fight like a man or hang like a dog

anonymous asked:

You know that "who you should fight" meme? Could you do a BSD version of it, if it's not too much to ask?

(Ngl this may be the best thing I’ve ever answered)



Atsushi: You win(?)

  • Walk right up to him and beat the ever-loving shit of him. He’ll apologize to you. An easy fight, just don’t slip in any tasteless orphan jokes, it’ll have the opposite effect intended and he’ll take you the fuck out with the pure intent to prove he’s worthy. You could beat him but the psychological weight of crushing someone so innocent will ensure that you never feel right again. Fight him if you have no soul.

Dazai: You lose

  • He’ll turn the whole affair into a big joke. If you, by some stroke of luck, actually hit him, he’ll probably just say ‘harder daddy’. The psychological effects of brawling Dazai will be devastating either way. DO. NOT.  FIGHT.

Ranpo: You win

  • Honestly, it’s hardly worth your time. He hasn’t eaten anything but chocolate cake and cheap lollipops for the last six years, not to mention any form of physical exercise. He’s got pale-ass noodle arms and a muffin top (don’t believe the official art’s lies. The bitch eats solely from a candy shop and looks like he just topped off a cycling session with Jillian Micheals? Get the fuck out). Just don’t bring a Jolly Rancher shiv because he’ll eat the damn thing. Undoubtedly fight, just be prepared to book it like a fucking librarian after you knock him out because the rest of the ADA will come after you.

Kyouka: Depends 

  • Look, fourteen’s a shitty age even when you’re not dealing with pressing morality crises.There is nothing Kyouka wants more in this world than to dial herself, let Demon Snow rip and raise her kill count to thirty seven. But all you gotta do to keep her at bay is debate on morality like Matthew fucking Murdock in Netflix’s Daredevil. If you can successfully hold her back with discussion on ethics (and how hers will be jack-shit if she slaughters you) you have a slim chance of victory. A great fight if you need to practice for speech class.

Kunikida: You lose

  • You might think victory’s as simple as tossing his notebook in a nearby water fountain and watching him flip a lid, but this is an absolutely awful tactic and the inside of your head will be decorating the sidewalk in mere milliseconds. He beats Dazai’s band-aid wrapped flanks on the daily and he won’t hesitate to destroy yours. If you fight, at least your cause of death can be listed as ‘blonde beefcake’s rippling biceps’.

Kenji: You win

  • Just feed him a few bowls of Spaghetti-o’s before you deck him and the little blonde bitch won’t stand a chance. You can smack him back into the cultist backwater rice paddies he crawled out of easy as smacking a crippled fly. A perfect fight for abusing a fourteen year old without getting into too much trouble. 

Fukuzawa: You lose

  • You might think you could dress up in a kitty costume and sneak up to him. And you could. It would be easy, in fact. He’s so focused on the cuteness he won’t notice any maliscious intent. Despite this his reflexes are simply too quick and he’ll still take you the fuck out when you make your move. A bad fight from all angles. You’ll have to fend off his adopted, dysfunctional ADA children too. Just don’t.


Akutagawa: Depends (99.5% losing chance. risky.)

  • Yeah, you’re fucked. Akutagawa won’t even wait until you initiate, he’ll be the one attacking you, probably over something minor and stupid like the color of your pants is personally offensive. Rashomon will be slicing and dicing you into a smoothie for cannibals before you know what hit you. The only way you make it out alive is if by some stroke of luck Dazai happens to be in a one hundred mile radius and Akutagawa’s senpai-radar starts going off. Fight only if you bring My Chemical Romance vinyls to punt at him; they’re his biggest weakness .

