#afro latina!reader

[zepskies]

Lost in Translation

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female POC!Reader

Summary: Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you? 

AN: So after getting requests for a Soldier Boy x POC!Reader, I’ve had a short series in development called Unravel Me. I’m a bit stalled on the outline right now, so I thought this could be a fun way to introduce their relationship and see if you guys think I should continue with the prequel, kind of like how I did with Checkerboard and the Break Me Down-verse.

This story would take place after Unravel Me, after a fair bit of character development lol. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Prompt: “Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!”

Song Inspo: “Damage” by H.E.R.

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, bit of dirty talk, fingering, edging, some angst, fluff and feels. The reader is a mixed race POC (Afro-Latina), with textured hair. 

The apartment was quiet, but not peaceful.

You were in the kitchen washing the Mt. Everest of dishes piled in the sink, partly because someone hadn’t rinsed off his own plate of carne guisada.

Ben had asked for beef for dinner yesterday, and you’d graciously delivered with your grandmother’s recipe for the stew. It was filled with chunks of tender, fall-off-your-fork beef, garlic, onions, carrots, and more—all marinated to perfection, if you said so yourself. You even added in some little yellow potatoes, both for taste and texture.

Apparently, he couldn’t be bothered to put those meaty man muscles to good use, aside from shoveling three helpings into his mouth.

A bottomless pit and a freakin’ man-child, I swear to God, you inwardly groused as you scrubbed the ceramic a bit too hard with the rough side of the sponge. No matter how many times you asked, nicely, it seemed your boyfriend couldn’t manage to pull his weight around here.

Okay, you knew his job could be demanding, but so was yours.

What the hell is this, Maid in Manhattan? Newsflash: I’ve got shit to do too! 

“And I cooked!” you muttered in indignation. That reminder propelled you to scrub a bit harder. The least he could do was clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash. Or toss the laundry into the washing machine once in a while. Like you really wanted to handle his dirty boxers all the damn time.

Did he have no shame? Couldn’t he do anything for you without you having to ask him three million times?

Es que él es bruto, mija, as your Dominican grandma would say about your grandpa, often while swiping a tired hand over her long braids. Es como un animal con ropa.

Just then, you heard his heavy steps creaking on the wood floors in your bedroom. Today was his day off, so he was probably taking his sweet time rolling his ass out of bed.

Meanwhile, you were hustling to get the place at least decently clean before you got yourself together for work. The thought made you simmer as you continued to place dishes on the counter rack. Each one clacking to rest was satisfying, but it also ticked up your internal dial to a fine boil. 

You heard him bang the bathroom door open and cringed internally, your teeth grinding. You’d reminded him three times already about the neighbors and the noise.

Sabes que, supe or not, I’m about to— 

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Ben’s voice washed over you, deep and still a little rough with sleep as he stepped into the kitchen. His old man loafers slid against the floor with every step when he approached you from behind, and his heavy hands found a familiar resting place on the curve of your waist.

He swiped your slightly wild curls to the side and pressed a tantalizing kiss into your neck. His voice, his touch, the brief scrape of his beard; it all caused a small shiver of delight up your spine.

“Hmm, you smell good. Good enough to eat.” And he teased you with the graze of his teeth, biting gently enough where your neck met your shoulder. You flinched with half a huff, trying not to smile. 

Just like that, it took the edge off your irritation…a little. You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could…

“Hey,” he said, “since you’re already up and about in here, how about some breakf—”

Your spine tightened once again.

“Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!” you snapped. You moved out of his arms to grab a hand towel to dry your hands with. They were all pruny from washing dishes.

“I’m already running late. Why? Because this place is a fucking mess, and the only one who seems to care is me!” you exclaimed. First, you gestured to the dishes now drying on the rack. “Hmm?”

You then opened up the lid to the full-to-bursting trashcan. “What do you call that, huh? You said you’d take this out last night. After I asked you twice. What, was I not speaking English? Did something get lost in translation, or are you already losing your hearing? Just let me know, ‘cause I can sure as hell crank up the volume for you!”

Ben raised a brow. You read his thoughts in his surly frown. You have some fucking audacity, talking to him like that, but it’s still early. He hasn’t even had his coffee, for Christ’s sake.

If he was more awake, no doubt he’d be barking back at you. Instead, he heaved a sigh, drew closer to you and shut the trashcan lid. At least there was one lid he knew how to close.

“All right, it’s just a little mess. No need to get fucking hysterical,” he said, trying to grasp your arm to placate you. You shrugged out of his hold and crossed your arms in anger.

“Ben, it’s not just a little mess. And what is this, 1945? I’m not hysterical!”

His lips twitched at a smirk, making you even angrier. But he’d caught enough smoke from you in the past to know he didn’t want it at 8:00 in the morning. He grasped your arms and rubbed them up and down, trying to sooth you.

“Okay, okay. It’s a little early for all this Latina temper, don’tcha think?” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your gaze snapped up at him with a glare.

Oooh, this man. He knew how to get you mad fucking tight.

Not in a good way.

Instead of exploding like Mount Fuji, you kept it all under your skin. You turned away from him and aimed to continue getting ready for work, but first, you took out a Greek yogurt from the fridge and wholly ignored him taking up space in the kitchen. You wouldn’t answer him when he called your name. In fact, you were going to give him the most frigid of cold shoulders—so cold he’d get hyperthermia through that invulnerable skin.

He waylaid your plans when he grabbed your hand, swinging you back into his arms. You gasped at the suddenness of it, looking up into his cocky, charming smile. You couldn’t stare too long at his green eyes, or the rest of his handsome, bearded face. Not when he knew exactly how to use it against you.

“Don’t think that’s gonna get you out of this,” you warned him. You set your yogurt on the kitchen counter and pushed at his chest, but it was no more effective than pushing at a mountain and expecting it to move.

