#my accent is so so shit and this is my native language

[pigeons-with-jello]

born to say [ɒ]chivist, forced to say [ɑː]rchivist (im american)

[unma]

Don Quixote's excited energy is too strong. I have spent the last minute saying "Beach Volleyburr" to myself and laughing. I love her so much.

[nemisuki]

Good Soup

Fantasy AU | In a world of whimsical wonders and magic, the only thing you're curious about is why the blonde suddenly got shy at a simple goodnight. The language barrier between them is what keeps them closer. 

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, no angst, aged up, mutual feelings, split pov, language barriers, bkg learning english, silly bestie kirishima included, love confessions gone wrong, oneshot, bkg is a softie, 2.1k word count

"Go on! You can do it!"

An encouraging smile forms on her face. Her hands clasping together as she practically jumps up and down from mere excitement that he finally agreed to her request. 

Her eyes are completely on him, not wanting to look away. 

It takes a moment for Bakugo to register her words. Attempting to recall what she's been teaching him. 

He assumes she's saying something encouraging, given that bright smile of hers.

He can't believe he's doing this. If it was anyone else he wouldn't even be attempting this shit. But one look at her excited expression made his mind think otherwise.

Plus she's been bothering him about this for weeks now. 

Under his breath, he grumbles a handful of curses in his native language, courtesy of his tribe. He switches his weight onto the other foot, crossing his arms over his chest.

She is quick to notice his sudden fidgeting. A sign of discomposure.

But she thinks it's charming. So she'll keep it to herself.

Y/N takes a step forward in his direction, softening her eyes at the sight of him. Realizing she may have unknowingly put too much pressure on him, "Oh I'm sorry! You don't have too, if you don't want to-"

"N-ɳαɱҽ.... αɾҽ... Bαƙυɠσ Kαƚʂυƙι...."

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Her heart hastens at the sound of his deep voice. His slow and hesitant words echoing in her ear. The foreign accent made her skin tingle with bliss.

After his words, she lets a few giggles escape her lips. Not directed at him, but because the way he avoids eye contact was simply adorable.

She can tell he tried his best.

"Almost!" she says while gently taking a hold of his hand. His body tensing as she makes physical contact.

His eyes darted back and forth between her hand and delicate eyes. She speaks gradually to correct his wording, "my name.... is.... bakugo katsuki.”

She nods in his direction for him to try again.

The sensation of her much smaller hand holding his, the warmth of it, gives him an odd sense of tranquility.

How stupid.

"M-Mყ ɳαɱҽ ιʂ Bαƙυɠσ Kαƚʂυƙι"

"Yes! You did it!"

She squeals with delight. Having to restrain herself from pulling him into a hug. Knowing he'll probably shove her off not a moment after.

So instead she simply squeezes his hand. Honestly a bit shocked he hasn't pulled away yet-

Without warning, she can feel his fingers slowly intertwine with her own. Causing a shiver to go up her spine. 

What is he...

"Gσσԃ.... ɠσσԃ ɱσɾɳιɳɠ"

Huh?

Y/N stares at the blonde, now perplexed at his words. He must've picked it up from their travels together. But does he know what it means? It's not morning but night time.

She tilts her head and lets out a small laugh. How refreshing.

"Hm? Did you mean goodnight?"

The tips of his ears quickly turn red as he hears her laughter.

“Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ" he says, tightening his grip on her hand. Looking into her eyes, now a bit more sincere with his words.

"Ah- you're going to sleep already? I suppose you do sleep early" she hums while nodding in his direction.

"Goodnight Bakugo!"

She's about to pull away yet his grip on her doesn't lessen. His eyes slightly widening at her words.

The blush from his ears immediately spreads across his cheeks in a light dust of pink.

"G-Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ Bαƙυɠσ?" he mumbles to her in slight disbelief.

"Huh? Uh- yeah... Goodnight Bakugo" she says now bewildered by his reaction.

He doesn't move for a few seconds but then his own eyes soften. Completely catching her off guard.

She's never seen such a calm look on his face. And she didn’t know how she lived up til now without seeing it. 

Y/N watches as he pulls his hand away from hers. Now feeling cold without the physical contact. Her fingers twitch, wanting to feel that warmth again.

He takes a hold of the red necklace that's resting along his collarbone. Tugging it off and draping it over her head instead. Lifting her hair so it could sit perfectly around her neck.

She can feel her cheeks warm up at the gesture, "what- your giving this necklace to me? But it's yours" she says, looking down at the red pendants hanging off the black string.

"ʏ/ռ Gσσԃɳιɠԋƚ"

His hand lifts up to gently touch her flushed cheek. Only making her more bashful by the minute. 

What's up with him?

✦ ⎯⎯��ִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

The next morning was quite chaotic.

Y/N emerges from their tent, still feeling drained from her sleep. They’ve been traveling a lot recently and haven’t had the chance to rest up properly. 

She steps over to the campfire, joining Bakugo and Kirishima for some breakfast. Seems like the blonde is cooking some soup. 

"Hi you two" she says, yawning and attempting to rub her eyes awake.

She didn’t even have the time to sit down when-

"Y/N?! Why are you wearing Bakugos necklace?!" Kirishima quickly whispers to her, looking baffled and sending a suspicious look her way. 

Kirishima was completely fluent in the English language unlike Bakugo. Apparently when dragon kind are mere fledglings, they're especially quick to pick up multiple languages.

Hence this left Kirishima to be the translator for the trio. 

The duo found Y/N a few months ago, a rogue traveler who enjoyed exploring the world. She practically clung to the two after they helped her take out some bandits, who previously attempted to steal her rare items such as unicorn hair and some potions. 

She grew fond of the duo and decided to tag along ever since. At first Bakugo was completely against the idea. But the red haired dragon took a quick liking to her. So against Bakugos will, Kirishima allowed her to join them.

And so they’ve been traveling together since then. Exploring the world and taking on quests for gold. 

For now they needed rest, so they set up a little camp for a few days. 

"Huh? Oh this!" her hand gently traced over the variety of red beads. A sheepish smile sneaked on her face as she recalled yesterday's events, "Bakugo gave it to me last night when you went out to collect more firewood.”

The blonde ignores the whispered chatter behind him, continuing to stir the pot of soup around. Well not like he could understand what they are saying anyways. 

Meanwhile, Kirishima practically jumps out of his seat from her words. Looking at Y/N as if she had two heads.

"Kirishima? What's wrong?"

"You're telling me Bakugo willingly gave that to you?! Did he tell you anything else?!"

"Uh- well... he just told me goodnight is all"

"Goodnight?"

But before she could respond, Bakugo was already walking towards them. Holding two bowls of warm soup and handing one to Kirishima. 

His head then turns to look at Y/N, holding the other out to her. He seems to be in thought, trying to recall the right words to say, "...ԋι... ʂσυρ... ϝσɾ ყσυ?"

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

"Good Morning Bakugo! Ah thank you so much" she takes the warm bowl and looks back up at him. Feeling her body tingle with joy. A warm smile displayed across her face. 

Kirishima's eyes are practically bulging out of his sockets as he looks between the two. Having a sudden realization.

He quickly looks in Bakugos direction and starts speaking in their native tongue. 

"BαƙυႦɾσ! Aɾҽ ყσυ ƚɯσ σϝϝιƈιαʅ?!"

The blonde's mood suddenly switches as he stares at Kirishima. Immediately soured at the dragons words, "Tƈԋ ɳσɳҽ σϝ ყσυɾ ԃαɱɳ Ⴆυʂιɳҽʂʂ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

"Hσʅყ ƈɾαρ ყσυ αɾҽ! Yσυ ɠαʋҽ ԋҽɾ ყσυɾ ɳҽƈƙʅαƈҽ αɳԃ ιƚʂ ƚɾαԃιƚισɳ ιɳ ყσυɾ ƚɾιႦҽ ƚσ ɠιʋҽ ιƚ ƚσ ყσυɾ σɳҽ ƚɾυҽ ʅσʋҽ! Cσɳɠɾαƚʂ ɱαɳ!" he shines an excited grin and pats Bakugos back encouragingly. His wings fluttered involuntarily with pure delight.

"Hαɳԃʂ σϝϝ ԃαɱɳ ιƚ!" Bakugo yells back, trying to shove his hand away. Followed by a couple of empty threats directed at the red head. 

After a few seconds, confusion suddenly dawns on Kirishima. He takes a peek back at Y/N who is sitting down on a log calmly eating her soup. Already used to the twos bickering so much that it doesn't faze her. 

"Wαιƚ, ԋσɯ ԃιԃ ყσυ ƚɯσ ҽʋҽɳ ƈσɳϝҽʂʂ? Dιԃ ყσυ ƚҽʅʅ ԋҽɾ ιɳ Eɳɠʅιʂԋ?"

"Lιƙҽ I ʂαιԃ Ⴆҽϝσɾҽ! Nσɳҽ σϝ ყσυɾ Ⴆυʂιɳҽʂʂ!"

"Aɯ ƈ'ɱσɳ BαƙυႦɾσ! I'ɱ ƈυɾισυʂ!"

The blonde lets out an annoyed sigh. Knowing Kirishima won't stop his pestering anytime soon unless he answers. So reluctantly he speaks in a quiet grumble, "I ʂαιԃ.... goodnight ƚσ ԋҽɾ"

A moment of silence passes between the two. 

Kirishima tries processing his words but he furrows his brows completely lost, "Uԋ σƙαყ? Sσ ɯԋҽɳ ԃιԃ ყσυ ƈσɳϝҽʂʂ ƚσ ԋҽɾ?"

"Hαԋ? I ʝυʂƚ ƚσʅԃ ყσυ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

"Wαιƚ- ɯԋαƚ?! Nυ υԋ!"

"I ƚσʅԃ ԋҽɾ goodnight! Aɳԃ ʂԋҽ ʂαιԃ ιƚ Ⴆαƈƙ!"

"Hσʅԃ σɳ, ԋσʅԃ σɳ! BαƙυႦɾσ! Wԋαƚ ԃσ ყσυ ƚԋιɳƙ goodnight ɱҽαɳʂ?"

"Eԋ? Wԋαƚ ƚყρҽ σϝ ϙυҽʂƚισɳ ιʂ ƚԋαƚ! Iƚ ɱҽαɳʂ I ʅσʋҽ ყσυ ιɳ ҽɳɠʅιʂԋ!"

Kirishima couldn't believe what he was hearing. From Bakugo out of all people. 

The dragon practically bursts into a fit of laughter. Holding his stomach and wiping tears from his eyes that started to form at this revelation.

Bakugo stares at him baffled then a look of embarrassment forms on his face,"ԃσɳ'ƚ ƚҽʅʅ ɱҽ-"

"D-Dυԃҽ! Goodnight ԃσҽʂɳ'ƚ ɱҽαɳ I ʅσʋҽ ყσυ ιɳ ҽɳɠʅιʂԋ!" Kirishima manages to say in between his relentless giggles.

"Mρԋ-" Bakugo quickly turns around to hide his face. He couldn't believe it. But it makes sense now, last night's look of confusion on her face.

The way she went straight to the tent after he gave her the necklace. He just assumed she was just as shy as he was. 

"Hey what are you two talking about?" Y/N says walking in their direction with a look of interest in her eyes. 

"Nothing, just Bakugo thinking he confessed-"

At the sound of his voice, the blonde spins around and slaps the back of Kirishima's head. Not understanding much but knowing he's up to no good. Making the dragon stop mid sentence to whine and rub his scalp.

Bakugo eyes travel to Y/N, more specifically the necklace around her neck. His necklace. 

He huffs and points at the piece of jewelry. Then proceeds to open his hand at her. Asking for it back silently.

He waits, expecting her to hand it back. 

The blonde was beyond embarrassed that she didn't understand his motivates yesterday. Thankfully she seemed oblivious to it all. 

In his tribe, it's tradition for males to pass on their necklaces to their lover, signifying eternal devotion and trust. Yet the two weren't official after all like he originally thought. 

He'll just give it to her another time. When he learns how to properly confess.

But then all his thoughts pause when he sees Y/N pouting and shaking her head no. Holding the necklace closer to her body so he can't snatch it away.

"I want to keep it please" she says softly to him, hearing her own heartbeat in her ears from the nerves. She doesn't know why he wants it back, but she feels closer to him this way. It's the first thing he's ever given her.

Kirishima being the third wheel, quickly translates to Bakugo with a sly grin.

