quinnsdesk

[quinnsdesk]

─── ( mlist, nsfw ! ) DEAN WINCHESTER carries two polaroids inside his wallet. a picture of you in a motel bed, sunlight spills through the curtains on your skin, drowning your irises— it’s one of his dearest possessions. you wear his flannel only, a pair of panties and no bra and your laugh is so contagious dean swears each time he takes the polaroid out of his wallet he falls in love all over again. and every time he can hear your laugh. you have huge smile plastered on your face and your mouth is covered with ketchup from a half eaten burger you’ve abandoned somewhere inside the cheap room.

the second polaroid, the prettiest fucking face he’s ever seen— big, teary eyes, wide open just for him. his cum drips in thick trails down your chin, your lipstick smeared, mascara running down your pretty face. it’s a polaroid of you on your knees, with your lips wrapped perfectly around the tip of his cock, your hand fisting its base, even if he spilled his cum down your throat already. the polaroid is shaky, but he’d never mind that. you’re gorgeous.

and a third photo— dean keeps it hidden inside his car. his little secret. his proudest one. it’s and old photograph of you inside the impala, completely naked, sprawled over the leather car seat while his dick fills up your wet cunt in the most obscene way. and you take him so well. so well, each time he’s away from you, he’ll stare at the polaroid with his dick throbbing inside his jeans. he gets so hard it physically hurts. he’ll spit in his hand and stroke his cock thinking of you, fantasizing about the way your pussy tightens around him.

he’d be such a liar if he said he didn’t have any more pictures of you.

[quinnsdesk]

it's quinny's birthday bitches!!!

[quinnsdesk]

yummy!!!

👀🥸🫢

@quinnsdesk & @sleepymissy

(how i feel writing rn)

[quinnsdesk]

EEEEEE 😛😛😛

A COLLAB WITH THE BIG THREE??? IM NOT READY.

ME NEITHER AHHH IM SO EXCITED!!

[quinnsdesk]

yall ain't ready for this 👅

got a little sum we're cooking up 👀

@quinnsdesk @simplyhale

[quinnsdesk]

yayayayaya!!!!

cw: smut.ᐟ camgirl!reader x beau arlen part 2.ᐟ obsessive!beau.ᐟ possesive!beau.ᐟ sugardaddy!beau [a little].ᐟ sex toy use.ᐟ age gap [readers in college].ᐟ readers camgirl name is 'goodgirl.xx'.ᐟ 18+

#notes: if you haven’t read part one: its here and a part three coming soon !!

wc: 2580

it’s routine by now— the ache in your stomach when his username lights up your phone, the way you keep his requests pinned to the top of your messages.

you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve sent a soft, whispered “goodnight, cowboy” into the camera, how often you’ve moaned his name as if it’s a secret only the two of you share.

it started with twenty dollars, then fifty, then a hundred. and now a few hundred each time, and beau doesn’t even check the total anymore.

every time you post something new— a teasing preview, a wish-list update, the hint of a video going live again that night— beau's hand is already twitching toward his wallet.

he used to justify it, said it was just a harmless act. told himself he’s a grown man, a single grown man who doesn’t need to justify his spending habits.

but it burns him up inside now, the way other men watch your videos. reading the comments— fucking filth, men foaming at the mouth over your body, over the toy he bought you. it makes him sick, not because you don’t deserve the praise— god, you do— but because it shouldn’t come from them.

you shouldn’t have to show off for strangers anymore, when you’ve got someone like him— someone who knows exactly what you need, who’d treat you right, spoil you rotten, and fuck you sweet. he’s the one who sees you most for months now, who pays the most. and he wants to keep it that way.

beau wants you layered up when you're not on camera. wants that perfect saucy mouth reserved just for him. it’s fucked, really— how he thinks about locking it all down. making sure those sick bastards never see a goddamn inch of you again. because the more they want you, the more it eats away at him, to make you his.

the other accounts don’t matter. the other girls don’t look like you, don’t touch themselves the same way you do. and they sure as hell aren’t wearing the lingerie he fucking paid for.

he knows every set by heart— the blush pink one with lace trim, the black satin one with the matching thigh straps. all of them sent to a secret p.o. box, a few towns over.

you never questioned it. never asked who was behind the username cowboy_rangler85, never asked why he kept tipping the highest or left notes asking for more videos just for him.