His hands spanned your waist, his fingers beginning to press into your soft sides. He bowed his head, brushing his lips against your neck and the shell of your ear when he said, “Out of what, baby doll? Looks to me like we can still have a good morning.”

His voice once against trilled heat and tingles through your body, but you managed to lean back, holding the pads of your fingers to his lips.

“Hey, I’m not playing around here. If we’re gonna do this,” you pointed between him and yourself, “then let me make one thing really clear. I’m not la sirvienta around here, okay? I’m not your fucking maid. I’m your girl. Your partner. And since you live here now, I’m gonna need you to do your part.”

Ben almost rolled his eyes, but you grasped his chin. He frowned at you with furrowed brows. There was a time where he would've been inclined to grab your wrist and try to intimidate you with his temper. You saw it lying in wait behind his pursed lips and irritated stare, but you weren't afraid of him. Not anymore.

“Listen to me. I get that you haven’t lived like us commoners for most of your life, but this stuff is important,” you said. You took a deep breath, and you counted to three. You met him with a calmer gaze. “Ben, I love you.”

You let go of his chin and lowered your hand, letting it splay over his chest. He softened, ever so slightly, even though his frown remained.

“I love you,” you repeated, “but I don’t need a man-child.”

"Excuse me?" he did snap this time, his hold loosening from around your waist. "The fuck did you just say?"

You narrowed your eyes right back at him.

"You heard me," you said. "I want a man. A man who's going to be my rock when I need him. Can you do that for me, like I do for you? Are you gonna be my man, or do I need to claim you as a dependent on my taxes?"

His expression sharpened again at your thinly veiled accusation…but the longer he looked into your eyes, no longer angry, but earnest and imploring, the more he actually listened to what you were saying. His jaw worked for a moment in annoyance. You subtly softened him with your hands soothing up and down his arms, a slow back and forth over solid, warm muscle.

Eventually, he was able to curb his instinct to bark a callous reply. He nodded, expelling a breath through his nose.

“Fine,” he said.

Your brows rose. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” he said flatly.

You knew it was the closest you were going to get to an agreement, as well as an apology. You were still working on that last one, but dating this man was a work in progress, for both of you. With a sigh, you patted his arms that were slowly wrapping back around you.

“Okay, I’m really running late now,” you said.

“You should probably get a move on then,” Ben said.

Still, he didn’t release you. He stared down at you with an amused smile while you struggled against his hold. You uttered a laugh.

“Babe, I need to get to work.” You leaned over and spied the oven clock. “Oh, shit! it’s almost 8:30! If I’m not there by 9:00—”

“You sure you want to go now? Tense, body all tight,” he said, his voice deep with sensuous suggestion.

His lips neared yours, but he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. His lips veered away to brush against your cheek. He inhaled deeply as he moved, taking in the floral scent of your soap, mixed with the army of products you styled your hair with, and the faint imprint of your perfume from the night before. He skimmed down your neck and along the shell of your ear.

“Wouldn’t you rather I fuck all that tension right out of you?” he offered. “Leave you nice and warm and satisfied, have that pretty pussy coming hard on my cock.”

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as his filthy mouth and the timbre of his voice struck a chord through your body, tinging warm arousal between your legs. Your fingers tightened on his strong arms, digging into the fabric of his loose robe. Ben took that as a wordless confirmation. He bent at the knees and grabbed you up by your plush thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck on instinct, with a small gasp.

But you recovered quickly. Taking his face into your hands, you met his lips roughly with yours in a devouring kiss. He set you down on the kitchen counter hard enough to make the clean dishes rattle. His hands were just as claiming as his mouth, squeezing your hips and thighs as he spread them open to make more room for himself.

While your tongue dueled with his, you shoved the robe off his shoulders, followed by his sleep shirt pooling to the floor. His hand slid under your top as well, and almost ripped it at the hem in his haste to get it up and over your head.

“Ow, ah-ow!” You giggled when the collar got caught on your hair. Ben’s breathy chuckle reached your ears. He was gentler in how he helped get the shirt off the rest of the way. Your mane of hair fell into your face, and you huffed.

Ben did you the favor of brushing the thick curls away from your eyes, tugging several strands behind your ears, even though most of them didn’t obey him. He framed your face with his big hands, and his thumbs swept along your skin, the rich complexion shining in the morning light filtering through the kitchen window.

There was more care in his touch now, his strength tempered just for you. Fond amusement colored his features. For as much shit as you gave him, you still gave him more of yourself; more of your trust, your patience...and all the rest of it. You gave him more than anyone that had come before you, and deep inside, he doubted anyone that might come after you.

You smiled up at him, a little wryly. You leaned up and met him for a gentler kiss. Your eyes fell closed at the feeling of him, and the spicy hint of his aftershave. It was a scent that often clung to his pillows. When he was gone on a mission for days on end, you wouldn’t admit to clinging to one of them to help you sleep, and make you feel safe. 

“Mmm, you smell good,” you whispered. And it was true. He smelled like mint and spicy aftershave. You plied his lips with deeper kisses, licking into his mouth with a sensuous tongue, before you stole his words. “Good enough to eat.”

He uttered a groan deep in his throat. It satisfied you, enhancing the warm flood between your legs.  

Fuck it. You were calling in sick today.

You drew him back into the pull of you, winding your arms around his neck and your fingers in his hair. It was getting long again, but you liked it. You liked something to hold onto, just as much as he did. Your nails brushed against his scalp, down the back of his neck, earning a hum of pleasure from him. You wound your legs tightly around his hips and invited the press of his hard cock against your throbbing core, even through your panties and pajama pants. A faltering groan caught in his chest.

“Needier that I thought this morning,” he remarked. His warm hands drifted down to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over dark, pebbled nipples. You sighed into his mouth in response.

You heard the cocky grin in his voice, but for once, you didn’t care. You did need him. You wanted him to fuck the stress and chaos out of you.

…Well, he’d caused most of it, but still. He was gonna damn well fix it.