Bakugo listens then lets out a sigh of defeat. Waving his hand dismissively to her, allowing Y/N to keep it. She smiles brightly and nods towards him, “thank you bakugo!” 

He grunts in response and walks away to serve himself a bowl of soup. Or perhaps to hide the flushed look on his face. 

One day he'll learn how to confess. Maybe he’ll ask Kirishima for some help later on. 

What a pain.

But little did the blonde know.

Y/N was already planning to ask Kirishima the same thing. Trying to learn Bakugos native language in hopes of confessing her feelings. 

Kirishima could only bite back his tongue to hide his knowing smile. Looking at the oblivious pair as they all eat breakfast around the campfire.

Though he couldn't help but to let out a small chuckle at the sheer coincidence of it all.

"Hm? What's so funny Kirishima?"

He dismissively waves his hands at Y/N's comment and smirks, "nothing at all, just realized I forgot to say goodnight to you yesterday" he says, holding back a laugh as Bakugos head snaps in his direction. 

The blonde sends Kirishima a deadly glare. Standing up to teach him a lesson. Seems Bakugo reached his daily limit of the redheads teasing, "Yσυɾ ԃҽαԃ ʂԋιƚƚყ ԋαιɾ!"

That's how Kirishima ends up hiding behind her as Bakugo stomps towards the two. Leaving poor Y/N as a human shield.

She still has no idea what's going on but laughs alongside Kirishima as the three chase each other around the campfire. 

What a good day…. and night?

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

A/N ||| This fanfic was inspired by a Fantasy Bakugo x Reader piece I read a LONGGGG time ago on Wattpad. When I was younger, I was obsessed with this fic as a newbie reader & mha fan. Unfortunately it never had a proper ending, as it's incomplete like many other forgotten fanfics out there. I’ll add the link here to credit them but please remember it's INCOMPLETE! And the author won’t update it anymore so fyi! This was oddly healing to my younger self, kinda funny how I went from being a reader to the writer :)

[homunculus-argument]

Since english is not my first language, I can do whatever I want with my accent in it. I re-taught myself to pronounce sharp R's because my native language has them, and I like how it sounds. And I have now decided that from hereon I am pronouncing þ as simply f, because fuck trying to pronounce th in a sensible way.

So therefore I will now just say shit like fink, fanks, and so on. It's not that hard to say it right but it's annoying enough that I'll do the fun thing instead.

[katiascraft]

Hi!! I've been obsess with your works

Now, hear me out because your poll stroke an idea in me 👀👀

How about: Argentine!Reader x Oscar Piastri, and starts teaching him spanish so he can understand Franco's Interviews

Thank you!!

Ooooh yes yes yes!!! Here it is and I hope you like it 💌 thank you for your requests and support! I really appreciate it mwak mwak 😙 (sorry it’s a bit late but better late than never!)

——————————————————————————————

“Indirectas Directas” | OP81

Part 1 -> “Made in Argentina: The Series” (Oscar’s Version)

Parings: Oscar Piastri x Argentine!Reader.

Summary: you and Oscar have known each other since your best friend Franco Colapinto started competing in F3. You always had a crush on the Australian pilot. You have been friends for a while now but the friendship got closer since Franco got in F1 and you can see each other every race weekend. The butterflies starts for both of you. Do you really just wanna be friends? You teaching him “piropos” from your country may have subliminal messages.

Now playing: “IMÁN (Two of Us)” by Maria Becerra.

Word count: +1.2k.

Warnings: a few curse words. Pure fluff. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Author’s note: alrightyyyyy I hope this is good! And I really recommend Maria! I love herrrr my queen!! I did my best with the piropos jajaja Don’t forget to like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

“Hola, todo bien?” Oscar said carefully and weirdly remembering what you taught him a few seconds ago. You nodded proud of his Spanish.

“Todo bien, ¿qué contas?” You said in your Argentine accent making him open his eyes wildly panicking. He loved your voice in Spanish; it was slightly higher pitched than in English. In English you have a deeper voice for some reason. Of course he asked about it and you explained it may be because of the pronunciation of the words. It's really so different from one language to the other.

“What the hell did you ask?” He said giggling a little, making you laugh too.

“I asked you what’s up” you explained and wrote down that phrase in the little notebook he brought with a pen. All mc claren branded.

The friendship between you two has become closer with each race. You were good friends before but not that close. It was something either of you couldn’t explain. Like your bodies were driven directly to one another unconsciously. You didn’t want to think too much about it. You didn’t want to overthink it.

His face was like ‘oh yeah right it makes sense’. He smiled at your handwriting so rounded and legible. Unlike his. His was a little messy.

“Yo estoy carrera hoy” he tried to answer it without asking how to. You laughed and he blushed. “This is embarrassing, it's really hard to connect the words” he said shyly and you found it so cute.

“It was close though don’t feel bad. Spanish it’s super complicated for non-Latin language speakers. We have like 20 tenses and shit. It’s a mess” you explained to cheer him up. He loved the fact you knew so much about languages because you also knew how to talk Portuguese and Italian pretty perfectly in his opinion. He has heard you even trying to speak French with Pierre last weekend. He was impressed.

“Yeah I get it now” he said grinning. “Must be nice to flirt in Spanish like I don’t know like you automatically sound sexier and more interesting” he said, making you laugh. “No really like I heard Carlos talking to an interviewer the other day and I think I am in love actually” he said, making you laugh even more. He loved making you laugh. Your laugh was like a drug to him. You looked way too cute doing so.

“Well I don’t know actually but in Argentina we have some top level flirting like really great phrases. Let me teach you some. Wait I’ll look for some on google so I can help myself remember” you said excited about it because you knew it was gonna be bizarre and funny at best.

“Phrases? Like roses are red and that kind of stuff?” He asked curiously and you nodded looking at your phone.

He couldn’t help but get distracted by the way you looked. Like every other race weekend you were wearing one of the million Argentina tees you have in your wardrobe. Your skin was glowing because of the sunscreen making your freckles stand out even more. You dyed your hair blond a few weeks ago and it looked incredible on you. He wouldn’t have expected that change but it looked so good on you. Anyway, he was convinced that anything you do to your hair will always look good always. Because you were beautiful. And he thought that was dangerous. You’re supposed to be friends right? And he knows Franco will kill him if he finds out he likes you. But he couldn’t help it. You were so interesting to him. You went everywhere with your mate and sang a lot of football songs he didn’t understand but you looked so happy singing them with Franco. Like he was captivated by your foreign beauty. So different from Australia or Europe or even the United States. You were loud and always laughing. Your bright smile always makes everyone so happy. All of the boys loved you. You were the life of every party. And you also knew so much about formula 1 it was impressive. Then you told him you were studying for an engineering degree and everything made sense. You loved the sport. And you were the proud friend. He loved that you were so passionate about everything. Even now that you have this teacher and student dynamic, you take it so seriously. He loved it. And he liked it even more because he knew that you were a teacher back in your country. And he could see how much you love to teach and you were actually really good at it.

“Alright I found the first one!” You said already laughing. “Okay ready?” He nodded, smiling, waiting for your magic voice to pronounce the weirdest shit but sound amazing.

“Mi amor, quien fuera cemento para sostener ese monumento” you said and started laughing because his face was a poem.

“What the hell?” He said laughing as well. “What does it mean? It really sounded terrible, " he said dramatically.

“It means: my love, who could be cement to hold that monument” he bursted out laughing.

“What? I don’t know if it’s geniuous or rude to be honest” he said sincerely making you laugh.

“Oh my god that was so cringe I love it” you said looking for another one.

“Don’t even try to make me pronounce that last one please” he warned you funny. You denied with your head.

“Okay I found another one listen: tu con tantas curvas y yo sin frenos. Try to translate it” you said because there were words you already taught him.

“Oh my god alright. Repeat it please?” You repeated it and he thought for a few seconds.

“Uh tu curvas y yo frenos?” He said confused. You giggled a little but applauded proudly.

“Yes! You're getting better Oscky” you said sweetly. “It was: you with so many corners and I have no brakes” you said, smiling funny.

“Oh like the curves of the body right?” You nodded at his questions. “Oh alright I get it! So is like double meaning”

“Exactly” you answered. “Alright last one: besar es el lenguaje del amor, te importaría comenzar una conversación conmigo?” You said blushing. Your subconscious chose this one without leaving you a warning.

“You said something with kiss right?” He asked and you nodded. He blushed too. You were like two teenagers blushing and giggling.

“I said: kissing it’s the language of love. Would you mind starting a conversation?” You explained.

“You wanna kiss me?” His words slipped through his lips.

“Maybe I do” your words slipped through your lips.

You were both so red. An awkward silence made its presence.

“Oscar, sorry to interrupt but Zac is calling us both. Hey y/n, you good darling?” Lando appeared out of nowhere so save yourselves from the worst silence situation you’ve ever been into. Lando hugged you kissing your cheek and you smiled at him. Oscar took his things ready to go.

“All good Land. Hope you have a good reunion. See you after the practices!” You said waving to him. And Oscar gave you a cheeky smile.

Holy shit you’re fucked.

[slut4hee]

Enha/Hyunline Reaction To You Calling Them Papi For The First Time

{Paring: Enha/Hyungline

{Genre: pure smut

{Synopsis: In which you call them papi for the first time during sex

{Warnings: explicit scenes

*giggles mischievously and rubs hands together* this is for my Latina readers 🤭

—————————————————————————

HEESEUNG:

Omg I can see him having you face down ass up, pounding into your pussy like a mad man. He was hitting all the right angles, your teeth biting at the sheets as you let out loud screams and cries.

“Oh fuck H-Heeseung, oh Papi fuck me just like that, don’t stop please please” You moaned loudly, as you clawed at the sheets. He would halt his movements and flip you around like you weighed nothing, just to stare at you in a state of shook.

“Fuck baby what did you just call me?” You would automatically get nervous, thinking you made him feel uncomfortable but truth is, it turned him on so much he had to take 5, before he blew his load too quickly.

“Fuck baby that’s so fucking hot, please call me that again, such a sexy accent you have”

JAY:

Omfg Jay would have you in missionary, your legs folded to your chest, as he drills into your tight heat with his thick cock. You could feel him reaching the deepest depths of your womb, your body feeling like it’s on fire with how hard you’re about to climax.

“Jongseong, I’m gonna cum for you Papi, fuckk” You would scream out without thinking twice about the outcome, too fucked out to even register your words. Jay would immediately catch that, telling you how turned on and sexy it is for you to call him papi.

“Oh yeah? Papi? Is that what you been wanting to call me this whole time baby? That’s right papi gonna make you cum so hard” He would continue to abuse your poor cunt until you both tire out.

“That’s right cum for papi”

JAKE:

I dream of calling Jake papi btw! But ay dio mio, just picture Jake having your legs spread wide open for him, your glistening wet pussy on full display for him as he sucks on your pussy like a baby with a pacifier. We all know Jake is a munchie munch, so I can definitely seeing him eating you messy, sucking on your pussy clit, and doing all kinds of tricks with his tongue like figure 8’s.

“Oh shit Jake, oh Papi Jake, eat my pretty little pussy just like that, ay lame a mi gatito baby fuck” You would be gripping his hair so tightly, causing him to groan against your pussy, and wince in pain, which sends another shock of pleasure through your body.

He would immediately let out pathetic little moans at you calling him that and speaking a language to him that he doesn’t understand whatsoever. But it turns him on so fucking much, knowing even though he can’t understand what you’re saying to him, he just knows it’s the most filthy shit ever.

“Holy shit baby girl, did you just call me papi?” You would just moan in response, nodding your head frantically in agreement, so he can continue to feast on your dripping pussy.

“Fuck yeah baby I like that shit, c’mon talk to me more in Spanish baby, such a sexy fucking girl” the both of you would go back and forth speaking each other’s native language, fucking and overstimulating each other’s bodies all night.

“That’s right mi amor, cum on Papi’s face”

SUNGHOON:

Let me just say like this, who wouldn’t want to call this man papi, like?? he’s so papi material it’s crazy!!! Just imagine papi hoon having you in the spoon position, his long thick cock penetrating your gummy walls, cock so deep inside you, you’re seeing stars. This position allowed to feel every detail of Sunghoon’s dick, the prominent ridges on the sides of his cock and the thick mushroom tip abusing your cervix.

“Fuuuck Papii, you’re so fucking deep inside me hoon, mas duro baby, mas duro!” You would let out whimpers and loud screams, feeling your high approaching rapidly.