“you spoil me too much,” you once giggled in a clip just for him. “but i’ll make it worth it, cowboy.” and christ, you always did.

especially when a molded dildo arrived in your mail.

beau sent it with a note:

got something a little more custom made, hope it feels good sweetheart.

your video opens on his laptop, you in the baby blue bra set he picked out, your voice soft as you run your fingers along the base of the toy.

the camera is angled with your face out of view, mouth glimpsed only for a moment as you let him watch you bite your lip in anticipation. you take your time, letting the delicate blue straps shift over your skin, letting your fingertips explore every ridge, every vein molded from his cock.

“this one’s special,” you whisper, thumb tracing the thick ridge near the head, glossy with lube. “and you already know why.”

and beau’s belt clinks open so fast— that old, worn leather strip with the scuffed brass buckle he’s yanked loose every damn night this week.

the camera picks up the slick sounds as you stroke it slowly— your fingers barely able to wrap around the girth. it’s got that slight curve that’ll hit deep. and a faint, raised vein along the side your fingers seem to linger on.

you bring the toy to your lips, kiss the flushed-looking head, leaving a smear of gloss when you pull away. “you wanted to see how i’d take it, take you, right?” voice trembling with that soft, teasing edge you know he craves.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” he mutters under his breath to his laptop screen, voice frayed. “c’mon, show me how bad you need it.”

and when you finally slide your panties off and sink down onto the toy, it’s with a gasp— one hand braced behind you, the other still holding the base. it stretches you wide, slow, so slow, and your breath hitches as you take more of it.

“fuck— you’re so big,” you breathe, the tip barely halfway in. “feels so good, cowboy.”

both your hands are behind you now, angling your hips just right as you fuck yourself down on the toy in steady, rocking motions. your body arches, the curve of your back a pretty silhouette under the soft lighting.

meanwhile what you didn’t know is that ‘cowboy_wrangler85’ was just across town. sweat beads along beau's temples, dripping down the curve of his neck. another dribbles along the line of his stomach, slipping into the soft trail of hair that leads right down to where his fist is working. he’s a fucking mess for the past month thanks to you.

“i’m gonna come,” you whimper on screen, your voice cracking. “gonna come on your cock— fuck.” on screen, your knees tremble, thighs starting to shake.

“that’s it,” beau breathes, head tipped back, but eyes locked on the screen. “come for me, baby, please. let me see it.” his throat exposed, adam’s apple bobbing with every breath.

but beau doesn’t care. he wouldn’t even notice if someone walked in right now. all he can see is you— shaking, soaked through, fucking yourself full on the molded shape of him. it’s the only cock that’s ever made you feel so full and so good.

and when you cum, clenching around the shape of him, the camera catches the twitch of your stomach, the slick mess between your thighs.

a groan breaks in his throat as he spills into his hand, cock pulsing hard as he comes with you— helpless, a little overwhelmed, already dragging in breath like it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

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beau wants a piece of you to stay with him, to belong to him. something quiet and small that he could get away with. something he can catch sight of and know you’re thinking of him, even if you don’t realize it’s him.

the package he sends next is smaller, delicate. no notes, no toys. a velvet box with a dainty chain inside, its pendant soft with a worn polish— a cowboy hat, miniaturized. weightless in your palm, understated, but still his.

beau didn't know if you’d wear it. hell, he didn't even know if you'd like it. but the idea of you slipping it on before a stream, or brushing your fingers over it while you’re out in public, totally clueless that it’s from the man you speak to at the bakery counter— it gets under his skin in the worst way.

