cursedrot

[cursedrot]

🍓 Watch 🍓

Summary: Late night fun in the library

Warnings: Pure smut

Sam x Reader (+ a little bit of Dean 🙈)

~~~

Sam gripped your hips tighter as you bounced on top of him, your head rolling back in a needy moan, his eyes trained on your movements.

You'd been in the library for hours, Sam having you in every way he could- head buried between your legs on the table, bent over roughly thrusting into you, on your knees in front of him as he leant against the wall.

But now he was sat, watching you riding him, his cock stretching you out, your tits bouncing with every motion, a thin layer of sweat covering your naked bodies.

You were too filled with cock to talk, you could barely even think, your whole body filled with the pleasure only he could give you, your eyes rolling back as you let out another moan.

"That's it, princess, keep goin'- your cunt feels so fuckin' good-"

You gripped hold of his shoulders tighter, your nerves on fire, your breath stuck in your throat.

You heard him before he'd even entered the room- Dean- walking down the hallway and straight into the sight of you, riding Sam's cock like it was your own personal rapture.

He stopped in the doorway, unable to move, his feet frozen to the floor. His eyes washed over you, your arched back, your pussy wrapped around Sam's cock, taking him so well.

"Fuck- I-" he stumbled over his words, moving to turn and leave.

"Wait-" Sam murmured, not even looking at him, still staring at your tits in his face, "-she wants you to watch."

[cursedrot]

i am 100% a dean girl but just hear me out for a second

cockwarming sam when you two are doing some research for a hunt.

you’re perched on sam’s lap, his cock nestled deep inside your walls. just sitting there, unmoving. it was torturous.

sam is on his laptop, scrolling through some random articles while his other hand toys with your puffy clit.

you’re reading an old lore book. well…trying to. your fingers shake as you turn each page, and you can’t take your mind off how sam feels inside of you and the way he gently teases your clit.

“found anything yet?” his voice shocks you out of your daze, making you jump a little. the small movement making you clench around sam’s cock, eliciting a soft groan from him.

“no…” you mumble quietly, “not yet.”

sam nods. “better hurry up. if we finish before dean gets back…maybe we can have some fun.” he accentuates his words with a gentle thrust up into your dripping cunt, making you gasp and grip the book tighter.

[cursedrot]

i’m very passionate about dean winchester

[cursedrot]

DEAN WINCHESTER WHEN HE... JERKS OFF.

Dean doesn’t make a habit of jerking off every day — not because he doesn’t want to, but because life on the road doesn’t always leave space for indulgence. Between monster hunts, motel walls thin as paper, and Sam always somewhere too close, he’s learned restraint. But when he does give in to it, it’s intense, lazy, and always personal.

He’s not the type to rush. Dean touches himself like a man who knows exactly what he likes — because he does. He’s had enough years, enough experience, to know his own body down to the last twitch. He likes to take his time with it when he can. The lights low. A beer half-finished on the nightstand. Classic rock humming low in the background, or the echo of a motel’s busted AC unit masking the quiet groans he doesn’t mean to let slip.

He’s visual. Always has been. Maybe it’s a woman he met at a dive bar, maybe it’s someone he can’t have, or maybe—when he’s alone and no one’s asking questions—it’s you. Your voice, your mouth, your thighs, the sound you’d make if he just—

Yeah. That gets him.

Dean starts slow. A palm dragging over the bulge in his jeans. Sometimes through denim until the friction’s too much and he’s muttering curses, popping the button open like he’s starved. He’ll tilt his head back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut as he wraps a rough hand around himself, thumb smearing over the head. His mouth goes slack, breath heavy, jaw flexing as his rhythm builds.

There’s no performance in it. Dean doesn’t care about looking pretty. His hips shift, his abs flex, and when he moans, it’s quiet but raw. He groans your name sometimes — not even realizing it. Sometimes loud, like he’s imagining you beneath him, his hand not his own, your skin hot and tight around him.

And if he’s feeling really desperate? He’ll spit in his palm, grit his teeth, and fuck up into it like he’s chasing the memory of someone he shouldn’t miss. His eyes stay half-lidded, staring up at the ceiling, until they roll back the second he loses control. He curses when he comes, one hand over his mouth or gripping the sheets. It’s messy. Real. He never lasts long when he’s thinking of you.