“Darling now you know I can’t understand what you’re saying, but I can’t lie and say it isn’t turning me on like crazy right now” He groans, his thrusts almost animalistic, fucking into you so deep and hard.

“Si papi siii, hard it just like that ay dios mios!” You clawed at the pillows and sheets, his cock just felt that good.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, Papi will give it to you mas duro”

Now we all faint…..

A/n: I have no words, I need them to fuck me so damn good, that I teach them the whole Spanish language fuckkk😩🙂‍↕️ but I hope you guys enjoyed this, reblogs and feedback is greatly appreciated!🫶🏽

[moshuka]

hey can you do literally ANYTHINGGGGG for nika. please im gojng crazy.

girlfriend- n. muhl

!! - super short, some nsfw, english isn’t my first language

!! - sometimes you’ll have full conversations where she speaks in croatian and you speak in your native language

!! - queen of foreplay we already know

!! - you go to every single storm game even when she doesn’t play

!! - big switch

!! - i think she’d like hair pulling

!! - cooks you croatian food

!! - you’ll come home one night to find a whole feast on the dinner table

!! - “kiss the cook” apron

!! - you break her so easily

!! - one time kk was doing some cringe shit, everyone was laughing except nika, who was just standing there with her arms crossed. you glance at her, then back at kk, and she immediately bursts into laughter

!! - shes so cute i love her so much

!! - you melt when her accent comes out, and vice versa (if you have an accent)

[theamaus]

Good day! Your art and work are magnificent, headcanons stricks right into my heart🥰 I am in love with the dynamic between the red and blue characters you portray, especially Medics. Also HeavyMedic interactions are adorable.

I have a question. You said about language difficulties,were there any miscommunication between Heavy and Medic (both RED and BLU) that causes hurt feeling or some drama? How did they make through it? Are they help each other to understand bad English pronouns and luck of vocabulary? (Mostly how BluMedic deal with it).

Thank you for your time and hope for answer. Have a great day 💕

HeavyMedic headcannons: Communication

RED HeavyMedic - Misha and Herbert

Herbert actually has a pretty strong grasp on the english language when he starts working for MannCo. so there are very few things he doesn't understand. Misha on the other hand finds it very difficult and complicated. He has a PhD in russian litterature and could recite you poems and give long complex lectures in russian but in english he sounds like a bumbeling idiot, which often results in frustration and angry outbursts.

Herbert tries to bare with him but he is not a patient man and soon they are both frustrated and angry.

At some point Misha has had enough and asks Gabriel (Spy) to tutor him and eventually he does get better.

He learns german too, and he gets good enough at it that he can hold a simple conversation with Herbert, who is over the moon that he would go through the trouble.

Mostly Misha likes to listen and obersve, so he asks Herbert to tell him stories in german, which he gladly does.

After a few years there are hardly any liguistic barriers between them.

BLU HeavyMedic - Ivan and Friedrich (Fritz)

Fritz was never taught english in his youth and doesn't really like it as a language, but because of his job at MannCo. He has to suck it up and actually sit down and study. He understands the basics when he is hired, but sayings, slang, jokes and metaphors goes over his head, which makes him seem humorless.

Ivan is a but more familiar with english when he joins the team, having lived in Alaska for a while before going south to work. He still has the thickest accent imaginable. He has spent his time around native speakers and knows mostly street-slang and cusswords, can't read or spell though.

In the beginning they have very basic conversations, trying with broken english and hand gestures to communicate.

It's slow and frustrating, but Ivan was never very talkative anyway and is really good at reading body language from his time in prison. Fritz is not and prefers it when people clearly tell him what they want.

They get into more arguments than Herbert and Misha, mostly due to Ivans lack of clear verbal communication. Fritz wants to understand and gets frustrated when people wave him off and doesn't want to explain what they mean when they say things.

When they get into fights and Fritz gets too worked up he reverts back to german and Ivan returns fire in loud angry ukrainian.

They seperate to cool off and when they eventually meet up to apologize its often done through touch and silent glances. When words hurt silence heals.

They get very good at silent communicatian and can have whole conversations with no words. No one will know whats going on until one of them laughs out loud and it turns out they've been talking shit for hours.

[saxophonesir]

Part four of my white passing Tim Drake agenda

It started with a joke.

Dick had been helping Tim clean up his apartment—by which he meant Dick was lounging on Tim’s couch, making comments, while Tim actually cleaned.

Tim was reorganizing his bookshelf when Dick, scrolling through his phone, snorted. “Man, I swear, Bruce has us all collecting languages like trading cards. What are you at now? Five? Six?”

Tim rolled his eyes, shifting a stack of books. “Seven.”

Dick let out a low whistle. “Show-off. What are they?”

Tim didn’t even look up. “French, German, Spanish, Russian, Latin, Greek, and Mandarin.”

Dick froze. “Mandarin?”

Tim, still distracted, hummed in confirmation. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“Huh.”

Tim turned, eyebrow raised. “What?”

Dick sat up, studying him like he’d just grown a second head. “You speak Mandarin.”

Tim frowned. “Yeah? So?”

Dick gestured vaguely at him. “Since when do you speak Mandarin?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Since I learned it, obviously.”

Dick scoffed. “No, I mean—why?”

Tim blinked, thrown off by the question. “…Why does anyone learn a language?”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but, like… was it just for missions? Or did you—” He cut himself off, his brain finally catching up.

Tim saw the exact moment it clicked.

Dick’s eyes widened slightly, his expression shifting from confusion to realization to something softer. “Wait. Is this a family thing?”

Tim sighed. He should’ve known this was going to happen eventually. “…Yeah. My mom was Chinese.”

Dick stared at him. “Holy shit.”

Tim rolled his eyes again. “Really? That’s your reaction?”

“I mean—! I just—!” Dick gestured wildly, clearly thrown. “Dude, how did I not know that?”

Tim shrugged, turning back to his bookshelf. “I don’t really talk about it.”

Dick was still staring, his brain visibly short-circuiting. “I just assumed—you know, rich Gotham kid, white parents—” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, I’m an idiot.”

Tim smirked. “Finally, something we can agree on.”

Dick huffed, then, after a pause, asked, “So… do you actually use it? Like, can you hold a conversation?”

Tim hesitated, then admitted, “…My Mandarin is kind of crap.”

Dick’s brows shot up. “But you speak seven languages?”

Tim groaned, flopping onto the couch beside him. “I know! It makes no sense! I can read it fine, my grammar’s solid, but my accent—” He shook his head. “Apparently, I sound awful.”

Dick snickered. “Like, ‘off’ how?”

Tim glared at him. “Like, I sound like a white guy reading from a phrasebook.”

Dick lost it, doubling over with laughter. “Oh my god—”

Tim shoved him. “Shut up.”

Dick was still grinning. “No, no, it’s just—it’s so you! Of course you’d be perfect at every other language but sound like a tourist in the one tied to your own family.”

Tim scowled. “Glad you find it funny.”

Dick nudged him playfully. “Hey, it’s kinda endearing. And, you know, we do have a bunch of native speakers in the family. If you ever wanna work on it, I’m sure Damian would love to mock—I mean, help you.”

Tim groaned. “Great. Exactly what I need.”

Dick grinned. “Hey, I think it’s cool. And, you know, if you ever do wanna talk about it, I’m all ears.”

Tim glanced at en gave a small nod. “Yeah. Thanks, Dick.”

Dick beamed. “Anytime. Now, say something in Mandarin. I gotta hear this accent.”

Tim threw a pillow at his face.

Now, Bruce. Bruce prided himself on knowing everything about the people in his life. It wasn’t just a habit—it was a necessity. Information was protection. If he knew, he could prepare. If he could prepare, he could keep them safe.

It wasn’t arrogance—it was necessity. Their lives depended on preparation, on understanding the people they fought alongside. He had contingency plans for all of them, profiles meticulously detailed, habits cataloged. He knew how Jason held his jaw when he was about to throw a punch, the exact lilt in Dick’s voice when he was covering up exhaustion, the barely perceptible shift in Damian’s stance when he was about to lie.

And yet, somehow, he had missed something so fundamental about Tim that it made him question everything.

He had overheard it by accident.

A rare quiet evening in the manor, Damian and Tim sitting at the long dining table, a chess game between them. Bruce had only been half-listening as he went over case notes, his mind caught between the present and the ever-growing weight of unfinished business. Then, in a tone that was more observational than judgmental, Damian had said, “Your pronunciation is dreadful. It is almost shameful, considering your background.”

Tim had groaned. “Yes, thank you, Damian. I’m aware.”

Bruce hadn’t thought much of it at first—until Damian continued.

“It is strange. You should be more naturally inclined toward it.”

Tim had sighed. “Yeah, well, language skills aren’t genetic, Damian. And just because my mom was Chinese doesn’t mean I grew up speaking it fluently.”

Bruce had stilled.

It was such a small thing. Just a few words exchanged between brothers.

But they hit Bruce like a blow to the chest.

Tim’s mother was Chinese.

Janet Drake—distant, sharp, refined—had been Chinese. And Bruce had never once thought about it. Never questioned it.

And suddenly, all the little things he had overlooked over the years began to piece themselves together.

The way Tim brewed tea with an almost unconscious precision. The books on his shelves, some with spines marked in Chinese characters. The way he sometimes hesitated before saying certain words, as if recalling something half-forgotten. The fact that he had never quite seemed at home in spaces meant for him, never quite fit into the image of “Timothy Jackson Drake” that the world had constructed around him.

Bruce had missed it.

And that realization settled deep inside him, alongside all the other failures he carried when it came to Tim.

Because, of course, he had missed it. Of course, Tim was the one son he had never quite been able to read.

With Dick, there was warmth, openness. With Jason, there had been fire, defiance. Even Damian, for all his sharp edges, had a clear, undeniable presence.

But Tim?

Tim had always been quiet. Always watching. Always adapting. A chameleon in any situation, taking up only as much space as the moment required. He was easy to perceive, but never to see.

And now Bruce was wondering—how much else had he missed?

The thought lingered with him long after Damian had won the chess game and Tim had grumbled about it. Long after they had cleared the board and gone their separate ways.

That night, Bruce found himself in the cave, staring at Tim’s file on the Batcomputer.

It contained everything—height, weight, medical records, case history. But nowhere in those cold, analytical lines of text was the truth of who Tim was.

Who he had always been.

Bruce sat in the dim glow of the monitor, fingers steepled, jaw tight.

For the first time in a long while, he felt like the world’s greatest detective had failed to solve the most important case of all.

His own son.

It makes sense now, in everything Bruce had dismissed before. When he overheard Tim practicing Mandarin with Damian, his accent just slightly off. When he’d caught sight of an old photo of Janet Drake, tucked away in a folder on Tim’s desk. Or when it was the tea—chrysanthemum, Tim had said absentmindedly one night, a quiet tradition carried from his mother, a detail Bruce had never thought to ask about.

It was staggering.

Not because it changed anything—Tim was still Tim. But because he had missed it. Because it made him realize just how much he had always been missing when it came to Tim.

It was a quiet night in the Cave when he finally said it.

“I didn’t know.”

Tim, hunched over the Batcomputer, barely looked up. “Know what?”

Bruce hesitated. “That your mother was Chinese.”

Tim’s fingers froze over the keyboard.

For a second, there was nothing. Then, slowly, Tim turned, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

Bruce exhaled, feeling something heavy settle in his chest. “No.”

Tim studied him, and Bruce could see it happening—Tim processing, assessing, deciding how to react.

Then, with a faint, almost amused scoff, Tim said, “Huh. And here I thought you knew everything.”

Bruce closed his eyes briefly. “I should have.”

Tim was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was unreadable. “Does it bother you?”

Bruce’s eyes snapped open. “Of course not.”

Tim tilted his head slightly, like he was testing Bruce’s reaction, looking for cracks in his composure. “Then why bring it up?”

Because I failed you.

Because you’re my son, and I should have known.

Bruce exhaled. “Because I realize now how much I’ve overlooked.”

Tim blinked at that, clearly not expecting the admission.

Bruce pressed on. “I… I’ve always felt like there was something missing. Like I was never able to connect with you the way I do with the others.” His jaw tightened. “I thought it was just me. That I was failing in some way.”

Tim’s expression flickered—something unreadable, something quiet.

“…Bruce.” His voice was softer now, less guarded. “It’s not like I was hiding it.”

“I know.”