he wonders if you’d look at him the same— if you’d still talk the way you do on camera, still say all those filthy, needy little things if you knew it was him behind the screen. with his scruffy beard and aging lines starting to show at the corners of his eyes.

would you feel the same way about an older man, the same one who calls you sweetheart when you hand him a fresh cup of coffee? who tips too much and tries not to stare at the slope of your breasts in the morning?

would it kill the fantasy— the idea of him. would it ruin it entirely?

he’s divorced, got a kid he barely sees. he’s got tattoos from before you were probably even born— some faded black ink stretching down his ribs from a night he hardly remembers. there’s a tiredness in him now that doesn’t ever fully leave. an ache in his bones that doesn't go away in the morning.

but still, none of that stops him.

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he doesn’t say anything when he sees you the next day, he takes it in.

the bakery’s warm that morning. smell of sweets and espresso already thick in the air. his boots hit the tile with an easy, familiar cadence. you don’t flinch when you look up— you’ve been seeing him here more often for weeks now, always in those layered-up cowboy getups. denim on denim, thick belt, hair still a little tousled.

he’s the kind of guy you'd expect to see often in a town this size, which makes it all the more disarming when he smiles like that. like he knows something you don’t.

but today’s different, because you’re wearing the necklace, his necklace.

you don’t even realize what it means. that it confirms everything he thought— the voice, the mannerisms, the way you hold the damn coffee cup with two hands like you do with a fake cock in your videos.

he clocks it the second you lift your hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, chain glinting under the collar of your soft-knit shirt.

beau doesn’t react right away. instead ordering like usual— tall black coffee, splash of cream, and a piece of lemon loaf, if there’s any.

you nod, slipping a gloved hand into the case. “just made a fresh batch,” you say. “must be your lucky day.”

he huffs a low sound under his breath. “guess so.” and for a second, he lets it hang— a quiet, almost shy tension between two people who didn't even realize what they've gotten into.

beau asks your name, leaning his elbows on the counter, and doesn’t look away. in return, he gives you his own name when you ask— beau— and you repeat it under your breath like you’re trying it on. he smiles at that, and god, it does something stupid to his chest. something even stupidier in his jeans, too.

the coffee finishes pouring. he watches you put the lid on with careful fingers. the same nude manicured nails you used just days ago to pump the shaft of the dildo that was molded of him— what a sick pervert.

you hand it to him with a small smile, and for a second, you think that’s it. just another morning, but then he nods at your collarbone.

“nice necklace y'got there.”

you look down instinctively, then glance back up at him, suddenly more aware of it than you were five seconds ago. “oh thank you. it was, um— my mom gave it to me.”

beau nods, unreadable. he lets you lie. but he knows, fuck, does he know.

he takes the cup and the pastry bag in one hand. and as he turns to leave, he lets his eyes slide back toward you, just once, before he tosses out casually “you ride or somethin'?”

your head tilts. “like— horses?”

his mouth ticks up into a crooked little grin. “yea, somethin' like that.”

you don’t really have an answer, and you don’t have to. he’s already pushing out through the door, coffee in hand, boots scuffing onto the curb.

you’re wearing the necklace, the one that was from him and you don't even know it. and he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

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beau kicks off his boots at the door and leaves his hat on the table like always, tossing his keys into the bowl by the entryway and making his way to the kitchen for a beer he doesn’t end up drinking. standing there with the fridge open too long, something simmering low in his stomach— has been all day, ever since he saw you in that necklace.

the same necklace you’re unknowingly wearing tonight when you message him.

his laptop screen glows against the dark of the living room, casting flickers of blue across the low angles of his face. he doesn’t have to wait long— your message lights up the top of the chat window, timestamped just a few minutes after your stream ends.

one unread message from you.

goodgirl.xx: hey cowboy. i’ve been thinking how you've been take such good care of me. i know you don’t ask for much, but i was wondering if there’s anything special i could do for you sometime. just something a little extra, for you.

