#bilingual brain | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ozimagines · 1 month ago

Note

Hi :)

I finished Oz just a few days ago and I already miss them :( but I‘m so glad I found your blog! I love your writing and everything! 🫶🏼 and I have a bit of a weird request. Could you write something on how the Latinos (Miguel, Chico, hint hint (the others too)) would react if y/n would ask them to help them learn Spanish? (I don’t speak Spanish but I love listen to Miguel when he does.) If they would help them or not and if so, how they would try to teach them. You can add the Italiens if you want. But if you don’t feel anything of it, or if you think it’s shitty, you don’t have to write it, of course!

I hope you have a wonderful day/night and thank you for everything you already did on your blog :)

Literally stop having better ideas than me everyone!! Also thank you for your kind words. I’m trying to get back into things. I miss Oz as well. It’s the show that helped me find myself. So yes I’d love to do this request and yeah I’m gonna add the Italians in a later post because this one is long but also Jia and Adebisi and Stanislavsky later because I think all of them would have strong reactions to you speaking their mother tongue.

I’m poly lingual (English, Italian, and some Spanish, Korean, Yoruba, and Scottish Gaelic), and believe you me, I’ve had my share of international lovers and the look on their face when they realize you’ve been trying to learn their culture is like an insanely hot realization.

Miguel

Miguel and you are chilling on the couch, and Miguel starts laughing at something on his phone. You ask what and he replies it’s a Spanish meme. He tries to translate but it’s idiomatic and hard for a foreigner. The next day you’re both in bed waking up, staring at each other.

“Hey… could you teach me Spanish?”

“…?”

“Like… I don’t know… I’d like to talk to you in Spanish and I keep trying to learn on my own and I’m getting nowhere.”

“…you’ve been trying to learn on your own?”

“Yeah, but I’m shit right now. I still don’t understand a damn thing you say.”

Miguel chuckles deeply with that rough morning gravel. He leans forward and kisses you on the nose.

“Sure, babe. Sure.”

“Like… now?” You ask, and he’s smirking all over again. He pulls you so that your back is to him in bed, and he’s spooning you, face in your neck.

“¿Puedo ir al baño? Is can I go to the bathroom? Donde es is where is, cuanto-“

“No… I mean thank you… but like… maybe something I can use specifically with you?”

Another throaty chuckle.

“Okay, try this; buenos días, mi amor.” (Good morning, my love).

You say it and he gets this little electric sparks through his fingertips. He keeps teaching you.

“Say; te adoro.” (I adore you.)

When you do, his spine tingles. It’s overstimulating. Like those words just turned a key inside him and hit all the right spots. He tries something else, mumbling this one into your neck as he desperately kisses it.

“Say; Nunca volverás a estar solo.”

You do, and he immediately told you over and starts kissing over your body, rolling his own naked flesh in yours. It’s too much. You don’t even ask what you said.

(You’ll never be alone again.)

He makes little flashcards for you and tapes them all over the house like his mom did to make sure they didn’t become no sabo kids. You learn the command “en español” really fast. A few months later and Miguel takes you to his favorite Cuban restaurant, and lets you order for both of them. The waiter answers you in English, as you’re clearly struggling, but Miguel says;

“En español, por favor.”

And makes everyone speak only Spanish around you. He doesn’t care that they’re giving him looks. You’re learning and it’s too cool to watch.

He’s legitimately so proud when you ask for the bill correctly and roll your rs. Just beaming. He’s also so touched you wanted to learn this for him. Just makes him glow for months.

“Te amo, Y/N.”

“Te amo, Miguel.”

Chico

Chico is a BIG Spanish guy. Huge on his heritage, proud to be Latino. (In my mind he’s Mexican. There’s no reason for this other than I’m in love with Otto Sanchez and I grew up near Mexico so that particular brand of Latino culture is close to my heart.) He always has you try his food and listen to his music and such. You get into a really heated argument one night. Nothing too important, but he’s a hothead and good at bringing out the anger in others so… this was where you were at. When he gets passionate, in love or war, he finds himself snarling in Spanish at his opponent/lover. He shouts;

“¡Deja de ser tan jodidamente dramático!” (Stop being so fucking dramatic!)