Tim glanced away, drumming his fingers against the desk. “…Guess I just never thought it mattered.”

“It does,” Bruce said simply.

Tim let out a slow breath, then, after a pause, smirked. “Well. If it makes you feel better, I barely speak Mandarin anyway. My accent’s terrible.”

Bruce gave him a look. “Yes, I’ve heard.”

Tim groaned. “Oh my god, not you too—”

Bruce let the corner of his mouth quirk up, just slightly.

Tim rolled his eyes, but there was something lighter in his expression now, something easier.

And Bruce… Bruce felt it, too.

Maybe they weren’t as disconnected as he had always feared.

Part three

[graceofagodswrath]

Menstrual Cycles and Aliens

“I apologize, but Williams is doing what?”

Kate sighed, brown eyes rolling at Ka’oolai’s stiff confusion. “Bleeding Niagara Falls out of her uterus. She’s gonna need a couple days.”

“Katy.” Jasmine hissed. “That is not how you explain this shit to people.”

Kate’s lips thinned in exasperation. “It makes them listen! God knows how many times I had to describe it so graphically to get all the men in my family to understand that you can’t just ‘suck it up!’”

The three sat in the dining lounge, a room on the transport ship meant for relaxation for workers on their breaks. Ka’looai, the ship’s second-in-command, had inquired about Pilot William’s ask for absence. Kate Blanche, the engineer and second roommate to De’maya, had answered in her usually blunt way. Luckily, The third roommate and Quartermaster of the ship, Jasmine Lativos, had been there to cushion Ka’looai’s immediate confusion.

Ka’looai held up their four hands to the two humans, insectoid limbs the notable deep, iridescent purple of their native race, Yamogai. They resembled a mix of a beetle and praying mantis, tall with hard, spiny exoskeletons. They displayed a variety of colors like humans (tho more vibrant), but the most common was purple.

“I apologize… I do not understand. Does Pilot Williams have an open wound? Do they need to go to the medibay?” Ka’looai’s voice sounded like the vibrating of beating wings, so they had to pronunciate other languages precisely in order to be understood. So they spoke slowly and with a deliberate concentration. This voice also gave way to an accent that made them pronounce certain letters like ‘v’s. There was a running joke with humans that Yamogai were related to Germans, as their accents were similar when speaking English.

Jasmine shook her head. “No. She’s experiencing a part of her menstrual cycle, the human female reproductive cycle.” Ka’looai cocked their head, so Jasmine continued. “Every month, we expel the inside lining of our uterus, the organ that develops a human fetus if the female is pregnant. If a female isn’t pregnant, our uterus removes the old lining of tissue and blood and gets rid of it from our body to create a new lining in case she does become pregnant. It’s the same muscle contractions as childbirth, though at a smaller fraction. This process can be extremely painful for some, if not most people, and De’maya is one of them. So she just needs some time off to deal with and recover from this experience.”

Ka’looai stared for a moment, mantis-like eyes seeming to stare through the humans souls. “I… see. I will inform the captain, then. Is there anything else we must know about this… event? I assume you two experience it as well as you said every human female does?”

Kate shrugged, long brown braid shifting in her shoulders. “Mine isn’t so bad usually. I’m one of the lucky ones. I get irritable and the occasional back pains, but I don’t need time off recuperate necessarily.”

“Irritable?”

Jasmine smiled, more of grimace for those experienced in reading human expressions. “Annoyed. Aggressive. The process increases the amount of estrogen and testosterone in our bodies, hormones that can heavily influence our emotional states. So we can be a bit…” Jasmine paused to think. “Intense.”

“Ah.” Ka’looai’s antennae twitched emphatically. “That is why I sensed the rise in strange pheromones. So this increase of chemicals affects you physically, emotionally, and mentally. I see why Pilot Williams asked for an absence then. Will the two of you require the same?”

Jasmine made an expression that Ka’looai could not understands. She bared her teeth while narrowing here eyes and scrunching her nose, dark skin wrinkling. Her hands rolled synchronously back and forth, a gesture the Yamogai recognized as a sign for uncertainty. “My cycle is more chaotic. Many factors can influence the way it is, and I tend to be influenced heavily by those.” She gestured at the other human. “Whereas Kate’s average is light and less painful, and De’maya’s average is heavy and extreme pain, mine can be either depending on my situation. If I’m stressed and haven’t taken care of myself, it’s usually pretty painful. If the opposite, I can usually function pain free. It depends.”

“What do you mean by light and heavy?”

“That refers to the amount of blood and tissue we expel. Light is very little, medium is a bit more, heavy means a lot. Some people have more lining than others. The heavier the flow can also increase the amount of pain.”

“Is this process different for every human?”

Both women nodded.

“And you still work through such obstacles?”

“Pretty much.” Jasmine confirmed.

“Interesting.” Ka’looai hummed, the sound vibrating the air rhythmically. “So human females expel a large amount of their own blood and tissue every month simply for not reproducing. And it is incredibly painful, yet some of you still function through it. No wonder females are in higher demand than males. You are a hardy species.” Their laugh sounded like the erratic buzzing of fly multiplied by ten. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Oh, there’s a shit ton if you wanna properly educate yourself on human reproduction.” Kate waved a scarred, oil darkened hand. “But Jaz gave you the basics. Hah, you may know and understand it better than the average human male.” Kate chuckled dryly and Jasmine huffed. “But that’s a debate hole that can be saved for another time.”

“If you want to learn more, read some human biology books, and we can answer any questions you have.” Said Jasmine. “Make sure they’re recent ones tho, the outdated ones are full of a lot of misinformation.”

“I see. I will do so. Human biology continues to fascinate. I have always found learning about other races to be rather intriguing, and humans never disappoint.”

“Yeup.” Kate leaned back and threw her arms behind her head. “Just don’t start making jokes about us leaving puddles and shit everywhere, or not being trusted behind the wheel.” Her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth in a not-friendly-smile. “I will commit some “transgressions,” if so.”