And he aimed to do just that, with his hands sliding farther down your body with purpose, grabbing the waistband of your pajama pants and roughly sliding them down, along with your panties. Your bare ass felt cold against the tile counter, but you didn’t have too much time to think about it with Ben’s thick fingers probing between the wet, glistening folds of your pussy. He soon found what he was searching for, circling firmly over your clit.

Your hips raised off the counter as you whimpered against his lips and ground yourself against his hand. You broke from his kiss to bury your face in his neck. Ben’s free hand grasped your hip and pulled you right to the edge of the counter.

There he held you down, his brows furrowing in concentration. His fingers sought your entrance and slipped inside you with ease. By now, he knew what angles would have you squirming, writhing, your body arching into him, while your inner walls clenched around his hand.

“Fuck. That’s right, baby doll. I’ve gotcha,” he said roughly, continuing to fuck your pussy with his fingers. His thumb rubbed against your clit between strokes.

The coil in your lower belly began to tighten, the delicious throbbing deep inside beginning to make your thighs shake. But just as you felt yourself tipping over the edge, Ben withdrew his fingers from your sopping channel.

You struggled to catch your breath in shock. Your head raised from Ben’s shoulder to glare at him. When your mouth opened to deliver an indignant protest, he silenced you with his mouth claiming yours. Your nails bit into his shoulder in retaliation, even though you knew it wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest. In fact, it only curved his lips into a smirk against yours.

You slapped him on the shoulder, immensely frustrated, but also laughing. “You’re such an assh—”

Before you could even finish cursing him, he gathered you up again and lifted you off the counter. He walked you over to the couch in the living room. He would’ve loved nothing better than to lay you out across the two-seater table in the kitchen, but he thought the shitty old wood might just give out under the strain of him fucking you. So the living room was a close second, and in this tiny-ass apartment, it was barely a few feet more to walk.

He laid you out underneath him on couch, and it groaned and squeaked under both of your weight. You squeaked too, if for a different reason. It had Ben smirking down at you. He freed himself from the confines of his pajama pants and coated his rock-hard arousal with the leftover wetness coating his hand.

“I approve of the scene change,” you said breathlessly, once again stroking his arms. Your fingers slipped over every dip and plain of muscle.  

“Didn’t think you wanted to be fucked on some cold tile,” he said, even if the sentiment behind his words warmed you. You were pretty sure he didn’t used to care about that. At least, before he met you.

He grabbed your hips, lined himself up to your entrance, and his cock breached you smoothly, pushing into you until his hips fit snugly against yours.

“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, your thighs squeezing around his frame.

“Feel good, sweetheart? All fuckin' filled up,” Ben teased, a bit breathless himself. You were a tight fucking fit. He slid out of you experimentally, drawing a moan from your lips. You nodded.

“Yeah, baby. So good,” you freely admitted, panting all the while.

Ben’s hot gaze drew over you as he continued moving hard and fast inside you. He took in your every bare curve, the way hot breaths and sexy moans fell from your lips with every thrust, the way your hair fanned out underneath you and hung off the side of the sofa cushion, the way your hands still explored him and touched him, demanding, but still loving.

For that, it was all the more tantalizing against his skin, warming even the darkest places he tried not to show you.

And every drag of his cock inside you stretched your inner walls in the most delicious of ways. It wasn’t just that he was able to fill you to the fucking brim. He also just knew his way around a woman’s body. He knew you, and he knew exactly how to make you come undone. Even quick and dirty on your couch, he made you feel brand new. 

He was right, damn him.

The coil deep inside you snapped. Pleasure crested through you and made your inner walls squeeze him tight, fluttering and pulsing with warmth. You came hard on his cock, hard enough to milk his release shortly after for all he was worth.

His forearms fell to the cushion on either side of your head. You were basically being smothered, but for the moment you didn’t mind. You just held his sweat-slick body against yours while you both caught your breath, each of your heartbeats falling back into a steady rhythm.

He was always so damn warm. It was nice, considering how cold it was this winter, but the thought always made you a bit sad. It reminded you of the power housed in his chest, and every memory he caged there as well.

You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder. In return, his lips found the side of your head and hesitated there.

“You’re not going to work,” he said. It was more an observation than anything else.

You laughed breathlessly and shook your head. “Nope.”

He nodded. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

You could get behind that. Your kitchen was finally clean, which meant your kitchen was closed until further notice.

“Shower first,” you stipulated.

You felt Ben’s smile grow against your dewy skin. “All right.”

You sighed, and he guided you to your feet along with him. You had a feeling “breakfast” was going to be lunch by the time you and Ben finally escaped this apartment.      

AN: Lol hope you had fun with this one! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these two! 💚💚

Spanish Translations:

Es que él es bruto, mija. Es como un animal con ropa.

It’s that he’s stupid, my daughter. He's like an animal with clothes.

However, “bruto” can also mean brutish, crude, and/or like a beast, so it fits in more than one way. 😂

Sabes que, …

You know what, …

La sirvienta

The servant (or maid) (female)

Join Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Jacklesverse Bingo 2024 Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List

@spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @adoringanakin @rizlowwritessortof @chernayawidow

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms

@waynes-multiverse @my-stories-vault @syrma-sensei @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles

@chevroletdean @winchestergirl2 @a-lil-pr1ncess @winchester-whiskey @spnbabe67

@cheynovak @megara0224 @yoongi-holland @illicithallways @perpetualabsurdity

@deansimpala @impala-dreamer @jc-winchester @k4marina @atenea585

@kayleighwinchester @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @star-yawnznn @number1whorehome

@g0ldfishd00dles @10ava01 @sixxteenbullets @tayl0rfanatic @everything-is-all-clear

@suckitands33 @cookiechipdough @trashmoutth @riteofpassage77 @mxltifxnd0m

@bleuatlas @luci-in-trenchcoats @valerinapetrova @spnaquakindgdom @podiumackles

@ladykitana90

@lamentationsofalonelypotato (I believe you said you would like to be tagged in this one. If not, I'm sorry, friend. Please disregard! 💚)

[starsluver]

Your Teeth in my neck| Rafe Cameron x latina!reader

A/n: I love Kali Uchis so much 🤭, she's so fine. I'm so down bad for her

Okay, so I've seen all over this app. Rafe Cameron with a Taylor Swift or Lana Del Rey fan gf but y'all know what I haven't seen. Rafe Cameron with a gf who loves Kali Uchis so I'm going to present it to y'all <3.