Your face goes red and you reply:

“¡No puedes hablarme así!” (You can’t talk to me like that!)

His cheeks flush and his heart stops. It takes him a second to recover, if he’s honest. He thinks for a second and then turns to you.

“What did I say?”

You stare at him angrily for a moment, and respond with total seriousness.

“I don’t know. I just know you can’t talk to me like that.”

You two stare each other down for a solid minute before his face broke into a goofy smile and he’s cracking up so hard he can barely stand. Your anger melts away too. He’s got such a handsome laugh. When he composes himself, you finally sit down and talk like adults.

“Where the fuck did you learn that?”

“Soaps, mostly. I like it when they get angry and shout like that.”

He’s laughing again, completely forgetting what had you two arguing in the first place. You hold his hand and play with his fingers.

“I really don’t like that I can’t understand you.”

“I know.” He sighs, and pulls you close. “I’ll stop speaking so much Spanish around you.”

You shake your head and tell him you don’t want that either. You just want to understand him. So you ask.

“Couldn’t you like… I don’t know… teach me some? Like I know it’s complex and I don’t expect to be fluent immediately but goddamn a few words of phrases here and there wouldn’t hurt.”

It’s too bad he’s not a more touchy feely guy because his heart is so fucking full at the moment. Just absolutely bursting with admiration for you. He says of course and your lessons start right then and there.

“Kiss me is bésame, hold me is abrázame, and fóllame is fuck me. Any questions?”

“Couldn’t you teach me like how to say my name and address or something?”

He gives you a look like are you fucking serious right now like which ones are we gonna use more often. You sigh and smile.

“Fóllame.”

Damn if one simple phrase didn’t get his blood fucking boiling right there. It’s almost hard for you to learn Spanish, because every time you speak it, Chico jumps your bones like he’s dying and your genitalia has the cure.

He teaches you through mostly sexual phrases lol. You can’t really speak to anyone without an NC-17 rating.

You’re about two months into your lessons. You go to Chico’s work to surprise him with lunch. You do this from time to time, but today is special, unbeknownst to Chico. He comes out and greet you with the usual kiss, and leans in as always to smell your perfume/cologne. You take your opportunity.

“Te traje dos regalos... almuerzo y sexo. ¿Cuál quieres primero?” (I brought you two gifts; lunch and sex. Which one do you want first?)

His eyes go wide, and he almost knocks the food out of your hand pushing you into the wall and devours you with his kisses.

He takes the rest of the day off. You basically crippled his cock by speaking his language.

Carlos

Mayyyyyube not the most touchy feely guy lol. I think as a partner he’d soften a little but not by much. But he’s yours, and that scraggly gruff exterior didn’t stop you.

It’s a regular night out. You’re both walking to his favorite taco stand, just getting a bite. You love the street corn there and ask him to order you some, knowing this place is the real deal and the menu was entirely in Spanish. He nods and places your order when your turn comes. He just talks to the owner and you’re standing there a little awkwardly. You make out one word though that you definitely understand; (gringa/gringo or insert cultural slam here). What hurts most is you don’t hear Carlos say anything to your defense. You’re sort of wilting the whole rest of the night. He’s asks you several times what’s wrong. You don’t tell him. You just don’t know how.

You’re both home and getting ready for bed. You decide to test him.

“Carlos?”

“Hmm?”

“What does [redacted] mean?”

He pauses for a second and you’re really hoping he makes the right choice.

“Just a word for non-Latinos.” Was all he said, and your heart sank a little. He notices and comes over to you. “What?”

“I know what it means, Carlos.”

“Oh.” Was all he could think to say. “Wanna talk?”

You’re smiling a little at his clumsy attempt at being a decent boyfriend.

“Is that what you think of me?”