Chuuya: Depends (99.75% losing chance. Cross thy fingers and pray)

  • Facing Chuuya is a bigger risk than that board game. He’s practically impervious to all close-up melee and he’s too small of a target to be hit with anything from afar. You might think you’d have a fighting chance if you knocked his hat off; after all, that’s basically all he is. A hat rack prone to alcoholism. But that fury will only make him stronger and he’ll crush you like you’re a cum-covered Dazai body pillow. As with Akutagawa your only glimmer of hope for survival is if bandage-kun happens to be close by because Chuuya will prioritize and leave your now crippled ass in the dust that he punted you in. Only fight while intoxicated. (Both of you. Not just him. It’s more fun that way. Much like Turkish oil wrestling but with more gravity.)

Mori: You lose

  • If you want to fight him you’ve obviously got a death wish and I’m not going to stop you. There’s easier ways to go though, man. Easier ways. His expression won’t even change when he whips out that scalpel (I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school) and filets you like a fresh caught tuna, on its way to a B-rated fast food join. Your body’s gonna get left on the pavement for the stray dogs. (No, I’m not gonna finish that joke. Low hanging fruit. I have some dignity.) If you want to die that bad, just go see if Dazai will suicide with you. It’ll be significantly less painful

Elise: I fucking dare you

  • I mean, you probably could take her out, she’s like seven. Mori will let her play skip rope with your small intestine after she’s recovered. Rest In Peace if you even consider it.

Kouyou: You lose

  • I don’t know what would inspire you to be so stupid. She’ll just let out a dignified little chuckle and shove that umbrella sword so far up your ass you’ll be tasting acid rain for months, and she’ll do it all in the most ladylike way possible. Unless you’re ready for your innards to end up in a teapot, served with chocolate-coated orange wafers at tea break, just don’t fight.

Oda: ???

  • He’s fucking dead. What are you gonna do, kick his headstone, maybe plant some weeds over his grave? Just don’t mention the burnt orphan soup, or he’ll literally rise and put you in his coffin instead. If you’re willing to dabble into necromancy, knock yourself (or him, in this case) out.

Q: Haha

  • I get why you’d want to fight him, I really do. He looks like a miniature Cruella Deville on an acid trip. But you just don’t have a chance. Hit him. Go ahead. As soon as you so much as brush him he has the power to destroy your shit like it’s never been destroyed before. Will annihilate you from the inside out. The deadliest emo thirteen year old there’s ever been; avoid at all costs!!!

Higuchi: You LOSE

  • You might think you have a chance because she doesn’t have an ability. But you’re gravely mistaken. Higuchi is bitter. Higchi is ruthless. Higuchi does not give a fuck about anything other than getting Emotagawa-senpai to notice her. She has nothing, nothing to lose and she will not rest until she’s pulling your tonsils through your asshole in the hopes that Akutagawa will give her a thumbs-up for slaughtering you. DO NOT fight. She stands to lose nothing and gain everything.


Hawthorne: You lose

  • You might think that you’d have a fighting chance because he’s a priest and priest’s aren’t supposed to wreck people’s shit but he will see your sins and you won’t even see him coming. Try to punch him his ability is literally activated by injuries. Knocks you out with a psalter hymnal and ships you off to Bible camp while you’re unconscious.  Only fight if you have never sinned, not once, ever.

Steinbeck: Depends

  • If you’re from the city he’ll destroy you. Farm boys always tear apart city people no questions asked. If that fact doesn’t dissuade you then just prepare yourself not to be freaked the fuck out when he jack-knifes his own neck and starts sprouting flora. As long as you keep your cool you’ve got a 30/70 chance. Only fight if you bring a metric fucktonne of weed killer.

Poe: You win (biggest douchecanoe award, but that’s about it)

  • Physically, sure, you could sneeze within fifty feet of his pasty ass and take him down. But really? Do you really want to hurt him? He’ll stare right into your soul with those sad, sad eyes and wonder just what he did to inspire such bitterness in you. If you can still fuck him up after that then you’d best kiss your spirit goodbye because it’s descending to the seventh level of fiery hell as you read this. Plus, honestly, there’s no true triumph against a man whose best bud is a raccoon. That’s just too rad. If you can deal with the pressing moral consequences and a pissed off  raccoon, go for it. (You monster)

Mitchell: You win

  • All you have to do is push her hospital bed down the stairs and pretend it was an accident. Her comatose ass can’t do a thing to stop you. Fight if you’re ready to run from angry hospital staff.