The first thing Rafe noticed about his gf when they first met was her sense of style (basically Y2k and a bit Chicana style because I barely see any fics with a Latina reader 🙄) along with her jewelry. A lot of gold necklaces and bracelets.

Rafe has definitely spent an INSANE amount of money on his gf. For example clothes and jewelry. And she feels kinda bad that she's not able to pay him back but he doesn't mind.

Rafe LOVES her outfits and how she can make everything look good.

He has definitely had to listen to all Kali's albums and singles cause of his gf but he doesn't really mind. Definitely has bought his gf tickets for her concerts. (Probably has listen to a few of her songs while doing it 🫢)

His gf DEFINITELY has a few Spanish nicknames like cariño, Mi vida, Amor, blaquito 🫢...... Colonizer (I'm sorry y'all please forgive me I had to 😭)

I'm getting the motivation to write so y'all better request 😎🥱

My fav Kali song 🤭😍

[rafesbabygirl]

rafe and his afro latina girlfriend

[luviisabella]

Afro-Latina!Reader who loves to get a silk press when it’s winter and Bakugou gets grouchy because he “misses your natural hair”.

Afro-Latina!Reader who speaks to Bakugou in Spanish and smiles when he understands her (he loves it).

Afro-Latina!Reader who when greeting people kisses their cheek and the first time Bakugou saw this he couldn’t help but stare blankly in confusion wondering “Did my girlfriend just kiss another guy in front of me ?” After you explained it was a greeting he kept the mental note.

Afro-Latina!Reader who puts Bakugou onto coquito and it was LIFE changing for him. He never had an alcoholic drink this sweet. When he asked what was in it you told him it was a ‘secret’. Now every Christmas he’s excited when you mention you’re going to make it.

Afro-Latina!Reader x Bakugou Katsuki; who does his best to indulge in his pretty girlfriend’s culture while she happily tells him all about it.

[clubsoft]

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ACÉRCATE⠀ ⠀ , come closer . ⠀ ⠀ JAVIER PEÑA / AFRO - LATINA WOC ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

for · @gothcsz ( i hope i did it justice <3 ) taglist · @days1 / @mandaloriankait / @salingers / @letsgobarbs / @alfiestreacle / @dontlookatme121 / @joelmillerisapunk / @cuppajoel if u would like 2 be tagged in future moodboards pls just reply to this post ty :3

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

[nadiahshaven]

high connie. that’s it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

translations : estas bien?/you good? | cariño/darling | mi amor/my love

content : high!connie x afro-latina reader, contains nsfw, connie got braces.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

high!connie who gets touchy, and needy when under the influence.

“why you so far for?” connie questioned you. seeing you in nothing but his large t-shirt and boxers was doing something to him. his eyes were so low that he could barely see you, but he could make out your figure from across the room.

“cariño, i’m right here.” you reached out for his hand, to which he grabbed it, kissing all over the back of it, to your tattooed fingers, to your palm and wrist. it was now your turn to question him. “estas bien?”

he nodded, and whispered nothing but three words as he tugged on the oversized shirt you were wearing, with an intoxicated, metal-mouthed smile.

“take this off.”

high!connie who loves when you feed him snacks he gets for his munchies. he finds it weird, sober or not. you find it cute, on the other hand, so everytime he hands you an opened bag of trolli sour gummy worms after he gets high, you know exactly what to do.

“thankkk you, mi amorr.” connie chuckled, licking the rest of the sour powder off of your index and thumb fingers.

“mhm.” you replied back, kissing his currently blue raspberry flavored lips.

high!connie who loves how you dig your nails into his back when he has your legs on his shoulders, LED lights on red, fucking you to sandra’s rose by drake. any other time you two would fuck off a blunt, he’d be gentle, easy with your body. something must’ve been in the weed, because this specific time the headboard was banging so roughly into the wall you thought you’d have to call maintenance for the apartment you lived in, in the morning. the tip of his dick was punching your cervix with every harsh thrust he fed you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“con-“ you said incoherently, resorting to slapping onto his back in an attempt to get his attention. “connie, im finna cum-“

yet again, due to a moan being forced from your throat, you couldn’t finish your sentence. he was hitting your g-spot as if there was no other spot inside of you to hit, guiding you to the orgasm of your life.

but, he answered you, in a gentle, quiet, cooing tone. “go ‘head, mami. nut onnis dick.” his hands that were on either side of your head moved down to press on your lower stomach, enhancing the pleasure indescribably.

you started to pant hoarsely, jaw slackened and legs shaking. he took this as an opportunity to shove his thumb in your mouth, swirling it around, under, behind your tongue. he slid his slender, soft finger out, dragging it down your body before pressing it on your clit, rubbing it in small, firm circles.

high!connie loved how you looked when you came, it being the most gorgeous sight on earth. some nights, he kept you up only to make you cum over, and over, and over. he couldn’t get enough of how your face contorted into one of pure ecstasy when you reached your climax. knowing he was the one making you feel this good, sent him onto a cloud higher than the one he was on.

high!connie who would agree to let you wear his chains when you rode him. everyone knew connie’s chains were the most dear to him, which is why you wouldn’t dare to ask him to even take them off if you two were fucking while he was sober. you loved the way they dangled in your face, anyway. but, when he was high, saying ‘yes’ to things was more common, even if it took a little bit of persuasion. he adored the way his chains sounded, the silver and diamonds clinking together while he bounced your hips up and down on his dick.

high!connie who you had to take care of when he greened out after eating an entire edible. he had high tolerance, but this night, he pushed his luck— and his body— farther than was able to contain. next thing you knew, he was kneeled over the toilet, emptying his guts while you were rubbing his broad shoulders with either of your hands, encouraging him and telling him that he’d be okay.

he sat up, still holding onto the toilet. “never gettin’ fuckin’ high again.”