“It’s what you are.” He said before he could think to say anything else. “C’mon, Y/N, you’re not exactly Rita Moreno/Desi Arnaz.”

“So help me.”

“…huh?”

“Teach me Spanish.”

“Like all of it?”

“Enough to make that fucking taco guy shut his mouth.”

He barks out a laugh and tells you sure. He’s all about an elaborate revenge plan.

You get to the taco stand about a month later. You’ve been practicing the whole time. You get to the queue and the owner looks over you and directly at Carlos.

“¿Qué le gustaría?” (What would you like?)

You step forward, Carlos’ hand on there small of your back, not saying a word.

“Dos tacos de carne asada para mi novio, un taco de pollo y un krder si maíz callejero para el [redacted] y dos cocas para compartir, por favor.” (Two roast beef tacos for my boyfriend, one chicken taco and an order of street corn for the [redacted] and two cokes to share, please.)

The vendor looks at you, then Carlos, who is beside himself smiling, and then back at you. He nods and begins working. You beam at Carlos who is smoking his cigarette proudly.

So when he gets home the next night, he throws his keys in the bowl and grabs a beer from the kitchen to make himself a drink, and you appear behind him like the beer fairy, holding a michelada you just made. He’s a little stunned, but thanks you, winking at you as he leaves that;

“Te follaré muy fuerte más tarde.” (I’m gonna fuck you so hard later.)

You smirk as his back is to you, and you say;

“Eso espero”. (I hope so.).

He stops in his tracks and turns on his heel.

“Say it again.” He commanded, so you did, a little scared but more turned on at the moment.

He just sets down the michelada and walks over to you, picking you up over his shoulder roughly, and walks to the bedroom.

“Fuck this later shit” was all he said in English for hours.

Carlo

Awww. Good boy needs a hug. He’s also such a doting boyfriend. Like such a good guy. No notes. You’re just having one of those beautiful nights in that never go on as long as they should but somehow go on just long enough. You’re dancing to some silly Christmas song in the kitchen. It’s hardly Christmas yet but damn did he need a pick me up. This one is We Need A Little Christmas. He has it on top volume, swaying with you and spinning you when necessary. He doesn’t sing but you’re loud enough for both of you.

“Merry Christmas, Carlo.”

“Feliz navidad, mi amor.” (Merry Christmas, My Love)

“How do you say ‘present’?”

“Regalo.”

“Well, then, I have an early regalo for you.” You show him the little trinket you got for him. It’s an ornament that says: “con amor, Y/N”. He smiles and gives you one of those strong kisses that takes you a minute to recover.

“I also got a regalo for myself.” You say slyly, and he’s fully expecting you to pull out some kind of sex you, when it’s a book that says Spanish for Beginners. He asks you what it is.

“So you can teach me Spanish. We’ll do like a lesson a night or something. Start slow. I just want to be able to thank your mom for raising such an awesome son.”

Baby boy has tears in his eyes. Like he’s so genuinely and positively touched that you want to share something that important with him. He makes love to you all night, telling you what a thoughtful and loving person you are (but if his friends ask he fucked you raw). You do little lessons here and there together, until you can do words and then sentences. Then you have little conversations in Spanish that turn into long ones. Until he’s able to explain to you how he feels about you and have you understand it.

You go to Christmas that year with his family and find his mom in the kitchen alone.

“Señora Ricardo?”

“Oh! Hi, Y/N!” She greets you, giving you a little hug as always.

“I wanted to tell you something.”

“Go on, mija/mijo.”

You take a deep breath and give it a go.

“Quería agradecerte. Gracias por Carlos. Criaste a un hombre increíble.” (I wanted to thank you. Thank you for Carlo. You raised an amazing man.)

She stops for a second before her eyes water and she pulls you into a deep hug. Out of the corner of your eye you see movement. Carlo is in the doorframe looking as happy as you’ve ever seen him. Looking so at peace with the world.

That night, you say goodbye and go home with Carlo. He’s driving silently in the car, as you watch the stars outside. He breaks the silence by speaking something to you in Spanish.