beau stares at it too long. rereads each line as if it'll magically vanish away. and it hits harder than anything else today. because it doesn’t feel like you're teasing, it feels like an offering. a soft, open hand just for him. he shifts on the couch, everything feeling too warm. there’s already a slow ache pulsing behind his belt, and he hasn't even touched himself yet. bringing his hands to the keys, typing, deletes, then types again.

cowboy_rangler85: that’s real sweet of you, darlin. just watching you feels like a gift most nights. but i gotta admit, sometimes i wish i could give you more than a toy. i wanna let you feel what it’s like, for real.

he sends it and immediately regrets it. it’s raw, way too intimate, but he meant every word. there's only so many nights he can sit here watching you ride something plastic, knowing he paid for it, knowing you're moaning into the camera thinking of him.

goodgirl.xx: i’ve never done a collab with anyone before. i’m not against it, i just don’t know. i get kinda shy thinking about meeting up in person. but you always make me feel safe, you’re not like the others.

beau's head tips forward, jaw ticking. fuck. you don’t even know who he is— and still you said that. that you feel safe, with him. he swallows hard, forcing himself to slow down.

cowboy_rangler85: you don’t gotta decide now, just something to think about. and for what it’s worth, you’d be in real good hands. i’d make sure you were looked after proper.

his hands fall away from the keyboard, as if letting go of something delicate. he’s holding out hope for a truth neither of you know yet. he waits, eyes fixed on the screen. the room around him silent except for the low hum of the old fridge and the pulse beating in his neck.

goodgirl.xx: i don’t usually say yes to things like that, i'm still not sure. but, i trust you more than anyone else on here. i’ll think about it, okay?

he pushes back from the desk just slightly, like the heat coming off the laptop might scorch him. you're thinking about it, his mind replays over and over again.

both of his hands come up, palms dragging down the rough stubble on his cheeks. it’s not just arousal anymore— it’s an obsession. need, so fucking strong it makes him feel sick. not just to touch you, but to see your face when you realize it’s him.

the girl who’s been fucking herself on camera for him, whispering sweet things to the lens, wearing what he buys you. the girl who wears his necklace to work and doesn’t know it.

part of him wants to type something cocky in return— an 'i’ll make it worth your while, sweetheart', but he doesn’t. he stares at the screen, your name etched into memory.

you're his good girl. you just don't know it yet, but when you do, you'll understand exactly who’s been taking care of you all this time.

and he'll wait patiently to show you exactly who you belong to.

tags: @tinas111 @fancyhideoutpeach @kimxwinchester @soldiersgirl @lanasgirlfr @unfortunate-brat @bruisedfig @angelically-yours @winchestersbgirl @spnaquakindgdom @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @pieandflannel @bejeweledinterludes @deanstubble @sunnyteume @clitsout4clark @sunnyfuffly @deansbeer @claymoresofinfamy23 @beforeroachfalls @capkatie @sbwifey @thesevnthseal @lunaleah @prettywhenipanic @defnot-svnshine @coventina2001 @adoredawn @averagedenjienjoyer0290 @scrmqwn @littlejoels @lori19 @tinysunshine @luvriablack @hueswithblues @lupinslibraries @a-lil-pr1ncess @lovtaesunu @beausling @lacysretribution @eternalstaar @maleficdean @deansposessive

⟢ if you would like to be added to / removed from the taglist, check out this post  ᥫ᭡.

⟢ view my masterlist for more of my work !!

[quinnsdesk]

when you open a text just to get rid of the notification

[quinnsdesk]

bee devoured once again 😛😛

cw: smut.ᐟ beau arlen x camgirl!reader.ᐟ voice kink.ᐟ masturbation.ᐟ sex toy use.ᐟ slight age gap [reader is in college].ᐟ custom video request.ᐟ voyeuristic tension.ᐟ recognition reveal.ᐟ 18+

wc: 1570

part two— coming soon

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it wasn’t supposed to become an addiction.

beau had a little curiosity, that’s all it was at first. something to take the edge off after a long shift at the station. he'd seen the thumbnail on the site— soft lighting, the barest glimpse of skin, the outline of a soft pretty pussy in sheer white cotton panties. that was all it took. he clicked, just once.

