surrounding the Mansion was gloomy and dark, the perspective from the top of the tree changed everything. The sunset sun, previously invisible due to the dense branches and vegetation, bathed the treetops in its reddish and ochre tones, enveloping them in a warm and welcoming atmosphere, completely opposite to what one might expect living in that place. Gon gazed out at this wonderful landscape, mesmerized.

"Do you like it?" Killua asked, with a mischievous smile. "I found it escaping from Mother the other day. Wanted to hide out to skip training. There aren't many trees tall enough to see everything like this," he explained. Gon smiled at his friend's proud look.

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

Killua shook his head and settled onto the thick branch.

"Just us."

Gon moved closer and sat down next to him.

They stayed quiet for a while, enjoying the views and each other's company. A sense of well-being enveloped both of them, something relatively new for Killua. He tried to relax, allowing himself to enjoy their company, the freedom this secret place offered, now shared just between the two of them. Gon was like a breath of fresh air in that place, so different from his family or any other Butler. Had it not been for his presence, he probably would have overlooked this spot, treating it like any other, but not with him by his side. How had he managed to change his perspective so much in just a couple of months?

Suddenly, he felt a slight shiver, and the soft smile that had adorned his face faded away. He hadn't noticed it before, but now he couldn't understand how it could have escaped his attention. Beyond the thick forest, the Zoldyck Mansion emerged among the trees like an entity in itself, just a couple of miles away from where they were, imposing, majestic, like an immutable guardian watching over all beings there. Watching them.

"You don't have to worry," Gon urged him, offering a comforting smile as he placed his hand on top of his. "Thanks for bringing me here. And for wanting to be my friend too."

Killua blinked, surprised by the sudden contact. Gradually, the expression on his face softened at the gesture, but he couldn't prevent a blush from crossing his cheeks.

"No..." he replied in barely an inaudible whisper. He quickly withdrew his hand and averted his gaze. "...No need to thank me."

...Thanks to you.

Final Notes: I dedicate this beginning to a few (of the many) AO3 authors who have led me into this beautiful and lively fandom with their stories, inspiring me to write my own, and I truly hope to encounter more: to Ash_1875, Nebulasaurus, WhisperingMolly, leahistyping, and GonKilluLuciel. And a special one to Lady_Hiako for supporting the Spanish fandom so strongly. Thank you very much to all, and also to those who read. The fandom wouldn't be anything without all of us. And that's it for the first chapter. I already have practically the entire structure planned out, so it'll just be a matter of writing and polishing the scenes. I don't want to venture to say how much time there will be between each chapter, but I'll be completely focused on it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do writing it, and don't hesitate to let me know what you think. In the next chapter, we'll be joining Gon and Killua at age 12, but remember: this is a slow-burn romance. We'll continue to take it slow and enjoy the journey ;) See you soon! :D (And please, don't hesitate to correct me if you need to).

[oscheadcanons]

balloon centered hcs because i need to cope with my sons death somehow

after a few weeks of balloon trying to get into the hotel, oj just started chasing him away with a sewing needle.

he speaks german fluently and nickel taught him some spanish in s3

absolutely cussed salt out more than once

he plays just dance and roblox obbies more than hed like to admit

he admired baseball a lot in season 2

paper and balloon bond over being easily broken

draws himself with wings, even though he doesnt actually have them.

made cookies for oj in an attempt to apologize.

played the piano as a way to cope/distract himself in season 2

.

[maskedanon775]

New blog^^

Hi you can call me Mask and well, I'm not new here but its my first personal blog in [tumblr] and I wanted to make an introduction first.

Languages I speak: Spanish and English.

Pronouns: Any pronouns its fine, don't worry

What I will (try) to post about:

Maybe relatable quotes

My humble attempt of humor

Writing prompts (mainly for fanfics but maybe you will see something else)

Occasionally, I will try to post drawings of my favorite fanfoms

Lastly, I will post one or two things about what I think it's funny about words and how their other language counterparts are

Fandoms:

Undertale

Deltarune

Marvel

DC (I'll open an umbrella here cause it's mainly about Batfam)

Danny Phantom

Pokemon

I hope we get along well, and welcome to my blog!

I don't tolerate NSFW questions or any political talk. Please.

Have a good day/night/evening/morning!^^

[luchicm04]

lost in the forest - part 5

Masterlist

Summary: Both leaders take classes with the unwilling teacher, and she is reminded of her current state.

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Original Female Character

Tag: #lost in the forest fic

posted on ao3

Word Count: 2k

So... this part was difficult to translate, considering how the original was written. The next chapters will contain more two-language conversations, so I will try to translate the expressions and figures of speech as best as I can

Overall warnings: canon-typical violence, adult content, time skips, angst, kidnapping

She wants to murder these people, she is sure of that remembering bitterly how difficult it is to teach people without being an educator. That is why she chose marketing! There you only see numbers, statistics, market research... purchasing behaviors! Not a couple of adults quite frustrating.  

Karen wants to throw in the towel.  

She glares at those red eyes that return an intense discussion of few learned words. How can she explain the grammatical rules? The gerund, the subject, predicate and even worse the tenses... It’s difficult. She would have been better off opting for German or Spanish.  