“so, this mean i can smoke the rest of the weed?” you chuckled, already knowing the answer to this question.

“fuck no.” connie responded, sternly.

high!connie who also loved getting high on the taste of you. he’d have you ass up, face down, eating you out as if his life depended on it. his flexible, long tongue knew no boundaries, going from twirling it around your clit to tensing it and thrusting it in and out of you. your eyes rolled into the back of your head when he slid his thumb into your smaller, pulsing hole right as he flicked the tip of his tongue sloppily across your button. you couldn’t control yourself, or even warn him, and gushed every juice you had onto his face. this seemed to motivate him further, and he continued what he was doing, despite your cries and very guttural sounding moans.

high!connie who loved to cuddle with you after watching a movie that he knew would trip him out. he’d rant about how surreal everything looked as he laid his head into your chest. you played in his hair as he did so. touching his hair was also one of the things he wouldn’t let you do if he was sober, but obviously, since he was high, it was alright. your nails gently scratching his scalp would send him into a deep sleep. and just like that, he’d become your 6’5, 200 pound weighted blanket.

“never lettin’ you get high again.” you groaned, as you tried your best to pull the comforter up onto both of your bodies.

you also simultaneously knew that was a lie. you loved a sober connie, a drunk connie, and especially a high!connie.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

property of @nadiahshaven.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

hey I'm the one who asked for an afro-latina reader. I didn't really have anything specific in mind but maybe friends to lovers?

logan howlett x afro-latina!reader

series masterlist - my masterlist

warnings: argentinian spanish used, anyone can technically read this but it was written with a afro-latina reader in mind, i am not afro-latina so feel free to correct me on any mistakes, also i wrote this right after an exam and my brain was mush so this might not be the best written

logan howlett’s presence in the x-mansion is sporadic. he leaves for days or weeks at a time, never telling anyone where he’d gone upon his eventual return. it’s become expected of him at this point, no one bothering to ask questions, only welcoming him back with open arms and excited shouts of his name.

he’s never been the kind of guy to stick in one place for very long. his past is messy, chaotic, a whirlwind of people and places he’s left behind. it’s better that way, he’d decided long ago, better not to get attached lest he hurt anyone else, and so he’d created a life for himself where he was constantly on the move, jumping from one location to the next before anyone could notice his suspicious lack of aging or strange behaviours.

the x-mansion is different. every excuse he once used to run away is open knowledge. he doesn’t truly have a reason to leave anymore, knows he’s found a place that could be considered a forever home, and yet it’s been so long that he struggles to change his habits, agitation crawling up into his throat when he notices how long he’s been in one place, an unfortunate feeling he can never quite shake.

but things change when you start to work at the x-mansion as a professor, curiosity and interest pulling logan into your orbit, holding him in place when his brain would normally be telling him its time to go. at first, it’s impossible to say if you’re truly the reason for the change. you, with your glowing dark skin and bright eyes and whispered reassurances to the children struggling with accepting themselves.

logan doesn’t speak to you at first, is the thing, at least not anymore than he speaks with anyone else. he’ll say hello in the halls if you say it first, nodding at you in acknowledgement when you send him the bright smiles that have most beaming at you in return.

but he’s always nearby, outside in the yard when you happen to be, waiting in the hall across from your classroom when your classes end and the students stream out the door, leaving only he and you alone, or as alone as you can be in the mansion with all its inhabitants. you offer him comments about your day to which he hardly ever responds, noncommittal noises and sarcastic quips the only thing you get from him.

you don’t know if you can call what you and logan have a friendship. it’s more complicated than that, a dynamic based on two personalities that shouldn’t mesh quite so well, your smiles and his silent stares. he’s kind to you in the way that logan shows kindness, making you coffee on the days where you have early morning classes, offering a strong shoulder to cry on when things feel particularly overwhelming.

he treats you the same as everyone else when there’s people around, and a part of you knows that it comes from his struggle to show any kind of vulnerability. it’s different when the two of you are alone, a routine based on small acts of service, neither of you ever bringing up the question of what exists between you.

and he doesn’t change overnight, doesn’t decide to stay simply because he has something vaguely resembling friendship for the first time in decades. he still leaves the x-mansion for inconsistent intervals of time, enough that most people don’t notice the slowly decreasing amount of time he spends away.

you’ve come to expect the knock at your door in the middle of the night, logan returning at a time when he knows hardly anyone will be awake to bother him, to ask invasive questions like where he’s been or what he’d done while he was away.

your heart flutters in your chest regardless, a skip in your typical calm demeanour, a smile rising to your face without your knowing consent. you couldn’t force it off even if you’d wanted, the anticipation of seeing logan again causing a swarm of butterflies in your stomach and chest, pounding behind your ribs.

“logan?” your voice is a low murmur as you approach the door, awfully aware that you’re dressed in only a pj set, and even more aware that logan’s seen you in much less before.

the door opens and there he is, intense as always, his eyes roaming over your body to check if he’d woken you or simply pulled you out of your nighttime routine. he’s gentler when you’re sleep-rumpled, never apologising for waking you but tucking you back into bed anyway, his lips finding their way to your forehead if you’re particularly lucky.