but what started off as a casual thing, quickly turned into him being hooked.

beau tells himself it’s just to replace his ex-wife, the feeling of being alone during his time off. just a video or two, now and again.

but it’s become so much more than that. it’s the way you move— innocent but intentional. the kind of girl who knows exactly what you're doing to the men on the other side of the screen.

the videos started off tame— teasers, mostly. rubbing over your panties, palming your tits, sucking on your fingers like it was a cock in your mouth. and now beau's subscribed. top tier. whatever you charge, he pays it, and then some.

his favourite are the toys.

specifically a little pink vibrator that fits in your palm, barely bigger than a thumb. rubbing it in slow circles over your panties first, hips twitching, tits jiggling just enough to make anyones mouth water.

other hand squeezing one of your tits tight— nails painted a soft nude, nipples stiff from the cold or the arousal, he could never tell which.

but you never say much. sometimes a soft moan, sometimes a breathy “fuck.” and it’s the quiet ones that get him thinking the worst.

every night you'd post at the same time. like clockwork. and every night, he's halfway hard before he’s even back to the house. the drive home from work becomes a countdown. fingers twitching on the steering wheel, cock stiff against the zipper of his jeans, mind already spinning with what you'll do next.

beau's cowboy belt was starting to wear in a little quicker now— creases in the leather from how often he jerks it open in a rush, one-handed. his cock can’t wait another second. like the video might disappear before he gets it out.

lingering around after shift, grab a beer with one of the deputies, shoot the shit. that was all thing's he used to do. now the excuses pile up. he’s 'too tired'— but truth is, he needs to get home. needs to see you.

and yeah, there’s guilt.

he tells himself it isn't hurting anybody. that if you didn’t want eyes on you, you wouldn’t be doing videos. but even that doesn’t take the sting out of how desperate he’s gotten— signing in under a fake name just to see what you’ve uploaded.

the thing that kills beau the most is— you've never shown your face. just the slope of your stomach, thighs spread wide, panties tugged aside to show him a perfect, creamy pussy.

beau’s never seen anything like it. swollen, wet and glistening in the dull light. always keeping the camera angled low— enough to catch the tensing in your belly when you cum, but never high enough to give yourself away.

and it doesn't help that you're young.

he can tell in the way you move. the way you bite your lip when the toy pushes in too fast, still learning what your body can take. he was guessing you were college-aged, maybe a little older. either way, beau shouldn’t be watching you.

but just because he shouldn't doesn't mean he would stop.

you posted on your page one day that you're taking custom requests. you'll do a private video of something they'd like, at a higher price. and beau doesn’t mean to send one, but his fingers are already hovering over the keys, typing before his brain catches up.

cowboy_wrangler85, that’s the dumb username he set-up when he made the account. something safe. and beau put in a simple request, to hear your voice. for you to let go and not hold back. to tell him how good it feels when you cream down your fingers— so he could pretend it was his own.

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a tuesday morning— before the sun was even fully up. beau stopped at the bakery on main stretch like he always did before a shift. groggy eyes behind his sunglasses, badge clipped to his belt. he saw you there behind the counter again, a newer employee. sweet thing in a pale pink apron. all soft smiles and good mornings, sliding a box of fresh pastries across the counter.

he almost said something, almost asked your name. but then the line moved, and he had a station full of reports, a busted stop sign, and three back-to-back welfare calls were waiting for him. so he took his coffee, got in his truck, and forgot about it.

by the time he got home— late hours, aching. the day burned into his muscles— he was already half-hard again. boots thudding on the floor, badge tossed somewhere near the kitchen table, he didn't even shower, instead sinking onto the couch and reaching for his phone.

a notification waiting.

'custom video available now. xoxo, cowboy_wrangler85'

he fumbles a bit pulling the link up, and before he knows it the screen fills with you.