Afterward, he’s quiet. Not ashamed — never that — but thoughtful. He’ll clean himself up with the nearest ragged tee or motel towel, then lie back and breathe for a while. Maybe he’ll light up a cigarette, if he’s really in his head about it. Maybe he’ll knock back the rest of his drink. Maybe, if you’re in the next room, he’ll glance at the door like he’s wondering what it’d feel like if you walked in, caught him red-handed, and decided to help him finish next time.

Because the truth is… Dean jerks off like a man who’s always half hoping you are watching.

[cursedrot]

[cursedrot]

currently thinking ab yearner!dean who’s secretly crazy in love w you, his bsf. he can’t tell anyone, not even sam (who clearly knows since deans crush on you is so adorable n obvious). he hates himself for noticing how good your ass looks in those skimpy little shorts while you’re lounging around in the bunker (he literally wants to take a bite out of it, you just look so edible), for noticing how pretty your eyes look when you’re sleepy and dazed while on long road trips in the impala (and how badly he wishes you were looking up at him with those pretty eyes while sucking him off), and he hates himself & his deep obsession with your tits that is simply unholy (he’ll even go super fast over speed bumps just to see your tits bounce, imagining how good they’d look bouncing in front of him while you’d ride him). he’s so obsessed to the point the faint smell of your perfume lingering around drives him insane. who could blame him? how could he not be so obsessed with you?

———————————————————————

hi guys! this is legit my first time posting or writing a drabble ever and idk how to feel about it but jensen ackles has me in such a chokehold it’s insane. dean winchester the man that u are.

[cursedrot]

— 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋

sam x demon!reader, smut, blood drinking, manipulation & corruption.

it didn’t matter how good dean had gotten at hiding things from sam, he was smart. he knew what the hushed conversations meant, the lying, and those furtive glances he wasn’t supposed to see yet were hidden so carelessly— full of something like disgust, but not quite... he could see through the cracks of dean's polite fiction, and the words left unsaid between them had left a bitter taste in sam's mouth every time he tried to digest them.

the truth was, dean thought his little brother was rotten.

sometimes sam would lie awake at night wondering if he was right.

others, he thought dean could go back to hell because nothing felt better than that first time you let him suck your veins dry— and how could that ever be wrong, feeling good? at least that’s what you told sam, wearing a smile that said " i've got you right where I want you. "

it was such plain deceit, staying the course of your kind. sam didn’t want to see it but he felt the truth, still; the unfettered shame sinking into his bones everytime he detatched himself from you. he could feel that this wasn't who he was supposed to be.

or was it? he was so far past the line that it was hard to remember where he once stood. the place everyone — dean —thought he belonged in. it was even harder to know if that was ever really him.

he didn’t want anymore confusion. so it’s why he would always wait until dean was passed out and the air was thick with silence to call you. he knew too well what his older brother would say, the things he would call him if he was aware of your meetings with each other;

monster, bloodsucker, demon.

it didn’t matter how he bargained with himself, something was souring within him. sam never wanted to disappoint his brother, but he didn’t really care what dean thought whenever his head started to pound again.

⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰

if you didn’t pick up on the first ring— which you never did, on purpose, just to get his blood boiling a little— he would call again, and again.

“ you can’t leave me hanging like this… we had a deal. “ his tone was urgent and hushed, and you could picture that vein popping in his forehead. it made your lips curl into a poisonous smile, the way he played into your hand like he was reading a script. you almost felt bad at how easy it was. dean practically did all the work for you, though, if you were being honest.

“ relax, sammy. “ you’d purr, then make him think he wasn’t going to get his fix only to hear his sharp, pretty tongue take a stab you. his insults were… colorful, and if you had a soul, they might’ve cut you.

in his agitated, hungry state, he’d always fail to notice that this was your favorite game. and that’s exactly how you wanted it. he went from insulting you to apologizing, wearing his desperation like a scarlet letter. it got you hot in ways you never imagined it could. but as much fun as it was making sammy squirm, you would break him in other ways.

“ meet me in an hour. “ with that, you hung up.

who knew a human could be so amusing to the likes of you? hell was never this much fun.

⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰

sam was propped over you on one elbow, his large frame caging you to the mattress. your pulse thudded in your ears, and your head spun as his mouth worked eagerly against your neck; the power was drowning him… his other hand was under your back, pulling you tight against his body. he was oblivious, but you couldn’t help but notice another part of him was still hungry and aching for relief.

all the while, sammy’s hips had been rolling against you in a steady rhythm. you couldn’t help but return the favor, grinding upward to meet him with a wanton moan and a smile. as you slowly dragged your clothed cunt across the front of his jeans, he let out a sound against your skin— a sweet, strangled cry of pleasure and then, he went still.

sam detached from you with a sharp inhale, and as he rose back to earth, shame sunk into his bones yet again. he looked down on you with laden eyes, blood staining the edges of his mouth.

he remembered what you were, what he was doing…

and what would dean say if he knew his little brother was getting off on a demon? drinking your blood was one thing but…

he was still hazy, and you could see his thoughts flicker across his expression. when he finally noticed he was still pressed against you, he began to pull away, stuttering an apology. “ i didn’t mean to- “

you hush him instantly, pulling him down by the back of his neck so his forehead meets yours. your fingers scratch into his hair just the way you know he likes and sammy sighs, sounding almost pained. your eyes fight a silent battle with one another while your hand searches for the knife that you’d discarded beside you earlier.

too far, he pleaded with his eyes, but you could see that you were chipping away at his resolve with every second passed. hands in his hair, legs tightening around his waist…

his body was heating up, dick hard and throbbing against your womb. he was begging to be infected by your sickness as much as it tore him apart. it made everything that much hotter, to sam’s dismay, how fundamentally wrong this was.

your fingers curl around the knife finally and you slide it into the gap between your bodies. right above the swell of your breasts, you push the tip of the blade down and drag it across your skin. his eyes drop to watch, and they follow the blood it yields as it trickles down the middle of your chest. he gets lost in the crimson trail, that pained looked still there…

“ go ahead, “ you urge him and press your body even closer with a smile; batting your eyelashes in that innocent way that always seemed to work on him. “ taste. “

he battles in his head, you can tell… between the angel on his shoulder and the demon beneath him. those wet, brown eyes harden with desire, then it’s quickly lulled by something else.

you see your chance slipping away.

to sway the decision in your favor, you go to open your mouth one more time… prepared with all the pretty lies you could ever think of.

you don’t have to say anything.

instead, he shatters all by himself.

Part 2?

[cursedrot]

me realizing that if I write… I actually have to write

[cursedrot]

— 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋

sam x demon!reader, smut, blood drinking, manipulation & corruption.

it didn’t matter how good dean had gotten at hiding things from sam, he was smart. he knew what the hushed conversations meant, the lying, and those furtive glances he wasn’t supposed to see yet were hidden so carelessly— full of something like disgust, but not quite... he could see through the cracks of dean's polite fiction, and the words left unsaid between them had left a bitter taste in sam's mouth every time he tried to digest them.

the truth was, dean thought his little brother was rotten.

sometimes sam would lie awake at night wondering if he was right.

others, he thought dean could go back to hell because nothing felt better than that first time you let him suck your veins dry— and how could that ever be wrong, feeling good? at least that’s what you told sam, wearing a smile that said " i've got you right where I want you. "

it was such plain deceit, staying the course of your kind. sam didn’t want to see it but he felt the truth, still; the unfettered shame sinking into his bones everytime he detatched himself from you. he could feel that this wasn't who he was supposed to be.

or was it? he was so far past the line that it was hard to remember where he once stood. the place everyone — dean —thought he belonged in. it was even harder to know if that was ever really him.

he didn’t want anymore confusion. so it’s why he would always wait until dean was passed out and the air was thick with silence to call you. he knew too well what his older brother would say, the things he would call him if he was aware of your meetings with each other;

monster, bloodsucker, demon.

it didn’t matter how he bargained with himself, something was souring within him. sam never wanted to disappoint his brother, but he didn’t really care what dean thought whenever his head started to pound again.

⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰

if you didn’t pick up on the first ring— which you never did, on purpose, just to get his blood boiling a little— he would call again, and again.

“ you can’t leave me hanging like this… we had a deal. “ his tone was urgent and hushed, and you could picture that vein popping in his forehead. it made your lips curl into a poisonous smile, the way he played into your hand like he was reading a script. you almost felt bad at how easy it was. dean practically did all the work for you, though, if you were being honest.