“miss me?” he asks. it’s a stupid question and he knows it, you’ll always miss him when he leaves, like a limb that’s been removed, you can feel his absence in every part of your daily routine.

you throw yourself into his arms, confident that he’ll catch you, because he always does. this is your favourite kind of moment with logan, when the two of you are alone and you can show your affection freely without him shrugging you off. he never initiates these moments, that responsibility belongs to you, but he melts into you like wax under the sun, refusing to pull away from your embrace, only untangling your limbs when you detach from him first.

he’s warm, smells like cigar smoke and whiskey and the fresh scent of the open air, his arms tight where they wind around your waist. you don’t want to let go, but alas you must, if only to pull him into your room, closing the door behind you so you can speak at a normal volume.

“did you just get back?” you ask, settling down on your bed. logan’s eyes are trained on the way your thighs expand when you sit down, your sleep shorts riding up.

it’s not a secret that he finds you attractive, you’re well-versed in reading the expressions in men who stare at you for a beat too long, but you refuse to let that come between whatever it is you have. logan has what you would consider to be friends, but there’s a quiet understanding between the two of you, a reassurance that he doesn’t need to force himself to be anything other than who he is. you won’t take that away from him simply due to mutual attraction.

logan is a broken man, his life a series of traumatic events that pile up until it’s impossible to find a way out of the dark maze of his mind. more than a lover, he needs a friend, and you like to think that you’re that person for him.

“yeah,” he replies, “had to make sure you were the first person i saw.”

you sigh. it’s moments like these that make it hard for you to tell if logan wants you in a different capacity, if there’s more to the soft way he treats you, the acts of service that have become an important part of your routine. he’s a natural flirt, uses it often as a shield, and unfortunately even you can’t tell when he means it.

you worry that your own feelings will get in the way of your ability to read him, twisting the meaning of his words into something they’re not. he’s not being unkind, not playing with your emotions on purpose, but that doesn’t stop the sting you feel in your chest.

“don’t say that,” you snap, though your smile takes away from the sharp bite in your tone, “boludo.”

he just smiles, a wicked thing, his pointed canines showing. it’s different to your smile, which you’ve heard lovingly described as sunshine in human form - it’s more of a smirk, his amusement clear in the tilt of his lips, though you wonder how long its been since he’d had a reason to share a true smile, not one of amusement but one of pure joy.

“don’t say what?” he goads you, ignoring the roll of your eyes, “don’t say that i missed you? that i missed your smile and your eyes and the way you yell at me?”

“irse al cajaro,” you reply, “stop being stupid.”

he looks oddly contemplative for a few moments, just watching you, something akin to curiosity in the deep brown of his eyes. you give him time, waiting for him to either speak to you or leave, whichever it is he decides he needs in this moment. you’re not one to push for anything logan isn’t willing to give, and the expression you see on his face now isn’t one you know how to navigate.

he reaches one hand behind him towards the doorknob of your room, flicking the lock shut. if another man in another context had done the same you might have worried, but the only thing you feel is a slight confusion. it’s late at night, no one other than logan ever comes to see you at this time, and if for some reason there was an emergency requiring your presence, they’d knock before entering.

warmth builds in your stomach, anticipation growing. there’s only one possible explanation that comes to mind, but it’s not one you want to ponder, not when you can’t be sure, not when logan still hasn’t moved any closer.

but then he does, a hand cradling your jaw, chapped lips finding yours in the silence of your room, the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating his features. it’s quick, not what you’d expected from logan, who’s rough and intense in everything he does. it’s cautious, and the thrum of his pulse when you reach for his hands, fingers brushing against his wrist, is a sharp staccato.

“you just kissed me,” you say, aware that you’re pointing out the obvious and yet unable to stop yourself, halfway to wondering if you’ve been asleep this whole time, the interaction merely a dream based on a very plausible situation.

“i did,” he replies.

you frown, caution signs blaring in your mind, shouting that this entire interaction is a bad idea, born of logan’s need for comfort and your unfortunate obsession with helping him in any way you can. you’ve always been the kind of person who wanted to fix what was broken, and in many ways that affects your relationships with people as well.

“did you want to do it?” you ask, “not did you want to kiss me, because you’re the one who initiated it. but did you want to kiss me, or just anyone?”

“you.” it’s only a one-word response, not a confession of love or admiration, a simple admittance that he’d been thinking of you when he’d kissed you and not anyone else. he doesn’t explain himself or justify his actions, just watches for your reaction.

“okay,” you breathe. you’ll certainly need to have a conversation with him later about what this means, if the boundaries of your friendship are expanding to include new benefits or if he feels something stronger for you. but for now it’s late, and logan stands before you after nearly two weeks away, and you’ve missed him terribly.

so you pull him into another kiss, enjoying the way he feels against you, flesh and blood and somehow not a daydream, not a mirage that will dissipate if you move too fast. he bites on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, the tangy taste of iron pooling on your tongue. it’s pain and pleasure and you sigh into the kiss, into his control, letting him push you down on your bed for more.

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c

latina reader: @naggywaggy @mami-veracruz @spencerswh0r3 @taextannie @gl1ndathegoodwitch

[itsstillsweetiebythealtar]

Recently watched The Skeleton Key again and was not too pleased with how Hoodoo was portrayed (especially with them saying it started in Louisiana, Hoodoo started throughout the south simultaneously). I’m noticing that the more and more I watch a movie, the more I kinda be like.. why did they portray it like that??

But I wanted to ask all of my ATR practitioners out there, hoodoo, voodoo, lucumi, isese, santeria, obeah, etc., have you ever watched a movie and felt as if your practice was portrayed in its authentic and complex form??

[hrtfeltcupd]

*ᴺᴼᵀ ᴹʸ ᴾᴴᴼᵀ ᶠᴼᵁᴺᴰ ᴼᴺ ᴾᴵᴺᵀᴱᴿᴱˢᵀ*

she could not be-fucking-lieve she was being hypnotized by you, of all people in this fucking club. ellie, the same woman who swore she hated you with every fiber in her rage-filled body, now not sure what to do with you. the way you were sensually bumping and grinding against the girl almost snatched her soul. your warm hands reached for hers, guiding them to your hips, eyes now meeting and making everything in the background disappear so suddenly. ellie was… getting off…? oh my god, she was getting off to it too, breath hitching when you wrapped your arms around her neck, giving such an evil yet innocent, loving look.