Fitzgerald: You lose 

  • You know, this sentient sack of Benjamins deserves it, in all honesty, but don’t try. Him and his power suit will kick you into the next millennia before you can say ‘old sport’. Prepare to be crushed by capitalism.

Melville: You win

  • He’s like eighty and his ability’s a goddamn floating whale. As long as you don’t throw down at Sea World, you’re good. Fight as long as you’re not in front of an assisted living facility; the CNAs will think he’s a resident and defend him.

Lovecraft: Depends

  • Attack him while he’s trying to nap and he’ll be too lazy to get up. Otherwise… yeah, just google ‘Cthulhu’. You’ll get the idea. Don’t fight: there’s no beating weaponized tentacle porn.

Montgomery: You lose

  • Go right ahead and try, she’ll whisk you away to her Melanie-Martinez ass torture dimension and let Anne mop the floor with your teeth. It’s kind of like challenging God. Unless you want to spend eternity in an unsexy rip-off of the 50 shades Red Room, DO. NOT. ENGAGE.

Twain: You win

  • Twain’s all talk, anybody that walks around with their titties hanging out 24/7 is definitely trying to distract from something. In this case he’s trying to fool people into thinking he’s not a dictionary-definition pussy. Rip the heads off his muppet babies and he doesn’t even have an ability anymore, the schmuck. Fight when you’re looking for a quick self-esteem boost. 

Alcott: You win

  • This poor woman does not deserve to be tortured anymore than she already is by the weight of her own social awkwardness, but if you really insist: make a derogatory comment and she’s basically down for the count already, no physical contact necessary. If you really want to dominate, just steal her glasses and she instantly morphs into a significantly less foxy Velma Dinkley. Also significantly less prone to self defense. An A-1 fight for when you’re looking to cement residency in Hell.


Ango: Depends

  • You would think his beanpole ass would be an easy target. You’d be wrong, though. So very wrong. He’s been chugging tomato juice like it’s his job for the past forever and he’s got a snazzy pair of handcuffs he’s just dying to break out. If you sabotage basic safety features on his car, though, he’s a goner. Just sneakily unbuckle his seat belt while he’s driving and you’ve basically defeated him right then and there. A good fight for practicing strategic tactics and subtle vehicle vandalism.

Fyodor: You lose

  • Just ask A how that one turned out. Actually, ask anyone in the manga what throwing down with Fyodor entails. (Unless you only watch the anime, then just wait for the season three that we’re probably not getting) He’ll escort you personally to the gates of hell with a flick to your forehead. Then he’ll step right over your still-warm corpse and start playing the cello with that unnecessarily wide leg-spreadage. Mess with this sentient ushanka hat and he’ll uSHANKa you.


Anne Bonny and Mary Read were pirates in the eighteeth century. Very little is know about either of them. In their last battle, only Anne and Mary to save their necks from the noose. When the men refused to come out of the hold to fight, Mary shot down at them, killing a few, and wounding others.

Anne Bonny is probably the world’s best know female pirate, though what little is known of her life comes largely from Charles Johnson’s A General History of the Pyrates

She was born around the year 1700. Her birth name was Anna Cormac, and her birthplace was Kinsale, County Cork, Ireland. She was the daughter of a servant woman, Mary Brennan and lawyer William Cormac.

Anne’s family travelled to the new world very early on in her life; at first the family had a rough start in their new home. Her mother died shortly after they arrived in North America when she was 12. Her father eventually joined the profitable merchant business and accumulated a substantial fortune. It is recorded she had red hair and was considered a “good catch”, but may have had a fiery temper; at aged 13 she supposedly stabbed a servant girl with a table knife. She married a poor sailor and small-time pirate named James Bonny, Anne was disowned by her father.