“ relax, sammy. “ you’d purr, then make him think he wasn’t going to get his fix only to hear his sharp, pretty tongue take a stab you. his insults were… colorful, and if you had a soul, they might’ve cut you.

in his agitated, hungry state, he’d always fail to notice that this was your favorite game. and that’s exactly how you wanted it. he went from insulting you to apologizing, wearing his desperation like a scarlet letter. it got you hot in ways you never imagined it could. but as much fun as it was making sammy squirm, you would break him in other ways.

“ meet me in an hour. “ with that, you hung up.

who knew a human could be so amusing to the likes of you? hell was never this much fun.

⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰

sam was propped over you on one elbow, his large frame caging you to the mattress. your pulse thudded in your ears, and your head spun as his mouth worked eagerly against your neck; the power was drowning him… his other hand was under your back, pulling you tight against his body. he was oblivious, but you couldn’t help but notice another part of him was still hungry and aching for relief.

all the while, sammy’s hips had been rolling against you in a steady rhythm. you couldn’t help but return the favor, grinding upward to meet him with a wanton moan and a smile. as you slowly dragged your clothed cunt across the front of his jeans, he let out a sound against your skin— a sweet, strangled cry of pleasure and then, he went still.

sam detached from you with a sharp inhale, and as he rose back to earth, shame sunk into his bones yet again. he looked down on you with laden eyes, blood staining the edges of his mouth.

he remembered what you were, what he was doing…

and what would dean say if he knew his little brother was getting off on a demon? drinking your blood was one thing but…

he was still hazy, and you could see his thoughts flicker across his expression. when he finally noticed he was still pressed against you, he began to pull away, stuttering an apology. “ i didn’t mean to- “

you hush him instantly, pulling him down by the back of his neck so his forehead meets yours. your fingers scratch into his hair just the way you know he likes and sammy sighs, sounding almost pained. your eyes fight a silent battle with one another while your hand searches for the knife that you’d discarded beside you earlier.

too far, he pleaded with his eyes, but you could see that you were chipping away at his resolve with every second passed. hands in his hair, legs tightening around his waist…

his body was heating up, dick hard and throbbing against your womb. he was begging to be infected by your sickness as much as it tore him apart. it made everything that much hotter, to sam’s dismay, how fundamentally wrong this was.

your fingers curl around the knife finally and you slide it into the gap between your bodies. right above the swell of your breasts, you push the tip of the blade down and drag it across your skin. his eyes drop to watch, and they follow the blood it yields as it trickles down the middle of your chest. he gets lost in the crimson trail, that pained looked still there…

“ go ahead, “ you urge him and press your body even closer with a smile; batting your eyelashes in that innocent way that always seemed to work on him. “ taste. “

he battles in his head, you can tell… between the angel on his shoulder and the demon beneath him. those wet, brown eyes harden with desire, then it’s quickly lulled by something else.

you see your chance slipping away.

to sway the decision in your favor, you go to open your mouth one more time… prepared with all the pretty lies you could ever think of.

you don’t have to say anything.

instead, he shatters all by himself.

Part 2?

[cursedrot]

ngghhh older!dean who comforts you when you cry over how boys never like you. he’s petting your hair and kissing your jaw as he coos over his sweet girl.

“it’s okay baby.. you don’t need any of em when you got a real man, yeah?”

　　　　　　　౨ৎ 🎀｡˚🍨♡ ˚₊‧

[cursedrot]

ok its common knowledge dean is a professional sexy man, but can we concur that he dissociates and uses casual sex to cope? it’s not as gratifying as he pretends it is??? like it’s literally like rubbing one out just to go to sleep???

First of all, I love "professional sexy man". That gave me a good chuckle, so thank you for that. 😄

There's always the drop afterwards.

The beginning's fun. Sometimes he's not sure if the excitement he feels doesn't have a tinge of anxiety in it. If it does, he can pretend it's anticipation. For a while at least.

The chase, and then the conquest. He buries himself in someone new. Sometimes he presses his face against a neck, and when he comes back up for air, it wasn't the face he was expecting greeting him. It's one of the reasons he doesn't sleep over, at least not after that one time he woke up and had no idea where he was.