“Necesito que sepas esto; lo eres todo para mí. Todo. Y todo lo que tengo es tuyo. ¿Entiendes eso?”

You’re halfway asleep, and mumble;

“That’s nice. What does that mean?”

(I need you to know something; you’re everything to me. Everything. And everything I have is yours. Do you understand that?)

“…nothing.” He says with a small smile.

Raoul

Y’all I don’t decide what the pussy likes. She’s an enigma and apparently has a thing for five foot nothing pushing forty Latino daddies at the moment so without further ado…

You’re El Cid’s… something. No one really knows what they are to him. They just are. So you act like one of those fish that preens the shark. It’ll never harm you. It needs you. He likes talking in Spanish around you. You never understand and it lets him have some anonymity in your relationship.

“…El Cid?” (Yes he still makes you call him that.)

He grunts in response, not looking up from his paper. He’s checking the obituaries, you notice, and not sadly.

“Do you think you could teach me some Spanish?”

Now you have his attention. He looks up from his paper.

“Why?”

“Because I want to understand you more.” You answer honestly. That’s the part about you he finds most ridiculous, your honesty. He thinks for a second, not ready to give up his edge. He suddenly has an idea.

Look, he’s full of himself but he has eyes. He understands he’s not Ryan Gosling. And he also had eyes to see that other people want you. Want to take you away from him. He’s certainly not going to listen to T-Swift on repeat if you break up, but damn would he like to keep you around. He smirks and leans over to you.

“How about some phrases to start?”

You nod vigorously, having no idea what he has in mind.

“Aléjate de mí.” (Get away from me.) He has those unkind eyes on full blast now. “It means ‘let’s hang out’.”

You nod and start taking notes on your phone. You don’t notice he’s trying not to lose his head.

“Vete a la mierda.” (Go fuck yourself- idiom) He repeats it for you so you get every syllable. “It means ‘let’s have coffee’.”

“So… mierda is coffee?” (Mierda is shit)

He chokes back a laugh and nods.

“Una mierda, por favor.” (One shit, please.) You pretend to be ordering at a restaurant. Now he actually does crack up but when he composes himself, he tells you it was just your pronunciation that got him.

After a few more lessons, you’re excited to be taken around his friends. You’re really eager to try out the Spanish you learned. You’re hanging around the other guys, saying the phrases you knew before El Cid, like Hola and ¿Como estás?. The others pretend to be impressed with your Spanish to appease Raoul. Some suave younger gentleman comes up to you, not knowing you and El Cid are an item. No one automatically pairs you together anyway. You understand he’s flirting but have no interest in leaving your honey. He chats you up, and you mention you’ve been studying Spanish.

“¿Quieres ir al comer?” (Would you like to go eat?)

“¡Vete a la mierda!” (Go fuck yourself!) you respond with enthusiasm, happy to have made a new friend. He quirks his brow and asks.

“¿Qué dijiste?” (What did you say?) he asks incredulously. Raoul smirks into his tequila and lets the conversation run its course.

“Dije que eres un miserable gusano y ya le pertenezco a papi.” You think you said ‘I said you seem nice, my boyfriend can come too’. What you actually said was (I said you’re a miserable maggot and I already belong to Daddy). Now Raoul walks up and puts an arm around your waist, smiling confidently at the man trying to court you. The man walks away dejectedly and Raoul turns away and leads you with him, having already marked his territory.

You can’t seem to understand why none of your phrases ever result in a nice friend.

Enrique

Enrique rarely spoke Spanish around you. He knew you couldn’t understand anyway, so why waste anybody’s time? But he did have a sense of pride in himself as a Latin man. Thought of himself as inherently more passionate about life. So you two are on a date; fanciest restaurant he could afford, which is already a lot. You’re giving each other the fuck me eyes over the table. Enrique picks up your hand and kisses the top.

“Enjoying your night?”

“Enjoying the company more.” You reply with a smile, trying some of the insanely expensive canapés before you. Enrique grins at you genuinely. What’s the point of being top dog if you can’t spoil your loved one?