Between 1714 and 1718, she and James Bonny moved to Nassau, on New Providence Island; known at that time as a sanctuary for English pirates called the ‘Pirates’ republic’.

While in the Bahamas, Bonny began mingling with pirates in the local taverns. She met Jack “Calico Jack” Rackham, captain of the pirate sloop Revenge, and Rackham became her lover. They had a son in Cuba, who eventually took the name of Cunningham. Many different theories state that he was left with his family or simply abandoned. Bonny rejoined Rackham and continued the pirate life, having divorced her husband and marrying Rackham while at sea. Bonny and Rackham escaped to live together as pirates. Bonny, Rackham, and Mary Read stole the ship Revenge, then at anchor in Nassau harbour, and put out to sea. Rackham and the two women recruited a new crew. Their crew spent years in Jamaica and the surrounding area. Over the next several months, they enjoyed success, capturing many, albeit smaller, vessels and bringing in abundant treasure. 

Bonny took part in combat alongside the men, and the accounts of her exploits present her as competent, effective in combat, and respected by her shipmates. Although Bonny was historically renowned as a female Caribbean pirate, she never commanded a ship of her own.


Mary Read was illegitimately born in England, in the late 17th century, to the widow of a sea captain. Read’s mother began to disguise illegitimately born Mary as a boy after the death of Mary’s older, legitimate brother Mark. This was done in order to continue to receive financial support from his paternal grandmother. The grandmother was apparently fooled, and Read and her mother lived on the inheritance into her teenage years. Still dressed as a boy, Read then found work as a footboy, and later found employment on a ship. 

She later joined the British military, allied with Dutch forces against the French and, in male disguise, proved herself through battle, but she fell in love with a Flemish soldier. They married under military oath but her husband had an early death and afterwards she resumed male dress and military service in Holland, until leaving to the Bahamas. 

Read’s ship was taken by pirates, who forced her to join them. She took the King’s pardon c.1718-1719, and took a commission to privateer, until that ended with her joining the crew in mutiny. In 1720 she joined pirate John Rackham and his companion, the female pirate Anne Bonny.

Keep reading

“You know what Anne’s last words to her imprisoned lover were? ‘Had you fought like a man you need not have been hanged like a dog.’ But I think she proved that fighting like a woman was more than effective.”

Anne Bonny and Mary Read were the fiercest pirates in their day, holding their own and beyond among crews of men. The fearless swordswomen led wholly scandalous lives full of adventure, debauchery, and daring exploits in their careers as rovers of the seas. Though not many details about their lives are known as fact, they undoubtedly remain two of the most iconic nautical historical figures of all time. 

The curator of the Maritime Museum of San Diego had been putting the finishing touches on a new exhibit about the two infamous female buccaneers when the cornerstone piece, an eighteenth-century pistol belonging to Mary Read herself, was stolen. According to legend, the superstitious marauder had recruited a sorceress to conjure up a curse; should the revolver be taken from its rightful owner, the malefactor would be sorely punished. Bizarre and unexplained accidents have begun occurring on all of the museum’s ships, and the curator is convinced these local misfortunes point to one of his staff being the culprit. Is this merely the work of a disgruntled employee? Or has Mary Read’s vengeful malediction been enacted?

Join Nancy Drew in her next case: The Swashbuckler’s Scourge.