Ka’looai’s antennae twitched. “Understood.”

~~~~~~

I’m currently going through this month’s rounds, and felt like distracting myself. Finally had the motivation to write and of course it was during a shitty time of my life. Needed me some alien feels that understand my woes better than my own family. I know this prompt has been done a lot, but I wanted to give my own take on it.

[velocesainz]

Cinema

F1 masterlist | Main masterlist |

Summary: Charles is forced by Carlos to go watch an English movie with him at the theater since you are one of Carlos's best friends, he happens to take quite a liking to you not knowing Carlos's love for you. What will happen when you all of you meet at a house party?

Warnings: smuttyyyy (threesome) minors dni

Pairing: Charles x actress!reader x Carlos

Charles POV:

Carlos is currently in the process of dragging me to one of the biggest theatres in Maranello.

Why?

Because his best friend recently released a new film.

I'm offended that I'm not Carlos's best friend, and also I did not know that Carlos had a girl best friend let alone one who is an actress.

I looked her up on the way to the theatre and turns out she's one of the most famous actresses today and my oh my, was she beautiful.

We got to the theatre and Carlos got us some tickets and popcorn. He rushed me into the theatre and we sat down in our seats as we watched the movie: May December. (Guys please watch it's such a good movie)

That was one hard one to take, vet complex. Yet y/n's acting was perfect and I understood even the most complicated details.

"Mate she's such a good actress and so beautiful! Why haven't you told me about your "best friend" before?" I asked Carlos wondering why he had hidden y/n from my knowledge. As far as I knew we shared all our life stories with eachother.

Carlos shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't know mate, I didn't want to tell you because I know you'd find her attractive. I've been in love with her for years and idk, you're someone that everyone easily seems to fall in love with" Carlos confessed. I wasn't so sure that I would be able to keep my hands off of her

"let's go mate, it's getting late" I said to ease the tension.

With that we left the theatre and got back to our hotel rooms. Tomorrow we had a small house party at Pierre's house in Milan so I knew I wouldn't get sleep the next day.

Timeskip

I dressed up for the party, throwing in a simple white button up with blue jeans pairing some jewelry along with it.

As I was driving to Pierre's house my mind wandered to y/n. Her acting skills were amazing and she was so immensely attractive. She had won golden globes and even an Oscar for her remarkable acting.

I arrived at the party realising I'm late as the place was completely packed with people, most of whom I didn't recognise.

I was looking for either Pierre or Carlos but as I was looking my eyes fell on a lean figure in the corner of the room. Y/n.

I walked up to her with my sudden, newly found confidence "hey! My name is Charles, I'm Pierre and Carlos's best friend. I'm a huge fan of your acting" she looked at me wide eyed. Shit. Did I ramble?

"Oh hey! I'm honoured to have you as one of my fans, good to know Carlos has replaced me" she said chuckling. Oh thank god, I thought I fucked up my only chance.

I chatted with y/n for some time until someone came up to us.

"Hola mis mejores amigos" the person said, I froze. It was Carlos.

"hola Carlitos, estaba hablando con el apuesto caballero con el que me reemplazaste" Hello Carlitos, I was just talking to the handsome gentleman you replaced me with.

She spoke in perfect Spanish, god her accent was so hot.

Carlos and her exchanged a few words and then turned to involve me as well into the conversation. How nice of Carlos.

I saw that she spoke french as one of her native languages and decided to take advantage of the fact that Carlos didn't understand a word of French.

"Si jolie fille. Veux-tu retourner dans ma chambre d'hôtel ? Je peux te montrer un bon moment" So pretty girl. Do you want to go to my hotel? I can show you a good time.

She blushed hard, her cheeks turning bright red. Carlos pulled me aside.

"What are you doing mate? I told you I like her and you're going on trying to sleep with her?" Carlos said. How did he understand what I said.

"Carlos she's not your to have. If you want we can share, I see the way she looks at you as well. She likes the both of us, let's show her a good time." I suggested

Carlos nodded and walked back to y/n whispering something in her ear causing her to blush again, got was she beautiful.

All three of us got in my car and drove to my hotel.

As soon as we got there Carlos threw y/n against the wall and started kissing her

I traced her curves with my hands, pressing up behind her. I was sure she could feel my arousal on her ass.

She ogled at Carlos's body before her. I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her linen pants, leaning forward to pepper kisses on her right shoulder. Y/n reached up under the shoulders of Carlos’s shirt and pushed the fabric away. The shirt flowed off his arms, falling to the floor. He reached forward, cupping y/n's cheek before kissing her again.

My kisses on her skin flowed down her back, teeth nipping at her hips through her panties as I slid her pants down.

Carlos POV:

Charles kneeled behind y/n once the material pooled at her feet, kissing upward. I massaged one of her breasts through her bra. Charles stood up to his complete form, kissing her shoulder once more as his hand swept across your skin to her panties.

I felt Charles’s hand slip beneath the material of her panties and graze her clit, going to feel the wetness between her folds. The kiss was broken as a moan left her lips, back arching into Charles. I chuckled looking at how worked up she was.

She squirmed between me and Charles, reaching forward and gripping my shoulder for support.

Charles POV

I had y/n on her toes as I fingered her lazily as if I was playing the piano. She let out soft pants, not giving us the satisfaction of hearing how good we made her feel. We'll make sure those noises come out.

My hand fell to her side as she undid my belt, leaning forward to kiss the flesh softly. Herr fingers slipped the button free, teeth nipping at my right hip. My breath hitched, chest rising and falling as she slowly pulled the zipper down. Y/n reached in, purposefully grazing the obvious erection in my underwear before tugging the jeans down.

“Fucking hell” I breathed, pulling away from her. Her hands brushed my thighs as I stepped away. She grinned at me, knowing that she got underneath my skin.

Carlos was watching the whole thing with his arms crossed and shot me a smile. As soon as I was yanking my jeans and underwear off, Carlos quickly undid his belt and jeans.

“Fuck, I am the luckiest woman in the fucking world,” She breathed, toes curling and eyes almost rolling into the back of her head at the sight of the me and Carlos naked before her. Carlos laid horizontally across the bed. His head was slightly close to the edge. He looked at yher, patting his chest.

“Come have a seat,” Carlos suggested calling y/n over. Carlos pulled her down with no warning, tongue immediately delving within you. She cried out as his tongue circled her clit. She reached forward, gripping my forearm. I waited for her to adjust, in awe at the sight of her. She looked so fucking hot and bothered.

“Ch-Charles, let me, please,” she pleaded me, reaching forward with her free hand and wrapping it around my cock. I widened my eyes, fuck that felt so good. I walked a little more forward. Her gaze was innocent despite her lips wrapping around the tip of my cock. I groaned loudly grabbing her hair. God she was doing so good.

Carlos POV:

I moved to suck on her clit, slipping away one of my hands from her thigh and pressing a finger between her wet folds. She moaned on Charles’s cock, causing him to pull a breath through his teeth. I gently brought my finger in and out of her, adding another.

I continued sucking her clit and I could feel that she was getting close. Her moans grew louder and louder.

“Carlos, please,” she begged, god I needed her so badly.

I stopped pleasuring her and got her off my face guiding her to the edge of the bed.

Charles walked to his dresser removing two condoms and passing me one.

“Thanks, mate,” I said quietly. We both ripped the packaging and slipped the condoms on.

“Come here, cariño,” I said to her. She came to me leaning down and kissing me as she planted a knee on each side of my body. I gladly returned the kiss, one hand on her back, the other lining my cock up with her entrance. The kiss deepened as she allowed me to fill her to the brim.

Second person POV:

Charles watched the both of you, aroused by the scene and watching Carlos fill you with ease. He stepped between Carlos’s parted legs, touching your lower back. He caressed the flesh of your ass, causing you to pull away from Carlos’s kisses and watch Charles. He took himself in his left hand, shifting to level before slowly entering you from behind. Your eyes rolled back, toes curling, and cunt clenching around Carlos as Charles entered you.

Both men gave you a moment to adjust; the sensation wasn’t new, but it was always slightly alarming initially. Charles leaned forward to kiss your shoulder before straightening back, waiting for the cue. You nodded aggressively, eyes squeezed shut as you clutched Carlos’s shoulders. Carlos kissed your temple before both men moved together, Carlos thrusting up into you and Charles’s thrusts pushing you forward. You moaned, ready to come apart right there.

They were slow at first, continuing to let you adjust like the gentlemen they were. Then, when the only noise you made was panting, they changed their pace, their hips snapping against you. You moaned, back arching, which pushed you further into Carlos. Carlos’s hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh that you knew would leave a mark behind. Charles’s grip was a little looser than Carlos’s on your waist but would still leave faint marks behind.

The pace they set quickly brought you closer and closer to an orgasm, the sensations of both pumping in and out of you overwhelming your body. Carlos thrust up, hips lifting off the bed, and a spot inside you that made you see stars. You gasped, clutching his bicep to the point your nails dug in. The sound of panting and your moans echoed throughout the room, all three bodies glistening with a thin layer of sweat.

“Fuck!” you cried out, soon feeling the tension in your core snap. You squeezed around Carlos, the tightening of your walls pulling him with you, causing his lips to stutter and his grip to tighten. Despite fucking you from behind, the tension of your orgasm was enough to bring Charles to his climax. He rode through his orgasm, slowing his pace until he stopped.

You fell on Carlos, not caring if your full weight was on him. Both of you were a panting, sweating mess. He removed a hand from your waist, running his fingers through his hair. He laid his head back, staring at the ceiling as he tried to get his breathing down to normal. Charles leaned over you, panting, but he kissed your spine. You hummed softly, weakly glancing back at Charles. Your eyes met, and he offered you a gentle smile, rubbing your back before he removed himself from you.

Charles walked to the ensuite bathroom, going to quickly clean up before he joined the both of you in bed. Carlos tilted his head up, stroking your back before gently patting your bum. You sighed, sitting up and letting him hold the condom before you removed yourself. Carlos leaned over, moving some hair that stuck to the sweat on your forehead. He gave it a gentle kiss, stroking your hair in the process.

Charles quickly returned, picking you up from the end of the bed. Carlos stood up and went to the bathroom, patting Charles on the shoulder. He carried you bridal style to his side of the bed, kneeling to place you in the middle before laying down next to you. You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling until Charles was beside you. Your head turned to meet his eyes, a soft smile on both faces. He stroked your hair, and you gently caressed his thigh and knee and all three of you fell asleep.

[tinyraptorhands]

You scratch my back...

No, he did *not* need extra help.

Katsuki Bakugo? Need *extra* help? Nah. So he *might've* gotten a low 80 in the last English test. So he *might've* messed up like...a bit when he last went on his work study with Best Jeanist in England. (He *might've* accidentally insulted an English speaking hero by accident. Then again, this *is* Bakugo we're talking about.)

Either way, when his mother started riding his ass about his subpar english (turns out third year's english was more than just conversational,) he told himself he'd just *apply* himself better.

Well. Here he was, with *another* subpar grade. THE GREAT EXPLOSION MURDER GOD DYNAMIGHT does not *get* a 82% in *any* subject! ...Except English, that is.

And of course, there was *you*. An English speaking native. This stuff was *easy* to you, you basically had this in the bag. Translating had become second nature to you, and despite your heavy accent, you spoke Japanese well. Since being recommended to U.A., you had studied the Japanese language extensively. Sure, you still messed up, but you still excelled. It almost seemed wrong, taking English class. They were studying things you knew about since middle school.

However, just like U.A.'s resident stick of Dynamight (hah), you also had a weak subject.

*Math.* Any math, really. A good grade for you in math is a 70. Numbers were...safe to say, the real villain of your life. Simple math should be enough! Why did anyone need to throw letters or fancy symbols in there!? 2 plus 2 equals 4 and that should be that! Co? Sin?? Tan?! Who cares!? You were training to be a pro hero for God's sake, not a scientist!

Looking at yet another low grade in Trigonometry, you sighed. You slunked into your seat, setting your test face down on your desk. You happened to let your eyes roam and spotted Denki's paper. He got a 74%.

You got a 70%.

What!?

Denki was the lowest ranked in academics in your class, and here he was, moaning about a 74%. You bit your lip.

Shit. You knew you were screwed. You probably ranked the lowest in this test.

"How'd you do?" Momo, ever the kind presence in your life asked. You shook your head. "Not well." You answered honestly. Momo's brows drew in, concerned. "We did all that studying, too...maybe you have test anxiety?" She wondered aloud. You shook your head. "I mean, sure-I get nervous but not enough to screw me up this bad! Numbers just...get twisted in my head and I can't seem to understand it-" you cut yourself off. A sigh heaved from your chest. "Its a miracle I even got into U.A." you mumbled underneath your breath. Momo patted your shoulder. "Its okay. You'll do better next time, I'm sure."

This conversation didn't fail to reach Bakugo's ears. You? Bad at math? Huh. Well, not everyone could be as smart as him. Of course he passed his test with flying colors. A 98%. His grades were spotless! ...But that stupid English grade taunted him. Sure, a low 80 would be great- for some *average* extra. No, he needed to be *amazing* across the board. (And so his mom would get off his ass, that was an added bonus.) But maybe this little tidbit he found out about you could come in handy...