He gets a call on his phone suddenly and when he checks the ID, he sighs and tells you it’ll only be a minute. You’re not bothered. You have some understanding of his work and know why he can’t talk to you about it. He answers the phone and you sip some of your wine when your ear perks up.

“Escucha, pedazo de mierda, si ese paquete no llega al destinatario antes de la medianoche de hoy, tu próxima misión será conseguir un tambor de ácido en el que pueda disolver tu cuerpo. ¿Entendido?” He hisses into the phone, and hangs up with a huff. His eyes are stony now, and he angrily takes a sip of the wine in front of him. He notices the silence. You haven’t said a word. “Darling? Something wrong?”

“…I… I guess I just don’t hear you speak Spanish that often.” You mused, still looking him over. “What did you say?”

Enrique flushes.

(Listen, you piece of shit, if that package doesn't reach the recipient before midnight tonight, your next mission will be to get a drum of acid in which I can dissolve your body. Understood?)

“Um… just told an employee of mine that I had a new task for him.” He lies by omission, still sipping his Cabernet Sauvignon. You’re still looking. “Why?”

“I don’t know… you seemed angry.”

He tries to deflect but god help him he didn’t expect your next words.

“It was kind of hot.”

He’s taken aback a little. He’d been called slurs so many times, he’d forgotten Spanish was a Romance language. He’d not realized his unknown threats had gotten you hot and bothered. He quirked a brow at you.

“Really?”

“Yeah… could you teach me a little? Just so I can understand some basic romantic stuff?”

“…really?”

You nod, and smile at him over the candles. You look so perfect and happy that he can’t believe his eyes. Never in his wildest dreams would he imagine his partner wanting to learn Spanish for him. He’s as touched as Morales can be.

“Sure.” He acknowledges but adds a second after, “anything particular in mind?”

“Can you tell me how to tell you that you’re handsome?”

He chuckled a little, because you sort of just did, but he tells you anyway.

“Eres muy guapo.” He replies. “It just means ‘you are handsome’.”

“Hmm… I’d like to compliment you more creatively.” You giggle. He smiling now too. Something about your genuineness just always amuses him. Life for him is always the game, always the hunt. With you, he can relax a little.

“Okay, say this; Eres devastadoramente sexy.”

He coaches you through how to say it.

“What’s it mean?”

“‘You’re devastatingly sexy’.”

You giggle at his ego but you love the lesson.

“Can you teach me how to say ‘I adore your eyes’?”

“Adoro tus ojos.”

“And ‘you’re the man of my dreams’?”

“‘Eres el hombre de mis sueños.’”

“And ‘I can’t wait to make love to you tonight’?”

“‘No puedo esperar para hacerte el amor esta noche’.”

“And-“

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, stop. I can only get so aroused.” He breaths and you laugh loudly, drawing too much attention from other tables. When they give you a look, Enrique demolishes them with his eyes. After you collect yourself, Enrique still smiling at you, you lean forward and ask one more question.

“How do you say…” you whisper something into his ear that makes him audibly growl and paw at your hands. He tells you how to say it, so you pull him close and say it into his ear.

“Fóllame tan fuerte que solo pueda gritar tu nombre.”

(Fuck me so hard that I can only scream your name.)

Enrique quickly gathers your belongings and is rushing you into the car waiting outside. His driver can only pretend not to hear the bestial things occurring in the backseat.

#hbo oz #oz meme #chico guerra #miguel alvarez #enrique morales #carlo ricardo #carlos martinez #Raoul Hernandez #el cid #fuck me this was fun #plus I got to practice my Spanish lol #only the brain rot phrases tho #genuinely enjoyed this ask and already working on the other bilingual boys #Hope y’all enjoyed because I got whiplash going from Carlo to Hernandez lol #like can you say total opposites lol #and also the more asks I get involving Enrique #the more my pussy lusts for that evil son of a bitch #y’all just awaking things inside of me like stop

5 notes · View notes