“are you okay?” your voice oddly soft and easy to hear over the once blaring reggaeton music. ellie had’nt noticed how pathetic she looked to you once your hands met hers, now fixing to seem irritated with you. only to imagine how much more miserable she looked.

“yes,” was all she could currently muster up, a tighter grip on your hips, “why’re you—, what are—, fuck,” she settled, her bottom lip starting to hide between her pearly whites, eyes taking you in so greedily. you pulled her down a bit, inconspicuously pouting to her.

“what?” you little freak. you sounded so helpess. so bothered. so tempting, inviting, and sweet. ellie’s nails nearly dug into you, drawing a soft wince from your being.

“you’re a god damn—.”

“¿bellaca?” ellie had not a clue what the word had meant yet nodded so quickly with a questioning look. “it means a baddie. or it could mean to be sexually aroused. so if thats the case,” your lips brushed against her ear, ellie nearly moaning in yours, “it takes one to know one,” you abruptly pushed her away, walking away from the dance floor and to your friends who had been staring you down in shock and/or admiration.

ellie stood with a yearning look in her face, watching as your pretty figure disappeared into the crowd, leaving her to hate you even more for only sticking with her for half of the song that was now pounding on her eardrums again.

what a fucking moment, no?

[felucians]

Hobie x Afro-mexicana!reader who's aesthetic is Mexicore

(Mexicore: The combination of Indigenous Latine/Mexican culture and alternative/scenemo/goth subcultures - created by Pierce The Veil - example of the fashion from @zamber_lamber on TikTok pictured as I am unable to find any afromexican examples online)

[starsluver]

One thing I definitely need for the next scream movie is Chicano/a or latin role. And I know y'all are going to say 'what about Sam and Tara' they're half latina in the movie. Considering their mom is latina and theories that one of the side characters in the first scream movie is Tara's dad. But either way both of their dad's were white. (And the reason I'm saying this is I want Chad, Sam, Mindy or Ethan if he's alive 🥲 with a latin s/o) because even with bigger franchises like Harry Potter being both a book and movie franchise. HOW COME THERE'S NO LATINO CHARACTERS?!?!?! There's latinos in Europe that aren't Spanish. Yet I only see most of the harry Potter characters with Spanish s/o. SPANISH PEOPLE AREN'T LATINO, THEY ARE OUR COLONIZERS AND THE REASON MOST LATINOS SPEAK SPANISH

It's that simple to google it but still I feel like both media and the world of fan fiction are barely scratching the surface of latino rep. I also feel like white latinos says it's so hard to be latino 'put not look latino' even though they're treated better in both America the country and latin America. Brown and Black latinos are mostly treated the worst and when we have rep, the white latinos complain and say 'there's latinos with blue eyes' 'there's latinos with red hair' like we didn't notice from all the telenovelas that have European actors or white latino actors. Also the saying in Mexico and I think other latino countries which is 'the lighter ones are clean and the darker ones are dirty' or smth like that.

[luviisabella]

CALLING MY LATINAS; MI MORENITAS, BLANQUITAS, GÜERITAS, Y MÁS

Katsuki Bakugou x his

Puerto Rican GF 🇵🇷

Dominican GF 🇩🇴

Cuban GF ����🇺

Mexican GF 🇲🇽

Argentinan GF 🇦🇷

Colombian GF 🇨🇴

Venezuelan GF 🇻🇪

Peruvian GF 🇵🇪

Guatemalan GF 🇬🇹

Honduran GF 🇭🇳

Uruguayan GF 🇺🇾

Chilean GF 🇨🇱

Brazilian GF 🇧🇷

Haitian GF 🇭🇹

-> 🩷

He would love every part of you. If you speak Spanish, if you don’t. If you’re morenita, blanquita, güerita, etc. Your culture, your language, your country. He would learn every inch of you if you let him and he would love every second of it.

Bonus: if you ever take him to your country he 100% comes back bragging to his friends.

“Tsk. You’re a fucking loser. You’ve never been to *country*?”

And with a shit eating grin he’d happily show off the necklace with your country on it.

“Bet your girlfriend isn’t as cool as mine”

—

Yes ml, you have him wrapped around your finger, embrace your background!! 🩷

[jaeshoney]

This is so cutttteee!!!

dinner and dessert | e. yaeger

word count: 1,150 [4 min 10 sec read] | ✪ content warning: porn w a plot, medium-slow burn (?), p in v sex, semi-self aware cringe writer, missionary, creaming, creampie

eren x black!latina!reader / afrolatina!reader

✭ eren appreciating his sweet lil’ wife

your girl ever put down a plate of food so good you just have to take her soul? eren knows what that’s like.

he had that happen today, when he walked in after a long day of work to a plate of hot honey tenders with a side of mac and cheese and hand squeezed lemonade.

his beautiful wife, y/n, having just wiped her hands on her apron smiled when she caught his gaze.

“welcome home papi. yo cocinado para ti.”

he’s learning spanish but didn’t bother to listen to the second part, completely zoned out with his focus on her lightly glossed brown lips moving, smiling at him.

“‘rennie? i have a hot meal infront of you and you’re just staring at me?”

“‘cause i can’t tell what’s sexier. you or that plate of food.”

she bursts into the most beautiful giggles he’s ever heard and he can’t help but return the smile she’s beaming. everyday he comes home and is reminded to just how good of a catch he made, how stunning and amazing his wife truly is.

and so, over some RnB, she and eren sit for dinner. she has her legs to her chest in the dining room chair, pedicured toes and anklet resting comfortably. she waits, satisfied at the sight of her husband filling his stomach, until he’s ready to eat her up too.