Mary Read was a pirate in the early 1700s, she was illegitimate and her mother disguised her as her brother Mark after he died so she could keep getting money from Mark’s grandparents. She continued to live as Mark for most of her live and joined the British military before marrying a man she met while serving. She was kidnapped by pirates and forced to work on their ship but decided she quite liked being a pirate. She worked on Calico Jack’s ship with Anne Bonny and the two of them basically co-captained the ship because Calico Jack was pretty much always drunk and Mary and Anne were super respected by the crew, there are conflicting reports as to whether or not anyone other than Calico Jack knew they were women, but most people believe they didn’t until Mary got into a fight and to distract her opponent, she opened her shirt, and then after that there were rumors of fierce women pirates who were feared by everyone. Their ship was taken by the British Navy, and the crew all hid below deck because they were hungover, except Anne and Mary who tried to fight them off. Eventually they were all captured by the Navy, but Mary and Anne pled the belly, which was a legal loophole that allowed them to postpone their trails until they gave birth. Mary died from a fever, but Anne escaped, and the last thing she said to Jack was “I’m sorry to see you here Jack, but if you fought like a man, you needn’t be hanged like a dog”

Winchester Rehab

Warnings: Some angst, Smut. Smut and more Smut.

Originally posted by knights-of-good-hell

          God, this was torture for you. You should have told Sam to come and you stay at the bunker instead of this. Sharing a room with Dean Winchester might be the thing that puts you over the edge. Not the hunt, or the heat, or anything else. Just Dean Winchester. You tried to act like your eyes weren’t studying every dip, every curve, every line on his body but fuck it was hard. He was standing right in front of you in nothing but a towel like it was no big deal. You were biting your lip and sneaking peaks. Hoping for the towel to fall. It wasn’t a big deal to him, I mean ya’ll live together for fucks sakes. Him leaving the bathroom in a towel after a shower shouldn’t affect you this way. But it did. It always has. You spent many nights imagining him dropping that towel, fucking you into the mattress.  You realized that he was saying something to you. It was something important about the hunt but damn if you were listening. Instead, you were thinking of pushing him onto the bed.  You were thinking of licking up every drop of water that was running down his beautiful chest.

          “Earth to Y/N?” He waved his large hand in front of you, interrupting your daydream and bringing you back to reality.

       “What? Huh? Sorry I….” You trailed off, not knowing what to say. You couldn’t tell him you were thinking of yanking that towel away from him. Or shoving him on the bed and grinding your aching cunt onto his- oh fuck.

     “Like what you see?” You rolled your eyes at his cocky smirk and prayed he didn’t notice the new tint to your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you made your excuses and rushed to the bathroom. You splashed cold water on your face while trying to steady your racing heart. You ached for him. You needed to get away from him. This would be your last hunt with Dean Winchester. You’d go your separate way, a few solo hunts, a few one night stands, and then you’d make your way back. You’d get him out of your system.


          The hunt was an easy one. The two of you worked together in tandem like you always did. Fighting back to back, knowing each other’s moves before they even made them. You made the perfect team. You were just as jazzed up as he was, which is why when he asked to go get a drink you agreed. Besides, what was one more celebration before you left. One last celebration before Winchester rehab began. He picked a booth in the back. Despite his obvious want of privacy, the girls in the bar all gravitated towards him. Their eyes followed him like he was the last man on earth. You imagined them all as hungry dogs watching a steak hang in front of them. You felt for them, you also looked at him like that. You were always the starving dog. The waitress came and only looked at Dean, the same story every girl knows and has read. The high dissipated when he tossed her a saucy wink and watched her perfect ass sway back and forth back to the bar.

        “Hey, why the long face?” His glorious green eyes bore into yours and you wanted nothing more than to reach over and kiss him.

        “Nothing, sorry. Just tired I guess.” He watched you as you tried to shrug off your mood, but was soon distracted by another girl. They made eyes back and forth like you weren’t even there and you just watched. By the time the girl got up the nerve to approach him you were three drinks in and moving on to sit at the bar alone. You watched out of the corner of your eye of course. The little touches. The cheeky smiles. All his fucking irresistible trademark moves that you had seen a million and one times. The poor girl was doomed or blessed. You wanted her to be doomed.At some point, you stopped watching. Your only concern was the shots and making sure they kept coming. You lost count around the same time the girl was whispering in Dean’s ear.