It was during lunch. You were sitting with Momo, Jiro and Mina. You were all talking about the recent gossip about some hero celebrity news, (Kamino Woods and Mt. Lady a *thing*?? Le *gasp*!) When Bakugo slammed his tray down. The girls startled, you included. "Bakugo! What gives!? Trying to send us into an early grave!?" Mina cried out, clutching her chest dramatically. "Shut it, raccoon eyes! *You*." He pointed to you. You pointed to yourself, "*me*?" "Yes, *you*. I have a proposition. And you better take it, if you know what's good for you." He hissed. The girls looked between you two nervously. You were quite nervous, too. He sat down in the empty chair, crossing his legs lazily and stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looked at the rest of the girls. "*Leave.* Me an' her need to discuss shit *privately*." He grunted. The girls looked at you worriedly, and all you could do was shrug. They nodded, scooping up their trays to another table, "Don't hesitate to run away-" jiro said under her breath, and you resisted a chuckle. He shot her a look as they left. Once they were past ear shot, he looked back at you and narrowed his eyes. "So. You're shit at Trigonometry, huh?" He cut right to the point. You almost choked on your green tea. "Uh...whatever gave you that idea-" "Don't play games, idiot *gajin*. I could hear you whining about it in class." He smirked. "Looks like your brain isn't so big after all." You bit the inside of your cheek. "So? What's your point? I thought you grew past being a blatant asshole, but I guess not." You shot back, referring to his old self in first year. True, alot had happened since then, and he was a bit more calm since then (being kidnapped, two wars and an injured arm and heart would do that to a person;) but he still had that streak of asshole in him every now and then. (Especially when it came to you, for whatever reason.) His eyes shifted, narrowing at the floor. He wanted to refute, but that would get them nowhere. "What if I help you, and you help me?" He asked quietly, almost wincing at the fact he just somewhat admitted he needed help. "I'm sorry?" You asked, not sure if you were hearing correctly.

"I'll help you with Trig, and you help me with English." He stated, clearly. You stared at him. He stared back. "...Well? I ain't got all day." He hissed. You bit your lip in thought. Did you have to do that? His eyes darted to your lips. He hated when you did that. Made his stomach muscles tighten. Weird. You finally looked up at him, and nodded. "Okay. But you better not yell at me if I don't get the problems right away. Or if I need extra explaining. Or if-" "Fine! Jeez, I got it, idiot!" He cut you off. "Tomorrow. Meet me in the library at 5. Don't be late or I'll kill you." He stated, grabbing his tray and leaving you there-flabbergasted, and lunch cold.

Well. That was an interesting turn of events for one day.

**so I haven't written a reader insert, or any fanfiction in ages, like...maybe since graduating college? Since I have a little time on my hands now, I wanted to try something. Updates might be sporadic, and this is gonna be a short one. But I wanted to dip my toes in again. Here's to hoping you don't get chewed out by a rabid pomeranian for your crappy math skills!**

(Also still getting used to the format. Apparently the * symbol doesn't do anything for the words like reddit. Apologies.)

[kaiserinnessie]

Can i request like this??

Well imma still do it lmaodka

SOO UHMMM HQ OR BLLK BOYS WITH SLAVIC SO???

WELCOME BACK FROM RETIREMENT 🫡🫡

Forgot inboxes were a thing I’ve been gone so long… ANYWAY YES YOU CAN REQUEST LIKE THIS

Because this was slightly vague I will try my best:D thank u btw!!

(No smut in this)

Bllk boys with a Slavic SO!

Head cannons only for the amount ima put here

By all means I am NOT Slavic myself. So if this is by any means wrong or anything is stereotypical please lmk. I did my research for this! You can tell I get progressively more lazy…

Isagi Yoichi

•Super eager to learn about your culture.. he watches documentaries, reads articles, and even asks you random questions about your traditions in the middle of the night. Sometimes gets a little scared when you scold him for keeping you up about it.. makes a note to NOT and you in the middle of the night anymore. If he can help it..

•Tries to cook Slavic food for you once but nearly burns down the kitchen. After that, he just hovers around, watching you cook while sneaking bites. He feels even worse whenever it’s brought up at the dinner table whether it be around family or friends. Poor guy..

•Gets along well with your family. If your parents are around, they see him as polite and hard-working, and they probably joke about when he’ll propose. He gets super flustered but takes the hint. Eventually.

•Terrible at learning your language but puts in so much effort. He practices common phrases and cute nicknames for you. You can’t help but let it slide even when he butchers some words just because of how pouty he gets after. Thankfully though he’s a fast learner as he picks up on the words quickly.

•Gets scared easily by Slavic superstitions, like not whistling indoors or not shaking hands over a doorway. He doesn’t want to risk cursing himself. He’s pretty damn gullible like that..

•Loves the idea of big Slavic weddings and jokes about how he’d fight anyone to catch you in a wedding tradition like the ransom for the bride.

Bachira Meguru

•Thinks Slavic folklore is the coolest thing ever and wants to hear every single creepy story you know. If you mention the domovoi (house spirit), he’ll start leaving snacks out for it. “My monster told me too!”

•Tries to dance traditional Slavic dances with you but moves like a chaotic mess. He spins you too hard, dips you too low, and makes the whole thing a disaster—but he’s having fun. Even if he looks like a fish out of water..

•Mimics your accent on purpose if you have one, calling you cute things in an exaggerated voice just to mess with you. “Oh, моя любовь~” (my love~) while draping himself over you dramatically.

•Eats all the Slavic food you make without question. You could hand him something extremely questionable, and he’d just go. “Cool, let’s try it!”

•Absolutely obsessed with Slavic desserts, especially honey cake (medovik) and piroshki. He eats five portions in one sitting and then collapses into a food coma.

•Plays dumb pranks using your superstitions if you have any, like leaving empty bottles upside-down or putting a broom near the door to see how long it takes for you to notice. Always blames it on his monster after.

•Tries learning your language but only remembers insults and dramatic phrases. If you scold him, he just says, “Ты разбила мне сердце” (You broke my heart) and fake sobs.

Rin Itoshi

•Doesn’t act excited, but listens intently whenever you talk about your culture and actually remembers everything you say. But he would never admit to that.

•Picks up your native language ridiculously fast and starts talking shit to Sae in it so he won’t understand. Eventually grows mad when Sae learns it back just to spite him, coming to you to complain. “That asshole..”

•Finds Slavic superstitions stupid but will lowkey follow them anyway. If he sees you avoid passing things over a doorway, he starts doing it too.. just in case.

•Thinks some Slavic traditions are too much work but does them for you anyway. If your family expects him to do a long toast at dinner, he just sighs and goes, “Za nas” (To us). He’s also maybe doing it because of the harsh glare he’s getting from you beside him.

•Prefers simple Slavic dishes and will casually ask for them like it’s no big deal. “We’re having pelmeni again, right?”

•Absolutely hates large family gatherings, but tolerates them because of you. He won’t admit it, but he actually enjoys how warm and close-knit your family is. And if they aren’t? Better for him, he enjoys your company one-on-one anyways.

•If someone disrespects your culture, he’s immediately roasting them into the ground in your language. Even more so if you’re around.. just to hear you thank him.

Kaiser

•Finds your culture fascinating and brags about it to other people like it’s a flex. But more so as if he’s Slavic himself.. he doesn’t know much about his own German traditions so yours kind of become the filler until you force him to learn about his own. (He’s secretly grateful for it though, even if he never out right admits it)

•Purposely butchers your language just to piss you off but secretly practices it in private to surprise you later. “What do you mean I said it wrong? Isn’t it ____?”

•Will wear traditional Slavic embroidered shirts (vyshyvanka) just because he thinks it makes him look cool and romantic. You scold him about it later.

•Expects royal treatment whenever you cook for him, dramatically praising your skills like, “Ah, I’ve never tasted something this divine in my life.” But it sounds more mockingly than anything.

•Pretends superstitions don’t matter but visibly hesitates if he does something unlucky.

•Loves Slavic fairy tales and compares himself to the charming prince in every single one. But at the same time hates them because of how unrealistic they are…

•Wants to be the center of attention at big Slavic celebrations and somehow becomes everyone’s favorite foreigner by the end of the night.

•pisses you off daily just to see if you will put him in his place.

Nagi

•Too lazy to learn your language properly, but memorizes pet names and compliments. He loves calling you “моя звезда” (my star) in a sleepy voice. (Reo taught him.)

•Takes post-lunch naps seriously and uses Slavic resting traditions as an excuse to sleep more. ANY EXCUSE HE CAN TAKE, he uses.

•Eats anything you give him without question and doesn’t realize how long certain dishes take to prepare. He casually asks for complex meals like they’re instant. Will pout if you can’t make them.

•Doesn’t care about superstitions until something unlucky happens, then suddenly he’s like.. “Tch… maybe you were right.”

•Loves Slavic winter traditions like drinking hot tea with jam while bundled up in blankets.

Reo Mikage

•Tries to become an expert in your culture after one Google search. He wants to impress your family. Ends up actually studying after messing up ONCE and becomes completely fluent in anything and everything. You find it annoying just how fast he can learn.

•Spoils you with Slavic-themed gifts, traditional jewelry, books on folklore, expensive imported treats. Even if you say you don’t need them, especially if it’s just because it’s apart of your culture, he will end up pretending he never heard you. (He will be scolded by you later)

•Respects every superstition, even the weird ones. He once refused to hand you money directly because he didn’t want to bring bad luck. Going as far to make sure Nagi followed them too, at-least whenever he’s around you.

•Loves extravagant Slavic weddings and already plans yours in his head. Safe to say you won’t have to worry about anyone outdoing you guys or being disappointed.

•Gets tipsy at big family gatherings and starts toasting in your language with over-the-top romantic speeches. And you can’t tell who gets teased more after, you or him.

Barou

•Acts like he doesn’t care about your culture but secretly loves it and follows traditions better than you do. Somehow.

•Eats everything you cook but also demands to know the recipes so he can learn to cook it himself. If it’s a passed down recipe he will do anything in his power to obtain it (normally)

•Scares people at gatherings just by sitting there, but your relatives love him because he eats so much. And how he cleans up after everyone..

•Secretly follows superstitions but won’t admit it. You once saw him hesitate before shaking hands over a doorway.

•Admires the warrior mentality in Slavic history and compares himself to ancient warriors.

Chigiri

•Genuinely fascinated by Slavic culture and eager to learn. He’d listen intently when you talk about traditions, even taking notes mentally.

•Respects Slavic superstitions—if you say whistling indoors brings bad luck, he will immediately stop, no questions asked.

•Loves Slavic food, especially borscht and piroshki. Prefers lighter soups but will eat heavier dishes if you make them. Enjoys the ones with lots of nutrients as well

•Absolutely loves it when you braid his hair. If Slavic traditions involve hair significance, he takes it to heart. And he may or may not learn all he can about hair care there because WOAH.

•If your family is traditional, he’s so polite and well-mannered when meeting them. They end up fawning over him immediately.

•Will jokingly compare his speed to famous Slavic athletes and subtly flex his knowledge of your country’s soccer scene.(it’s not really a joke)

•If you teach him some Slavic phrases, he will use them secretly as insults to like anyone but your family. The only way someone notices is by the way he spits them out so sassily.

•If you celebrate name days, he will always remember and surprise you.

Otoya

•Loves hearing your traditional music and will tease you by trying to dance to it. He fails miserably and makes a fool out of himself. Your parents do not like him that much.

•Finds Slavic folk tales absolutely wild—he’ll be both amused and mildly disturbed by the darker ones. Even if he shows no emotion of such.

•Insists on calling you pet names in your native language but mispronounces them on purpose to mess with you. (Atleast that’s what he tells out.”

•Finds Slavic martial arts fascinating—if you know any, he’ll beg you to show him some moves. If you do teach him any, they turn into flirting techniques..

•Enjoys watching Soviet-era cartoons with you, even if he doesn’t fully understand them.

•If you tell him about superstitions like not shaking hands in doorways, he’ll do it anyway just to annoy you.

•attempts and fails to drink on the same level as ANYONE in your family, will be butt hurt about it

Hiori

•Deeply respects Slavic history and will actually research it on his own just to understand your background.

•Loves hearing old lullabies and folk songs—finds them oddly soothing. Especially if you sing any to him.

•Always remembers important holidays and traditions, even if you don’t expect him to.

•Finds Slavic architecture beautiful—if you ever take him to your country, he’d be mesmerized by old churches and castles.

•Prefers lighter dishes like cabbage rolls but won’t refuse food you make.

•If you believe in the evil eye, he’ll secretly carry an amulet or symbol for your protection.

•would try to learn the language but his accent makes it infinitely times harder

•isn’t good under the expectations of YOUR parents if they have any for him, poor guy gets PTSD

Kurona

•Quietly listens when you talk about your culture and never forgets small details.

•Wants to learn your language so he can communicate better with your family. And he might learn a few words.. but it also doesn’t help that he repeats them more than ness scary and the fact his sharp teeth hinder the pronunciation a bit

•If you have special rituals or greetings, he’ll participate even if he doesn’t fully get them. “Приветик.. Приветик..”

•Loves traditional pastries—he has a sweet tooth and will 100% steal a pirozhok when you’re not looking.

•If your country has brutal winters, he will bundle up ridiculously while you’re casually fine in the cold.

Ness

•Extremely romantic about Slavic traditions—if there’s a love-related superstition, he believes it 100%. Even more so when he sees ones about magic.. he’s like a kid from how bright his eyes light up

•Finds the concept of name days adorable and makes sure to celebrate yours. Always.

•If you tell him about protective charms or folk remedies, he’ll actually try them out. And that turns into all the time.

•Loves hearing you speak your language—will beg you to teach him endearing phrases. “Please leibe pleaseeee teach me something!”

•Traditional Slavic dances? He wants to learn. And yes, he will step on your feet.

•Enjoys your country’s fashion styles—if there are embroidered designs, he’ll wear them proudly.

•Might get way too invested in your culture’s soccer teams, just to bond with you.

Yukimiya

•Finds Slavic aesthetics stunning—from architecture to clothing, he genuinely admires it.

•Appreciates the poetic nature of Slavic languages—will ask you to read or recite something just to hear it.

•Respects traditional Slavic values and finds the family-centric culture beautiful. Your family LOVES HIM.

•Loves celebrating unique holidays with you, especially ones that involve big feasts.

•Wants to travel to your homeland and take professional-style photos of the scenery. Especially for his modeling career

•Enjoys classic Slavic literature and poetry, especially if you introduce him to it.

•If you follow old protection rituals, he might quietly participate just because he knows it matters to you. Even if he finds it a bit odd.. he could never say that to your face though.

Shidou

•Loves Slavic folklore, especially the dark or chaotic stories—he finds them hilarious. Loud about it too.

•Refuses to acknowledge superstitions unless he can use them to tease you. Earning a glare from you, always, and he can’t help but giggle at you like a school girl

•Would 100% challenge your family to drinking games during celebrations. Somehow holds his liquor up against most of them?? Becomes a regular after that

•Finds Slavic martial arts cool and will try to fight you for fun. But is always gentle with you until you make it clear you’re into it.

•LOVES the food—he will inhale every dish you put in front of him. Bros a dog. But will refuse anything that looks too weird..