——

“the only thing i can feed you that’s better than that food is this dick, even then it still might not compare.” he compliments in between neck kisses, you playfully swat him away and cower away into the bed. eren has since taken his shirt off and changed into a pair of shorts, you two deciding on movie and a glass of wine for yourself.

a glass of wine that you're close to spilling if he doesn't lighten up on the smothering.

"eren jaeger! these are white sheets! compartas y sientate!" you scold, still giggling, swatting at his bicep.

eren scoffs at your tone and moves lower on your neck, from the spot that makes you giggle to the one that makes you moan. and you'll be damned if you break your favorite wine glass.

"eren. let me- ahh- let me put down the glass. or i'll have you buy me twelve." he takes the glass, sitting it down on the nightstand himself while his other hand pulls you down the bed a little bit. he's leaning over you, dragging his kisses from your lower neck to your shoulder blades while his hands travel under your satin pajama shirt. his kisses are sloppy and you can hear the smack of his lips everytime he comes up to go elsewhere.

"thank you, my love, for the food." he says, finally using his lips for things other than trying to suck your skin off. he pulls up your shirt to reveal your breasts, nipples hard and at attention for him.

"mmm," you purr out at the sensation of his tounge dragging over your nipples, licking and sucking passionately. your hand goes up to his sloppily done bun, gently scratching at the back of his neck in a silent praise. through his own light moans, his green eyes focus on yours. the eye contact drives you crazy, he keeps it no matter what he’s doing, switching from kisses to licks or sucking.

“reeeeenn. ren bebe please,” you plead, beginning to grind your hips onto his thigh.

“you want something, princess?”

“yeah. you.” you flash him a smile that makes his dick throb, clearly feeling the wine with that smooth response.

it triggered something in him, if he wasn’t on a mission to break your pussy in before he was now.

in an instant, he’s between your thighs and ravaging at you. you can’t tell if that’s his spit or your pre running down your slit— probably a mix of both, but he digs in like you didn’t just feed him one of the best meals of his life. his tongue switches between moving your bud in circles, and placing deep kisses up and down your pussy. if there was a way to give a pussy hickies, yours would be littered with them.

his shoulders are flexing under the dimmed lighting of the moon and the tv long forgotten, drowned out by your moans. years of eating you out has perfected his science to a t, so needless to say the sucking sounds he’s coerced from your dripping cunt are beyond sinful.

“i don’t think you’ll ever know how fucking hard your pretty sounds make me.”

“mmmmm.. s-show me instead?” you ask rhetorically, rolling your hips into his face.

he pulls away to sit up, tugging off his black boxers to reveal his cock, standing hard at your attention. you spread your legs to allow him space between, and eagerly stroke him after he’s lined himself up with your entrance. the precum coating his dick gathers around your manicured fingers and the web between your thumb and pointer with each pump. he stops your movements and while he pushes himself into your cunt, he licks it all straight off, circling his tongue around your wedding ring. both sensations make you cry out.

and while he starts off slow, his pace never gets too fast but it’s still rough, making sure he hits your g-spot with every thrust and dragging the apparent vein of his cock along your walls. the one that splits in two from the middle to the left of his shaft that you’ve dragged your tongue up and down so many times.

“papi.. oh s-shit please..”

the feeling leaves your hands scrambling to ground you, and eren can’t help but find it adorable how you loose it no matter how many times he fucks you.

“calm down princess. you’re too tight, don’t end this too quick now. relax.” he commands, his hips stuttering slightly.

“c-cannn’t ren, hhhhn,” you voice over the wet squelch of eren driving his cock in, knocking into your walls harshly, and slowwwwly back out.

plop, slap, plop, slap, as the squelching sound of him entering you and then the rough slam of his hips once he was almost all the way in interchange. soon, your eyes rolled back as you barely mentioned something about cumming at your husband.

“cmon baby, cum for me.”

your orgasm sent your back flying up off the mattress, arching you towards him. the sensation of you contracting around him while you creamed and cried out sent him over the edge,

eren’s letting the most desperate groans out right into your ear as he empties his cock in you. the load spurting quickly then oozing from his tip as he slows his thrusts to a shop, eyes screwed shut while he holds your hips down on his dick.

all is still as you catch your breaths until,

“now roll over and arch for me princess.”

[zepskies]

UNRAVEL ME || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Finally we're getting to the prequel of Lost in Translation! Here's how Ben "unravels" for an Afro-Latina woman of color who keeps him on his toes — all while she deals with becoming Soldier Boy's unwilling getaway driver...and a fugitive as well lol. This series also fulfills a hilarious prompt for @jacklesversebingo!

JVB Prompt: Accidental Old Person Acquisition

Series Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, PSTD/trauma, racial elements, canon-level language, blood and violence, Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (AKA: his asshole misogynistic self), but eventually protective Ben, eventual smut.

Listen While You Read:

🎵 Music Playlist: YouTube || Spotify

🎬 Playlist Poster - coming soon!

Chapters:

✦ Part 1: Hot Tamale - Read now on Patreon! || Coming to Tumblr/Ao3: 6/01

✦ Part 2: A Problem Like Chiquita - Coming to Patreon: 5/23 || Coming to Tumblr/Ao3: 6/08

✦ Part 3: Entering Funkytown

✦ Part 4: Food & Family

✦ Part 5: Amor Prohibido

✦ Part 6: La Vida Es...

✦ Part 7: I Could Fall (in Love)

Series coming in June 2025!

⋆˙⟡ Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new chapter. 💜

Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List (Part 1)

@spnwoman @waynes-multiverse @luci-in-trenchcoats @rizlowwritessortof @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @chernayawidow @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @chevroletdean

@foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @winchestergirl2

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @my-stories-vault @spnbabe67 @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2

[loganhowlettshousewife]

for diversity December, would u do a afro-latina reader?

ofc! do you have a prompt or specific idea in mind that you’d want me to do?

[starsluver]

This is so me and Ethan coded (I haven't took my delulu meds yet)

ethan landry’s instagram

he’s definitely obsessed with his girlfriend