It’s easier than her native language.  

She hates her past self who thought it would be good to speak to them with this language. She purses her lips at who continues to question as a very intense logical person. Tobirama turned out to be the worst student when he questions the rules so much. Hashirama is less intense and natural.  

This guy is structured, conventional... hateful!  

So it all comes down to her usual room with more papers scattered on the walls in her attempt to be a teacher who gives her ideas and a better understanding of her language. Of course there is progress, she does not deny that it is surprising how quickly they both adapt when she struggled so much when learning Spanish. It took her years... after that the other languages were easier.  

Because by throwing yourself into work of that style you are forced to learn hard.  

“Look, the subject is the person of the statement...”, she begins slowly. At least he has stopped frowning and although slowly he gradually to understand her. Of course that is what she wants to believe when she knows that both their bases are different.  

She bitterly curses Master Tanaka. Why aren’t the Eastern root languages easier? She snorts indignantly.  

“Not understand,” the man simply says in his rough tone, not at all friendly and without any type of conjugation.  

How did she learn Spanish? Ah yes... first she spoke then she understood the basics.  

Something that Hashirama skillfully applies.  

“You do not have to understand the rules first, you know?”, she bites in her simple tone. It’s confusing to be in the same room. Her things are scattered. There have been hard days of confrontations over things so stupid her head hurts.  

She wants a coke. Too bad there isn’t one here.  

“Not understand,” the man insists crossing his arms. “Not explain well.”  

“I’m not a teacher,” the woman now sitting says without any care. “Although I have to admit that there are better students,” she sighs keeping to herself the ease with which they have adapted.  

“Mmmm...” Tobirama doesn’t say anything and looks at the papers. “Exercises,” he gives her a blank parchment, typical of someone who is unkind and doesn’t know how to ask for things.  

“At least say please,” Karen points to one of her drawings where the basic manners that were tattooed on her soul as a child are expressed in a basic way.  

“Mph...” The albino does not comment. “Not have,” he throws shortly with an insolent arch.  

“Despicable,” Karen simply sighs reluctantly taking that sheet. “Dinner?” She ignores the intense look of someone who wants to decipher her lines with so little. The man is usually better at writing than his partner... taking this as a personal challenge.  

Although she swears that Hashirama has more fun since his brilliant idea or learning.  

Why did she choose to teach them? Ah, yes... she needs more to communicate... such as, for example, asking exactly where she is.  

She snorts again, gives some verbs, short verses and conjugations that she remembers, and sighs. Basic education is essential, but she learned it a long time ago and she forgot so many things that it is very difficult to explain. “Look, do this.”  

“Mmmm...” The man doesn’t say anything.  

“Dinner?”, she asks again seeing how she was ignored.  

“Usual time,” he simplifies with short comments, turning his back on her and leaving without any kind of extra expression. He is cold, rude and intense. Tobirama is still not her favorite person, but at least now he is more passable.  

Although he continues to look at her like a lab mouse.  

She looks at the door again, not wanting to take another important step outside. Hashirama indicated that she could leave but not go beyond a certain perimeter for some reason that they simply couldn’t explain, although an internal voice was more of not wanting to... She still feels kidnapped, but she receives a bath and more humane treatment.  

She could complain more but she doesn’t ask for much when she sees that life is rustic. They are distrustful and observant. She doesn’t know what they do, but she thinks it looks like something military, always looking over their shoulders and exchanging whispers that she doesn’t understand.  

She does not want to ponder too much on her little analysis, it is better to rest before the mean because her pain increases as she focuses on deciphering the type of culture beyond the oriental one that she has captured. She settles and closes her eyes to think about her bad luck.  

She misses her family... She denies to fall into depression again, because this progress is already done... and what is done, is done, so she tries not to see the negative in the matter.  

The kidnapped girl simply settles in... she no longer wants to think.  

If not, she will cry again.  

──

She has discovered that the house is lonely at all hours. She brightens up and goes out one afternoon on the fourth day of the week when none of her annoying visitors have come. They have plenty of time and she refuses to accept that she feels alone, depressed and missed by such absences.  

Hashirama’s only. Tobirama is irritatingly calm.  

Not even her usual escorts have come to take her to take a bath. Something is happening and she is bothered by the discomfort of missing out on whatever is going on beyond the thick forest. She stands on the edge listening to the birds in the distance and her nose fills with the clean aroma of nature.  

This is very different even from her destination travel place, now that she thinks about it... How did she get here? She has gone through so many crises that being calm gives her anxiety. She shouldn’t feel like that, she should fight, search and locate herself to be able to return home.  

However, she has confirmed that the constellations are not the same. She does not want to ask for a map to prove the stupid theory that has been going through her head since she first saw them. Those absurd ideas of fictional stories that her sister loves to watch...  

She misses her family, her friends, even her job...  

“You should not be here.” Someone scares her. Tobirama gives her a rather strange look that makes her more uncomfortable than normal. Light bandages are visible under the simple yukata.  

“Your conjugation is correct,” she focuses better when she sees that she should not be interested in the man’s wounds. She pretends not to see them, not to notice them so she can sigh.  