Lately, the drop has been happening before he even comes. The thrill, after all these years, just slowly dying down. He's getting too used to it. He feels this sudden feeling of doom in his chest, his vision narrowing. He's not totally sure what it is, but he hates it.

He swallows, tries to push through it. Sometimes his fingertips go a bit numb.

If he's lucky, he talk his way out of staying over, gets back into the car and back to the motel before the sinking feeling totally gets him. He throws himself onto the bed, not caring if he wakes Sam, hoping the residue of alcohol in his system and his post-climax sleepiness can beat the terror to the punch.

It's a race every time. Sometimes he wins, and sometimes he loses.

Even now that it doesn't work more often than he does, he keeps doing it. Habit, and also, what else is he supposed to do? Complain, mope, go celibate like Sam? That would be embarrassing. Just lie there in bed, letting the horror of his life, the normality of it, wash over him and through him and take it? What else is he going to do?

What else is he going to do.

[cursedrot]

COMING HOME. †

꒰ . ⋮ minors do not interact .ᐟ ֹ ꒱

༝༚༝༚ synopsis. after two excruciating weeks apart, dean finally comes home. the kids are asleep, and he's desperate to make up for lost time.

ⓘ warning(s). smut | rough sex | mild dominance | biting & marking | bed-breaking sex (literally) | post-hunt reunion | explicit language.

༝༚༝༚ word count. 1.3K

༝༚༝༚ kari notes. the people wanted this, so the people are gonna get it <3 + i actually HATE the way this came out, but fuck it we ball 👁️👁️

you hear the impala roar into the driveway before you see it, the familiar rumble sending a rush of warmth through your chest. two weeks. fourteen long, exhausting days of managing four kids alone, of missing him with a sharp, constant ache that settled deep in your bones.

you've learned to deal with dean's absences over the years, but somehow it never gets easier. especially now, with three daughters—ages eight, five, and three—and a mischievous eight-month-old son who has his daddy's green eyes and stubborn streak.

you're halfway through cleaning up the dinner table, your youngest balanced snugly on your hip, drooling adorably on your shirt, when the front door swings open. dean steps inside, dirt-stained jeans hugging his hips, his faded flannel hanging open over a worn black t-shirt. the sight of him sends your pulse into overdrive.

"hey, sweetheart," dean drawls gently, dropping his duffel by the door. he looks tired—lines etched deeper around his eyes, scruff thicker than usual—but god, he's gorgeous. your heart flips as he steps closer, his eyes softening when your baby boy reaches tiny arms out toward his dad, babbling excitedly.

"hey, buddy," dean murmurs, scooping his son effortlessly into his arms. your heart aches, watching the way dean's face lights up, exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the presence of his child. his lips brush the baby's soft forehead, lingering there as if soaking up every ounce of comfort and affection he can.

"missed you," you whisper, stepping close enough to lean against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent of leather, gunpowder, and something uniquely dean winchester. his free arm wraps tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"missed you too, baby," he whispers hoarsely, his lips pressing softly to your temple. the brush of his stubble sends shivers down your spine, and your fingers fist gently into the fabric of his shirt. "you holdin' up okay?"

you nod against him, savoring the warmth of his strong frame, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. "better now."

the sound of tiny footsteps breaks the moment, and your three daughters come racing into the kitchen screaming excitedly. dean's eyes crinkle at the corners, his mouth breaking into a wide, genuine smile as they swarm him, hugging his legs, giggling when he ruffles their hair, calling each one by their special nickname.

it's pure chaos, loud and messy and beautiful. you step back a little, watching him interact with your children—your chest tightening with an overwhelming surge of love.

the evening passes in a blur of baths and stories and bedtime cuddles. dean insists on handling bedtime, savoring every moment he's missed over the past two weeks.

you watch him from the doorway as he kisses tiny foreheads, tucks blankets gently around tiny shoulders, whispering softly until eyelids flutter closed. your heart swells as you see him in his element, and it makes you fall impossibly more in love with him.

when the last bedroom door finally clicks shut, he turns to you, eyes dark and heavy with a different kind of exhaustion—the kind that only you can soothe. the tension that's been simmering between you since the moment he walked through the door ignites instantly, crackling in the air between you like electricity.