•Will dramatically compare himself to folklore creatures just to annoy you. He loves the angry face you make whenever he does so

•Thinks name days are dumb but will still get you a present.

•Biggest flirt, even around your family. Earning him multiple slaps atop the head. Kicks to the shin. And ice cold glares. “Owww damn okay sorry..”

Sae

•Highly respectful of your culture but doesn’t express it verbally—just quietly participates.

•If you celebrate Orthodox holidays, he will observe and respect every custom. Not without complaining though. Drama queen.

•If you have a big, loud family, he finds them overwhelming but will still visit. As long as you listen to his rants later.

•Prefers modern Slavic literature over old folklore but won’t complain if you tell him stories.

•Watches your country’s soccer leagues just to understand your roots better. And maybe learn more..

•Enjoys the food but prefers lighter dishes. Will refuse anything he doesn’t truly want to eat, making up for it later

•If you teach him Slavic idioms or proverbs, he will use them at the perfect moments to flex on others. But he won’t tell anyone that(uses them on rin time to time)

Kunigami(before WC)

•Deeply respects Slavic traditions—he sees the importance of heritage and wants to honor it. His sisters pick up on it as well.

•If your culture has warrior legends or heroic figures, he’s interested in learning about them.

•Prefers simple, hearty meals like stews and stuffed cabbage—if it’s protein-packed, he’s all for it. Can not say no to your cooking if you cook for him, good or not.

•Very serious about respecting elders—if your family is strict, he’ll be overly polite. Becomes a favorite almost instantly

•Superstitions aren’t his thing, but if you tell him something is bad luck, he’ll take it seriously. Maybe a little too seriously

•Loves name days because it gives him another reason to celebrate you.

•Tries to learn your language but struggles with pronunciation—you’ll hear him practicing under his breath.

•Not a fan of vodka, but he will drink it if your family insists—and he’ll hold his liquor like a champ. Until you guys are alone…

Karasu

•Finds Slavic folklore wild and hilarious—he will 100% make fun of the creepier ones just to tease you. Then feels bad after..

•Loves Slavic curses and insults—if you call him something in your language, he’ll demand to know what it means. And just like a crow, repeats it after and holds onto that knowledge forever

•Not big on superstitions but will follow them just to mess with you—like pretending to test bad luck theories.

•Finds Slavic drinking culture impressive—will challenge your uncles to a drinking contest at family gatherings. WILL lose.

•Absolutely chaotic during holiday traditions—if there’s a festival or ritual, he’s doing it full force.

•Enjoys traditional Slavic dances but turns them into a joke—expect exaggerated spins and dramatic flair. Knows when to calm down when needed though.

•Gets a kick out of how strict Slavic grandmothers can be—if yours yells at him, he’ll take it as a challenge. (Mentally. He will not fight back otherwise.)

Tried my best! I hope you enjoy:)

[et6rnalsun]

chris sturniolo gets turned on SO easily. like, everything you do is gonna make that dick hard in 1 second and he is totally shameless about it.

but, one thing is gonna do it GOOD.

italian! reader that talks in native language every time you guys argue.

— you didn’t even think too much about it when quick, shouted "fanculo" (fuck you),, "sei un pezzo di merda” (you’re a piece of shit) came out of your mouth. it just happened. anger completely blinded your being, and the time to realize fell on you like a rock as silence took over the room.

chris always liked your accent, that was like a mix. he could hear your origins perfectly in the way you spoke, and he found it fucking cute. but there was something about that moment that was different. the way you yelled it at him, your arms crossed under your breasts — a sign of your obvious annoyance, and the sight of your tongue repeatedly running over your lips to wet them.

you were hot as hell. but that wasn't the right time to notice it.

so chris cleared his throat, running a hand through his messy hair as he just nodded. a simple nod. why were you guys arguing anyway?

"but why don't we stop being mad at each other n shit now? mhm? come on, let me show my pretty mama how beautiful she is right now" he said with his usual innocent expression on his face, slowly moving closer as he opened his arms for a hug? a kiss? anything. he just had to touch you and feel your warmth in that moment.

“ti odio” (i hate you). you rolled your eyes, accepting his embrace as you wrapped your arms around his neck. chris had this incredible ability to make you forget things easily. things that he did, that made you sad or upset. and you totally hated it. well, maybe not entirely.

chris sighed, holding you tighter as his hand slowly moved down towards your ass. “now you're doing it on purpose” he murmured, and his warm breath brushes your neck.

“what?” you asked, a small smirk taking over your lips as you pulled away slightly to look up at him. “i don’t understand"

“oh, poor baby” chris said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow as he tilted his head slightly, his fingers teasing the edge of your shirt. “you really don’t, mhm?”

you simply nodded, melting into the touch of his big hands.

“let's put it this way” he licked his lips, letting his long fingers slide under the waistband of your shorts. "tell me some more shit in italian and i'll fuck you hard enough to make you forget your own name"

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

CAKE FOR A DEAD MAN (I)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER II

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 4.6k

WARNINGS: Angst, problems with food & image, mentions of stalking, unwanted gifts, death, violence, gore, blood, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Color, as most would say, is one of the best aspects of sight. It allows such a myriad of emotions to be expressed—even felt. Red reminds us of passion; navy for elegance and a certain mystique. Not only seen but processed on such a deeper level. Refractions of light that explode into the retina, rod and cone cells that send signals to the brain to help detect that phenomenon like a gift of evolution. 

But when you can’t see any of that—color—who’s to explain what the red of the roses actually looks like above a deep shade of gray? That navy blue looks even darker, too. Closer to black. Light purple becomes the same hue as the curtains your mother hangs on the windows, but you can’t tell if that’s really purple or not. How can it be anything other than slate? People tell you it is…at least, those who’ve already met their partners. Their soulmates. 

But there’s little hope for you on that front, really.

You wave to the photographer, calling out a broken Russian goodbye as he smiles warmly at you, nodding his head in your direction before watching you walk out of the studio room’s doors. A large gaggle of other finely-clad women surrounds you on the way to the changing rooms. 

Even with three-and-a-half years of living in this northern country, your mastery of the native language starts and ends with simple pleasantries.

The modeling agency was packed today and you still had so much to do. You stuff down your internal list of scheduled fittings, meetings, and more booked photoshoots that extend into the chilled evening of Yekaterinburg, Russia. There was just so little time. 

Gray hallways and white overhead lights meet your eyes between blinks, potted plants boring and drab. If you could see the shades in between the leaves you’d know you would find them beautiful, but like this…well, they’re just sad.

You shake your head and shuffle to the back of the group, throwing tiny smiles to the kind, and stunning, women who you’ve had little real conversation with. One kisses you on the cheek and pats your shoulder, and you laugh brightly before pulling to the rear, face heating.

“The bastard is finally dead!” The familiar voice causes you to freeze with one heeled foot in the air—fingers picking at the strap of your silk dress absentmindedly before it, too, stills. They were always forcing you into silk with feathered accent pieces of intricate detail. Like a bird, or, Seraph, more precisely. 

Blinking in surprise, you turn around just in time to lock onto the drained shades that make up Alyona Arkadyevna Solovyova before she grips your shoulders harshly. 

Her collarbone-length hair swishes heavily, but it’s not as violent as the smile on her sharp face. 

“Finally, little Солнышко! This is perfect news. The bastard is dead!” Alyona’s English is very good, and of course, it would be—when she was younger she dreamed of being an English teacher. That was before she realized she was just about the most attractive woman of her generation. The harsh Russian accent still bleeds through.

You laugh and grip her long, pale, arms; seeing her in a blouse and pencil skirt as you tilt your head, asking, “Christ, Alyona, give me a warning next time. If I rip anything I’m in deep shit.” 

“Gah,” Your friend waves a hand and releases you, tiny eyes creasing, “forget about that—did you not hear me the first time? My father, Seraph, listen to me! He is finally dead! It happened just this morning but I only got word ten minutes ago.” She laughs, throwing her hands up, and you hide your amused exasperation, limbs tired but it won’t stop you from appreciating your friend’s enthusiasm. Alyona squeals, “A train hit him!”

You cringe internally, face pulling taunt. “Oh,” your chest sputters as you clear your throat, “that’s, uh, that’s…great?”

“Of course it is!” Hands capture your cheeks, squishing as you worry about the state of your makeup. Alyona speaks brightly, “We need to celebrate, Солнышко. Come.”

Before you can protest she’s dragging you away from the other women and the direction of the changing rooms, all had stopped and were listening intently from behind; nosey. Everyone in the Allurement Modeling Agency building, AMA for short, just had that way about them—your business was their business and vice versa. 

And Alyona had no problem airing out her grievances with her estranged father to the choir. She lived for drama.

“Aly,” You huff a soft breath at her and her bobbing hair. She said it was blonde and you had no other option but to believe her. Not yellow-blonde, she had specified. Ice-blonde. “I can’t go out in company property. Plus, I have a photoshoot for Chanel in under an hour. The photographer needs me to be ready.”

But it seems your concerns fall on deaf ears and you can’t help but chuckle and grin at your friend's lack of care about work. She herself was a model, but the entire company halted when she said it should. 

You were truly surprised they hadn’t fired her yet. 

“And I’m sure Chanel has an absolutely hideous dress for you, my Seraph.” Ashen eyes turn back to stare at you, and once she realizes you wouldn’t fight her, her grip releases. “Some Медовик will do you good before the vultures close in, yes? Let us hope they don’t shackle you to those damning lace lingerie sets over cake.” 

Your head tilts with a short sigh, and you walk beside the woman in your clacking heels. The sound of the authentic honey cake seemed to itself to coat your insides with a lust for it—dripping layers of plush gray sponge with pale cream. Your mouth waters. 

“I’m only eating half a piece.” You settle slowly, though you hate your own words as your stomach rolls with hunger. Some time outside will do you good, anyway. Perhaps you’ll learn to photosynthesize like a plant. “I still have to be able to fit into those fabric contraptions, you know.”

Alyona squeals and loops her arm in yours easily, bright teeth in a grin like a cat. Ever one to run into objects and lacking a general ability to walk in a straight line, the support from Alyona was much appreciated. Her help with lending an arm went far, especially for you. 

Your heart warms with soft care.

“I’ll take it! We can split one.” When you both make it to the front of the building, having grabbed your jackets and purses on the way there, you come to three familiar faces while chatting with Alyona about both of your upcoming bookings. 

“I was under the impression you had the day filled,” Petya speaks, heavy accent like stone. The clean-shaven man in his late thirties was built and wearing a dark suit, the tallest out of the other two—Aleksandr and Yefim—who both wear similar outfits. They were resting in the front seating area of AMA as they’d been doing for weeks already, waiting for you to come and go like escorts.

Well, bodyguards, to be more precise. Yours.

You smile politely to them while Yefim sends one back with his boyish charm and dimples. “On break. We’re off to get some Medovik down the street. I can pay for you if you’d want a piece.” 

“Of course, the three will have to tag along, hm?” Alyona huffs, staring blandly as you both slow to a stop near the large white entrance, colored as if it was Heaven’s gates. Your friend had said coloring around this building was rare. Whites and grays. Green chairs, apparently. “I’m just ecstatic.” 

Petya didn’t like you, and, you assumed, Aleksandr didn’t either. With the ladder, his sharp face was always too blank to tell; body tight and unwelcoming with weasel-like eyes. Petya was simpler, blatantly more outward with his distaste.

“Not a smart idea. This isn’t a game to play, девушка.” Alyona’s face tightens, and you swiftly placate her with a squeeze to her bicep. You level Petya with a tilt of your head and a calm look. 

“What harm could a bite to eat do? It won’t cost you your life.” You chuckle smoothly. “Let me get you all something—it’s nearly noon, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

“I could eat,” Yefim eases in, hands resting in his pockets as he stares at you. His accent was calmer than the others, and his face softer. Out of all of them, you liked him best. 

Your eyes rest on Yefim with a thankful expression. He smirks and nods. Aleksandr, as always, says nothing beyond a small scoff and a look around the room with shifting feet. 

When the tallest of the group does nothing to push back his sneer and heavy glare, you hum under your breath as you expect the words before they rush from his sharp mouth.

“I will have to speak to your mother about this.” The accent makes him sound so stiff—like a statue. A man built up of gravel and snow; concrete in his veins instead of blood. 

“Oh, yes,” Alyona mutters, “the Consul herself.” 

Your nose moves in a sigh, but you ease the situation with a simple, “Do whatever you need to, Petya. I know it’s your job and I’m thankful regardless, but we’ll be back in less than an hour. It’s no big deal.” You pause, plastering on an innocent look. “We’re hungry.”

 For whatever reason you always envisioned Petya with dark eyes—blacks more deep than the clothes they put Alyona in to off-set your given whites when you two are fitted together. But the man’s eyes were so painfully light it made you not want to stare into them. 

Petya grunts and continues to glare, working his jaw. After a moment he lets off a large huff and shakes his head in disapproval.

“Half-an-hour. No more.” 

Alyona manhandles you out the door quickly, growling, “I do not know how you can stand this, Seraph. Bullshit, all of it.” 

“It’s only until everything goes back to normal,” you reason, hearing three sets of footsteps behind you as the guards follow into the chilled air of Yekaterinburg. There was no reason to take a car, everything was within walking distance of one another in this dense city populated by over one million people. “My mother’s worried is all. I’m not going to make their lives harder while they’re only doing what they’re told to do.” 

Light eyes dart to your face, your friend’s hand guiding you along the concrete with a dim concern. “I do not like all of this, Солнышко. It’s been months…Are the gifts still coming?”

Your expression tightens, lips going stiff. Alyona notices and changes the subject for now.

“Ah, but what am I doing—I’m ruining the celebration! Come, come, we will talk about my engagement to Nikifor while we eat.” 

Nikifor, her soulmate. The one who brought her color and music with his performance at a nightclub two years ago; the only thing standing in the way of their marriage was Alyona’s strict father. Something about the man wanting someone with higher standing than a musician for his famous daughter. 