“hi, cowboy,” you whisper into the mic.

you’re laid out on your bed, baby-pink lighting blooming across your skin. panties already off— and beau can see the glisten of slick already between your thighs. vibrator resting on the sheets beside you, fingers trailing down your belly tauntingly.

“i’ve been thinking about your request,” you say, syrupy. “and i wanted to give you something special.”

beau’s already got his belt undone, zipper teeth dragging down with a sharp breath, cock springing free after having being constrained for so long.

you start slow. fingers stroking between your legs, parting them just enough to show off how wet you are. and then the toy’s in your hand, buzzing faintly, and you press it right against your clit— moaning like it’s your first time on camera.

“it feels so good,” you whisper, breath hitching. “feels so— fuck."

“jesus christ,” beau mutters, jaw slack.

you’re definitley louder this time, exactly what he asked for, what he paid for. moans, whimpers, and filthy praise spilling from your mouth like you’ve been waiting for a reason to let go.

“wish it was your fingers,” you breathe. “wish it was your cock. i need you so bad, wanna make you cum with me—”

beau's hand’s pumping rough now, fist tight, hips stuttering off the couch cushion. sweat beading at his brow. he doesn’t mean to speak— but he does.

“wishin' those were my fingers, huh angel?” he pants, eyes glued to the screen. “wish i could stretch you open, fuck you slow just how you need it. keep makin’ those pretty sounds—”

he knows you can’t hear him, he knows it’s just a screen. but that doesn’t stop him from talking— not when you’re cumming so hard your thighs clamp together. when you pant out a high, wrecked moan and collapse back against the sheets. even through all of that you made sure he never seen your face.

beau finishes closely after with a grunt— hand clenching around himself, rivulets of cum streaking across his knuckles. he breathes through the post orgasm. his laptop screen still glowing in the dim light of his living room accompanied by your body twitching through aftershocks on the video.

and he should feel worse than he does. but he knows he’ll do it again tomorrow. he knows he’ll sit through end of shift counting down the minutes until his belt will get yanked open all over again, and it’ll be your voice flooding his ears.

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the same morning routine. beau swings into the bakery like always, the same one on the edge of main where he stops most days. coffee’s stronger there than at the station, and the pastries don’t taste like god damn cardboard. he’s half-dressed for work already— badge clipped, boots dusty, hat slung low— and the bell above the door jingles when he steps inside.

only this time, it’s more quiet than usual, no line-up. just a hum of music and a warm smell of cinnamon-sugar drifting through the air.

and then you’re there behind the counter, the 'new girl' beau assumes, since he'd been seeing you more often now. your head tilted politely, a tired smile on your face. “morning sir, what can i get you?"

beau almost forgets how to answer when he hears that voice.

you’re pouring a fresh coffee, nails painted a pale pink, a soft little mark near your collarbone he doesn’t remember seeing before. he glances away too fast, trying not to stare, trying not to let his eyes drag down the curve of your chest beneath that apron.

because it sounds like you, the same girl he'd spent the past hour watching last night, and every night for the past month. but there's no way in hell it could be, right? the thought hit him so hard his cock twitched right then and there in his jeans.

you hand over the cup with a thank-you, sweet as ever, no clue what you’ve done to his head.

because if it is you—then he's fucked.

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tags: @tinas111 @fancyhideoutpeach @kimxwinchester @soldiersgirl @lanasgirlfr @unfortunate-brat @bruisedfig @angelically-yours @winchestersbgirl @spnaquakindgdom @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @pieandflannel @bejeweledinterludes @deanstubble @sunnyteume @titsout4jackles @sunnyfuffly @deansbeer @claymoresofinfamy23 @beforeroachfalls @capkatie @sbwifey @thesevnthseal @lunaleah @prettywhenipanic @defnot-svnshine @coventina2001 @adoredawn @averagedenjienjoyer0290 @scrmqwn @littlejoels @lori19 @tinysunshine @luvriablack @hueswithblues

⟢ if you would like to be added to / removed from the taglist, feel free to comment or send me a private message  ᥫ᭡.