without a word, dean crosses the hallway, his fingers tangling into your hair as he pulls you in, mouth crashing against yours hungrily. your back hits your bedroom door with a soft thud, his broad frame crowding you against it as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming you roughly, possessively. the kiss is messy, desperate—his teeth catching your lower lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

"goddamn, baby," he growls against your mouth, voice thick and gravelly with need. "been goin' fuckin' crazy without you."

your hands slip beneath his shirt, nails scraping lightly over his strong stomach, tracing the familiar curves of muscle and softness. he groans into your mouth, pressing his hips into yours, letting you feel exactly how much he's missed you. your breath hitches as you grind against him, desperate for friction, desperate to feel him fill you again.

"need you," you whisper breathlessly, your lips trailing along his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin. "now."

he doesn't hesitate, pulling you away from the door long enough to shove it open. the second it clicks shut behind you, his hands are everywhere, stripping clothes away roughly, impatiently. your shirt lands somewhere across the room, jeans and underwear quickly following.

you fumble with his flannel, tugging it off his broad muscular shoulders, your fingers trembling slightly as you push his jeans down his hips, freeing his hard length.

he backs you toward the bed, lips never leaving yours, and you're both naked before your knees hit the mattress. he lays you down roughly, climbing over you, his mouth blazing a trail down your neck, across your chest, tongue swirling around your nipples, biting gently until you're arching into him, moaning his name.

"dean," you gasp when his teeth scrape over your sensitive skin, sending pleasure pulsing through your veins. "please, baby—"

he doesn't make you wait, pushing your thighs apart with strong hands, sinking into you in one swift thrust. you both groan simultaneously, overwhelmed by the tight heat, the perfect friction. he sets a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping hard against yours, driving you higher, faster, closer to the edge you've been craving.

"fuck, sweetheart," he grunts, his voice raw, desperate, as he pounds into you. "missed this pussy—missed you—so goddamn much."

you dig your heels into his lower back, urging him deeper, harder, your nails leaving red marks down his back as you cling to him. the bed creaks dangerously beneath you, but neither of you cares. you're too lost in the feeling, in each other, in the messy, desperate heat of making up for lost time.

he sits up suddenly, pulling you with him, never slipping out of you. he spins you around until you're on your knees, gripping the wooden headboard tightly, his strong chest pressed hot against your back. he pounds into you from behind, teeth sinking gently into your shoulder, your neck, marking you as his. you push back against him, matching each thrust, feeling your orgasm building quickly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps.

"oh fuck, dean—" your voice breaks, your body shaking violently beneath him, pleasure washing over you in wave after wave. he growls your name, hips stuttering, his thrusts becoming erratic as your walls squeeze around him, pulling him over the edge with you.

his hand slams down on the headboard as he comes hard, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep inside you. there's a loud crack, wood splintering beneath his grip, but he hardly seems to notice, too caught up in the intensity of his orgasm.

you collapse onto the mattress together, breathing heavily, limbs tangled, hearts pounding in sync. dean's hand slides gently along your back, tracing soft circles over the bite marks he's left behind, soothing your skin as you both slowly come down from your high.

"think you just broke our bed," you tease softly, nuzzling into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

he chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "worth it."

you laugh quietly, your fingers trailing lazily along his chest. "missed you so much, de."

his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer. "i ain't goin' anywhere, baby," he whispers, voice thick and sincere. "promise."

and for the first time in weeks, you finally feel complete again—safe and loved and exactly where you're meant to be.

@ deansbeer is tagging you .ᐟ @titsout4jackles @daylighted @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @blue-d @stereotypicalbarbie @funkycoloured @fuckedupfate @deanswidow @beausling @bejeweledinterludes @blossomingorchids @tinas111 @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @deanswifeyy @dollyfiles @cupidzbunny @tallandcunt @kamisobsessed @pieandflannel @faiszt @apocalyqsc @coquitokisses @americanvenom13 @rubyvhs @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @mahi-wayy @maddie0101 ╱ wanna follow the chaos? join my taglist <3

[cursedrot]

[cursedrot]

[cursedrot]

I’m convinced all deangirls have praise kinks

[cursedrot]

If I could suck out all his sadness through his cock I would

[cursedrot]

S2, Ep 21: All Hell Breaks Loose (Part 2) {x}