“How is he?” You ask, blinking away the thought of finally being able to see color for the first time and how that must feel. A piece of you would always be envious of that. 

Alyona must have blushed because she always tilts her nose lower when she does. You smile and chuckle under your breath. 

“Wonderful,” is all she offers, but the giddy grin on her lips is knowledge enough. 

You both make it to the small bakery at the end of the long street, heels clicking and cheeks chilled. People had turned to look at you, gaping at the two models still in their expensive clothes and attempting to take pictures on their phones. All were strong-armed by the three men close behind you who bark things in Russian. 

Alyona opens the door of the bakery for you and you accidentally knock your shoulder into the frame, giving a sheepish smile before carefully walking to your regular corner table. Your tall friend goes to order while you take your seat with a sigh, Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim all shuffling in and sending glances to you; looking over the interior with sharp and calculating eyes. 

It’s like they think the sky’s going to fall, you surmise, twitching your lips their way. They’ve been here before with me, do they still not trust it?

Back when things had been less serious they’d allowed you to go where you wished with them—parks, for walks, stores—now it was only work and home. As if you didn’t already feel so trapped. 

“You boys can pick what you want,” you call to them softly. “My treat.”

“On the job,” is all Petya grunts before he takes his normal seat at the table closest to the door; everything in his bright sight. Your hand lightly tightens on the table, but you keep your expression placid. 

You’d tried to get him to lighten up, Aleksandr too, but the two weren’t as open to you as Yefim. There was a blatant distrust of Westerners here, even if you had given up your citizenship to move where your mother works in the Consulate building of this very city. 

While she was still employed by the American government, that didn’t stand in any sense with you. But on top of you being a famous model, your mother was well-known, regardless, and that ultimately fell back on you. 

Yefim’s gray eyes flickered to a case of Bird Milk Cake with a hidden longing as he grasped the back of his chair and slid into it—floorboards creaking loudly. You notice and chuckle under your breath, cheeks heating at the sight as the man’s gaze moves to you and blinks in surprise. He quickly averts his gaze and clears his throat, fixing the collar of his dress shirt.

You’d buy him a piece before you left; maybe kiss his cheek just to see him go all blurry-eyed. He certainly was adorable.

“The baker’s boy is staring again,” Alyona’s voice snaps into your head, and you peer at your friend’s face, startled. 

“What?” You ask as a plate is set in the middle of the table holding a single piece of Medovik. Your mouth fills with saliva, fingers immediately moving like a starved dog to grab a fork and cut into the layers; you shovel it into your mouth before you hiss to pace yourself. 

You chew slowly, swallow, and give Alyona a confused look.

She slides you an unimpressed frown. “The boy. At the front.”

“He’s probably gaping at you,” you take another bite, rubbing at your cheek with your free hand as people walking by the front window peek in with wide eyes; your men glare and move their chairs as the ground squeaks again. 

Your friend scoffs and mutters in Russian, shaking her head. Her hand waves quickly, barking, “Look!” 

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you look over and dab your face with a napkin before you get locked into a staring match with the dark eyes of the man up-front. 

He wears an apron, head a mess of curls, and his upper arms stained with flour. You blink and pause, wondering if…perhaps…A pause, a sickly hope in your chest…but nothing happens and the contact is broken when he ducks his head before looking at the counter. 

Gritting your teeth, you focus back on your cake and shove aside the sinking feeling in your chest. 

Idiot, you criticize yourself. Now why would you think that would work?

“Nothing, then?” Alyona clicks her tongue and takes up her own fork. “Do not fret, we will find him eventually, Seraph.”

“It’s not like I would know.” The air goes a temperature warmer—bodies stilling. 

While soulmate colorblindness was simply the reality of life, diagnosed colorblindness was still a curse that couldn’t be solved. If you ever saw your soulmate…you wouldn’t even know it. 

All because of that stupid accident. 

You act unbothered by the shift in the conversation and sigh. “You said you wanted to talk about your engagement,” your words remind the woman and she sets off into a tangent about the dress and the location after a moment of quiet concern. A church, she explained, the big one down the road where they’ll be a few days after the civil ceremony and the outer city venue. 

Alyona is only twenty, but you know that it’s incredibly common here to get married this early. Listening, you offer input here and there, but as it always does, the topic falls back to you as you eat the slice of cake dedicated to a dead man. 

Your knife-driven problem. 

The gifts. 

Already, you begin feeling uncomfortable.

“Aly,” you try to grumble, resisting the urge to eat the entire piece of Медовик as you put your utensil down. Your hand jerks over the table and you glare down at it in annoyance, ignoring the tensed nerves. “It’s not important—”

“How many more pieces of jewelry has he sent, hm? Letters?” The woman shivers and rubs at her arms. “It is horrendous behavior. Total fuck-up. And the fact that no one has caught him? Gah!”  

Your spine straightens itself, eyes sliding to the people gawking outside the window and seeing the multiple faces, shuffling bodies that pile next to each other like sardines in a can. 

“I just don’t want to think about it, okay?” You shake your head, turning away as a pit forms in your gut; realizing the fragility of your psyche when you think about the fact that anyone outside could be the source of your problem. The stalker. “If it’s just the gifts I can deal with them—the letters I never even read. If I ignore it they’ll stop eventually. All of this can be one big bad dream.” 

Your hand continues to shake on the table, not exactly in your realm of control just as the inability to walk in a straight line is. It was no wonder why they never let you do runway shows, you think sarcastically. You’d be stuck in a photographer’s room for the rest of your career.

Alyona pushes a strand of her hair out of her face. 

“Seraph…you know it does not work like that.” Of course you did, but asking for help was never your strong suit. And your mother had already given you three well-trained bodyguards to escort you to and from work—that was more than enough protection. 

When you think of the expensive parcels that had been dropped at AMA’s front desk you had to restrain the honey cake coming back up your gullet. All of them had been expensive; pieces you could afford on a model's pension but still wildly elegant to even touch much less own in multitude. Gold bracelets inlay with black opal and sapphire, necklaces with Tanzanite, and rings of ruby, your mother had told you this when you had brought them to her off of only seeing washed-out tones on your part. 

You never showed anyone the letters; they lived in a lockbox under the bed in your apartment. Concerningly, lately the ‘presents’ had been losing the plot. Random bits of glass and shiny items—a slow deterioration but somehow even more scary. 

Even the older women at the front desk were softening the usual sneers they wore when you walked in every day, no longer chiding you in Russian they know you can’t understand. The way they seemed pitiful rubbed you the wrong way.

You pull your jacket closer to you and rub a hand slowly along your thigh in a soothing gesture. Aly pulls her brows in. 

“I want to help you, little Солнышко, but I don’t think this is something I can fix with my womanly charms.” Your lips release a snort, tiny chuckles hitting the air. 

Alyona joins you before silence once again lapses. 

“...Do you feel alright?” Your friend asks honestly. Worry was plain on her face. 

You smile, but your lungs tighten in your chest while your heart acts like a dancer and lightly skips beats. “By next month,” your hand shakes over your thigh, “all of this will be in the past. No one could keep this up forever. I just have to…wait it out. It’s only the gifts, I can live with that—jewelry isn’t hurting anybody except his wallet.” 

The woman narrows her eyes at you and frowns, but it’s not long before she goes back to her half of the Медовик and takes a bite with a moan of enjoyment. You rarely lied, so you supposed she had no trouble believing you.

If only you could fraud yourself like that.

“Quite a wealthy bastard, though, no?” Alyona slyly pokes fun and you blink quickly. 

“Aly!” 

“I am just saying!” 

You press your hand to your lips to hide your loud laugh, Yefim looking over with a certain airiness to his expression before Aleksandr jerks his shoulder to face him back forward. The two glare at each other as Petya stares violently at the front door—daring those outside to try and come in and ask for a picture. 

While you hadn’t come back to this bakery in a while, the three men always seemed to pick the exact same table; the one with the perfect view of everything going on near the door. While it was a small distance away, it allowed for quick action in any direction. 

You blink away as the wooden boards under the bodyguards’ table creak again, loud enough to cause Alyona to frown in that direction. Petya sends an annoyed look down and scowls. 

“How do you know he’s not just stealing them,” you bring back the conversation, smirking. “You know? Maybe he’s a,” your voice lowers an octave in fake secrecy and Aly’s eyes roll, amused, “jewel thief.”

“God above,” the woman huffs. “That would be the twist.”

The both of you joked and picked fun, but that half an hour went past quickly, and soon it was time to get back to the agency so you could change again. The photographer couldn’t take pictures of air and play it off as you with a smile and a nervous stutter. 

As you stand you stare long at the cases of baked goods, licking the remnants of cream off your lips 

“We can buy another, Seraph,” Aly suggests, fixing her coat. You shake your head immediately. 

“No, no, I’ve already had enough sugar. I had two muffins for breakfast. Chocolate.” Your face pulls into a cringe at the words. “Cheat day.” 

Alyona’s lips go tighter, but she says nothing as her hair is puffed out of her face. She out of everyone knows how demanding modeling can be—your entire life is dictated by two things: calories, and appointments. 

You turn to Yefim with his wavy hair and his soft, dimpled, smile; casual eyes. Not your soulmate, based on his lack of reaction the first time you had met, but in that time you’d grown a tiny crush on the man, admittingly. He was kind and treated you with respect. Capable and reliable—how could you ask for more than that? 

“Yefim?” Your voice calls out, a smile on your lips. The man looks over and blinks in surprise. He clears his throat, stuttering as he shifts in his seat. The wood tilts slightly under him and he steadies himself on the edge of the table.

“Да, Ma’am?” 

Restraining a giggle, you cock your head as Alyona snorts.

“Do you want a slice of Bird Milk Cake?” Petya slides you a blank look and Aleksandr taps his fingers to the table. You poke fun, “For when you’re on break, of course.” 

Yefim’s eyes sparkle in their colorless state, a handsome smile taking his lips back along his face. He makes a move to stand up, floorboards squealing loudly as weight is lessened. 

“I would be in your debt—”

The world explodes into a slate-gray blaze of heat and hellfire. 

Your body is thrown back before you can even begin to understand that you’re in danger, panic completely bypassed for a total blank sensation of confusion. Spine slapping into the glass of the window, your form is hurled by a vast boom out of the bakery entirely before it slams to the concrete multiple feet away. 

You slide, rolling in a mess of limbs and ripped silk. For a good moment, you have no idea what just transpired, confusedly lifting your head from the ground and blinking below you as everything rings. Your hand grips the side of your head, the thick liquid seeping in between your fingers as you peel it back and look with shaky vision. 

Blackened blood is coated along your palm, slipping along your wrist as you tilt your hand up in horrified uncertainty. 

Everything comes back in a millisecond of screaming and running feet; like a switch being flipped. You snap your head back to what remains of the bakery as blood slides down your temple. 

“A-Alyona?!” Heels sliding, you stand but stumble back down just as quickly, hands slapping against the ground as you raggedly cough more, chest burning from the force at which you’d been thrown. 

What the hell had just happened? An explosion? 

There was little left of the bakery beside the front door, smoke billowing out of the broken windows as gray flames spark with the familiar sound of burning material—a sharp burn is taken into your nostrils. 

Dragging an arm forward, you grasp something warm and wet in an attempt to get up again. You look to the side and immediately scream at what you see.

Yefim’s upper body was completely fine besides the burns and the lack of his hair, the peeling flesh…it was the absence of the entire lower body that struck you with waves of horror. You slam a hand to your lips and wail, slipping back on kicking legs as tears well in your tear ducts.

Guts were leaking over the concrete, and the dark, gaping, wound spread a fast puddle out around the sputtering that made his chest look like it was moving. Eyes flutter, lashes flapping quickly. 

He looked confused, and that was perhaps the worst part of it. 

Yefim died only half a man, his entrails pooling out of his ribcage, only twenty seconds after you’d asked him if he wanted a piece of cake. Your fingers hide the loud sobs as you stare into this blank expression, hand shaking so bad that it hits your nose. 

“I…I,” you stutter, shapes and flashes rushing back and forth at the sides of your vision. Pressure holds at your left shoulder. 

“Seraph!” The sentence falls off into feminine Russian cursing and screaming, a grip shaking you back and forth, urging you to listen. 

There are wails and the roar of cars, but you don’t have to be given a speech to know the truth about the toll as the fire burns hotter and the blood runs faster. Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim are dead. They had been sitting on top of something that had triggered when Yefim had released weight from it. 

The creaky floorboards. 

“Seraph!” Alyona tries again, grabbing you under the shoulders and dragging you away from the corpse as bystanders’ phones flash with pictures being taken. There’s just so much screaming. “Seraph, please, we need to move! The fire is spreading!”

They had been sitting right on top of it. But…but they always sat there…they…they were always…

In the corner of your eye, a dark phantom looms across the street as the first sirens of the police cars race down the road; a burning silhouette of black mist and ashen smoke.

As the bakery burns and the corpse of Yefim grows cold, it slips away into the forming crowd.

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[urzannia]

I wonder if the paladins were to speak their native languages, would they have an accent when they get translated? I've always thought that the reason why allura has a British accent and Coran got wtv accent he got is becuz they have accents in altean so their accent translates to its English accent counterpart. i started thinking of this bcuz of Lance (duh hes always on my mind) and so Lance is cuban right? if he were to start speaking Spanish to the others in the castle, would he just seemingly get an accent out of no where??? like idk what the Cuban English counter part would be but just throwing shit out there, he was somewhat of a farmer prior to evrying(he can milk a cow) and then became one after...would he just gain a country accent bcuz he's from a farming family????? or would it be that when he's speaking Spanish, he would just get a thick spanish/cuban accent in english?????