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[quinnsdesk]

fun fact: quinny turns 20 in exactly 2 weeks from today (the 17th of July) ♡

[quinnsdesk]

⋆˚࿔ wip wednesday! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ (Thursday 😛)

ty for the tag bb @sleepymissy

'share your last sentence; or, if you don’t have one, share a plot bunny or idea! (OR sketch for your artwork!)'

this is what i have for 'SHE FELL FIRST, HE FELL HARDER' (also my fav part to write rn):

He remembered the look on your face when he’d said he didn’t want you. Like you’d been trying to believe him even as your whole body told you not to. Like some part of you still hoped he’d take it back. But he didn't.

He walked out. Slammed the door. Didn’t even give himself the chance to look back and see what he was leaving behind.

Now, days later, he kept telling himself it had been the right call. Over and over, like a mantra: it was better this way. But in truth, he was lying to himself just like- to borrow your phrase - “an OnlyFans star lies about her age.”

npt: @simplyhale @bradleybeachbabe @sbwifey

⋆˚࿔ wip wednesday! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

(thursday for me hehe) thank you for the tag my precious bby @theplumsoldier

'share your last sentence; or, if you don’t have one, share a plot bunny or idea! (OR sketch for your artwork!)'

this is what i have for 'DEAR GOD' hehe:

A party had started in a quiet neighbourhood in Los Angeles- one of the football players in Tim's team; Kyle Davis, had announced it the day of at school, shouting something about 'free drinks, smokin' hot chicks and a keg' across the halls, and it was enough to interest not just sixteen year old Tim Bradford, but majority of his grade too. Tim had been to parties before- they were a great scapegoat for when nights were rough at home. And, well, if anything were to cheer him up, the sound of laughter and chatter around him could do just a little something to ease his tensed heart. He never touched the alcohol.

no pressure tagging: @simplyhale @quinnsdesk @sbwifey @esotericcangel

[quinnsdesk]

thank you for the tag bby @sbwifey <3

type aesthetic || character || colour || movie || lyrics || celebrity from Pinterest

side note: LOVE QUINN SUPREMACY because we share a name and my celebrity matching my pfp has me all giddy 😛

npt: @sleepymissy @mrsmaugic @winchestersbgirl @simplyhale @bradleybeachbabe

tagging game !! ๑₊˚⊹

type aesthetic , character , colour , movie , lyric , and celebrity into pinterest to find your vibe :3

I keep seeing people do these and thought why not make one ! here's mine:

no pressure tags:

@ribbonlovergirl @oopsiedaisydeer @bernardsbendystraws @silverspringsstare @mattsvoicemail @whor3ing @sturns-mermaid @eeyoresturnz @chrisssiren

[quinnsdesk]

thank you for the tag bby @sbwifey <3

type aesthetic || character || colour || movie || lyrics || celebrity from Pinterest

side note: LOVE QUINN SUPREMACY because we share a name and my celebrity matching my pfp has me all giddy 😛

npt: @sleepymissy @mrsmaugic @winchestersbgirl @simplyhale @bradleybeachbabe

tagging game !! ๑₊˚⊹

type aesthetic , character , colour , movie , lyric , and celebrity into pinterest to find your vibe :3

I keep seeing people do these and thought why not make one ! here's mine:

no pressure tags:

@ribbonlovergirl @oopsiedaisydeer @bernardsbendystraws @silverspringsstare @mattsvoicemail @whor3ing @sturns-mermaid @eeyoresturnz @chrisssiren

[quinnsdesk]

Older men with big noses, beards and wavy hair >>>>

[quinnsdesk]

Reblog and put in the tags 5 of your favourite albums of all time

[quinnsdesk]

Sitting in his lap would probably fix me

Ngl I would be bouncing on it all day

[quinnsdesk]

"to be clear, i'm still mad at you"

HIS FACE 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[quinnsdesk]

everyone says my p*rnstar by nessa barrett matches my vibe — what do we think of an Aftercare theme on this blog?