“You should not leave the house,” he warns without changing his cold tone. Karen crosses her arms frowning. A voice advices her not to play hard to get... she sees the features of the man’s white face so strangely tense.  

“I wasn’t going to go to the forest.”  

“That is not what I said.”  

“Mmmm... someone is being mean, more than usual.”  

“Karen,” the man warns with his neat tone in an austere touch, crosses his arms and watches his steps seriously without bothering to explain things. He never does but today it feels different.  

“Well... dinner?”  

“There will not be any.”  

“No?”, she frowns. She doesn’t like the company, but she doesn’t complain for now. She feels she shouldn’t.  

“No.”  

“I can make something.”  

“No.”  

“But...”  

“...”  

Karen tenses up and swallows a strong lump in her throat because of whatever the look transmitted to her with a quick shiver, very different from the first time. She doesn’t say anything, so she turns around with her heart racing because of such a strange emotion she has felt. She walks swiftly and quickens his pace not bothering to see if the company is following her.  

She closes the door and goes to bed automatically not wanting to reply. The person remains expectant.   

Karen has to admit that it was uncomfortable. She didn’t sleep well without wanting to face that person’s murderous harshness.  

Reminding her that she is still kidnapped... and not everyone is Hashirama.  

──

She doesn’t say anything. Karen stays locked up for the next few days with no desire to go out... There is silence, almost like the first days she was there. She hasn’t bathed and although her hair is tough, she has managed to tie it to a messy bun.  

Mikami hasn’t come. Tobirama hasn’t shown up either, thank God, since that annoying night and without asking about Hashirama.  

She remains alone. There has been no food other than bread and rice as always. There is no meat like the last few times. Although it lacks the flavor or softness of the seasoning of her land, she ate it, today conspicuous by its absence.  

“[...]” Someone opens the door. Karen does not turn around, not wanting to face somebody that gives her the murderous coldness of Tobirama. She hears the voice as it approaches her which makes her curious enough to turn around and frowns at not being known.  

“Mikami?”, she asks for her usual companion. She was austere, a rather suspicious lady who always treater her since she arrived at this place. Hashirama had told her her name as soon as she understood her language a little more.  

She doesn’t smile at her. She looks young compared to the former escort, which makes the newcomer at the question.  

She doesn’t say anything. She speaks in her native language with foreign touches, her gaze is dead but not aggressive... just like Tobirama she has some wounds that she simply ignores.  

She presses her lips together. “Are you okay?”, she makes gestures. Not that she was in the top of her favorite people ranking considering how rude she was during her first bath and the judgmental looks she gave her every time she talked to one of the men who visited her.  

But she is a regular person. She understood her fixations a little but more and she was not that difficult to deal with after several days of coldness. She was passable... and this one is completely strange, almost hostile.  

She shakes her head. She hands her a towel and stands by the door.  

She frowns. “[...]”, the stranger continues with a dry order that lacks the flat touch of her precious visit. She purses her lips, looks at her state and sighs, leaving the topic for now when she understands that they will be taking her to the bathroom after not letting her go out.  

She wants to ask so many questions, express her annoyance and perhaps throw a tantrum. The latter not so much. She is not a little girl not to understand that, despite the language barrier and the absence of her only two possible translators, she can sense that something serious happened.  

The woman walks behind. She feels her intense gaze as she walks down the hallway. “Tobirama? Hashirama?”, she asks continuing to walk with her and feels a slight chill that she ignores until she reaches the point where more ladies were looking at her. They are all different, although one or two she can see have light bandages under their rustic yukata.  

She sighs... she tries not to give them too much trouble so she undresses easily, removes the annoying bra substitute and the strange panties that she’s gotten used to, and gets into the bathtub with a trained ease.  

Usually the women talked among themselves, they judged her as they rubbed her or poured things on her body whose reaction they no longer caused her. Today there is silence, almost funereal that makes her remember the death of her grandmother.  

It doesn’t mean that this is... or is it? But she can’t really talk to anyone... not when his two apprentices don’t come, but at least they respect their routines.  

What exactly are they doing?  

A/N: As you will see, I will try to put more of her point of view, who is the focus of attention of others. Even if she doesn't want to she fails as a teacher, but she fights and is oblivious to the fact that the two people she teaches are prodigies... I always considered that both Senju were the best of their clan even after years.

Their learning ability is almost envious and she curses the fact that she did not choose Spanish as the base language in this place, but she felt comfortable with her mother tongue...plus she has more experience than with the others, forgetting the grammatical rules and other things. She now understands why they said that English is not that easy to learn.

Not to mention the slang or synonyms we pull out of our sleeves, a valid complaint I hear from those who learned English.

So poor thing. However, something happened... something that keeps the girl oblivious, in addition to causing a step back from the social progress she had had in the place, which, although null and still feeling like kidnapped, made her remember her position at this point.

They are not friends at the end of the day... many seeing her as a burden, the annoying pet of their clan leader.

Something Karen doesn't know... gaining enemies without knowing it.

Thank you for your comments. For now this is the only thing I can add: this woman will have a hard time…. easy, I don't know, we will discover it little by little.

Author-chan out!