  The man next to you was talking about something but you weren’t sure what. He seemed pleased enough with your mindless answers. His hand rested on your knee. When he began to whisper in your ear about how beautiful you were it drifted to your thigh. The higher it drifted the more you thought about how easy it would be to start your cleanse sooner rather than later. He ordered two more shots and watched your throat as you downed them both. Relishing in your loss of control. When he began to pull you towards the door you drunkenly followed.

         “Y/N!” his voice was always sexier when he was angry. You turned and looked back at him. He stomped forward gripping your arm tight enough to make you gasp. Your companion stopped glaring at Dean, demanding to know what his problem was.

          “She’s drunk, that’s my problem. Let’s go Y/N.” He tugged twice but you weren’t moving.

           “Hey, she doesn’t have to go anywhere. She’s comin’ with me.”  Dean’s eyes turned to steel, his nostrils flared and his jaw ticked. Your thighs clenched. You had sobered up enough to stop this from getting out of hand. You looked back at the man shrugging before taking a step towards Dean. He didn’t relax, instead, he roughly pulled you out of the bar. The humid air hit you as soon as you both were outside. It weighed you down. Made it hard to breathe and made it impossible to ignore the throbbing in your core at Dean’s look.

.          “Fuck Y/N! What were you thinking?” You giggled. Then you giggled, even more, when he leveled you with a panty dropping glare.

          “This is funny to you? Are you fucking kidding me right now? Do you know what could have happened? Y/N if I wasn’t-“

           “I’m a grown woman Dean! Plus, I’m a hunter, I think I can take care of myself! I was starting Winchester Rehab!” You were sad that you couldn’t get started. You needed to get started.

            “Winchester what?” He was right in front of you now. You locked your eyes with him, but your eyes got distracted and drifted towards his plump pink lips. You bit yours at the thought of how they would taste, how they would- FUCK! This is why Winchester rehab was needed.

           “Winchester rehab.” He stalked forwards, grabbing you and guiding you towards the car. You sat in the front seat, watching as he drove. His tense white knuckles gripped the steering wheel, his jaw ticked. You ignored the glances he threw towards you and kept your eyes focused on the tree line outside your window. He parked but he didn’t make a move to get out. So you stayed put. Playing with your fingers in the awkward silence

          .“What the hell is Winchester rehab Y/N?” Your drunken mind couldn’t stop your lips from moving.

            “Where I leave and get you out of my system. Do you know what it’s like being in love with you? Being in love with your best friend and them not giving you the time of day? How much it hurts? You’re like a fucking drug, a cliché drug. So I need to go to rehab.” You were crying now.

        Dean always laughed at how quick you could go from one mood to the next when you drank. You didn’t even notice when he left the car. The door opened and he was wrapping your arm around his neck, helping you stumble back to the room. Acting like he didn’t even hear your confession. So you pretended you didn’t say it and went to bed. You didn’t hear him taking off his clothes or hear his whispered confession that ‘yes he did know.” Instead, you were tucked away in deep slumber.


         “Ugh-what the fuck happened last night?” Your head felt like a thousand pounds.

          “You don’t remember?” Bless this man for trying to whisper, and it didn’t go unnoticed that the curtains were shut tight. You squinted as he brought you a steaming cup of coffee and a greasy breakfast sandwich. The smell hit you before the sandwich got to your hands, your stomach turned. You pushed Dean out of the way and lurched over the toilet. Dean held your hair back as everything you had to drink last night came out of you. Sitting up you leaned against the cool tile. You watched as he got a cool wash cloth and dabbed your forehead and neck with it. You didn’t deserve such a man in your life. He stayed kneeling in front of you. The memories of how bad you fucked up last night overwhelmed you. Tears pricked your eyes and you shoved him away. You brushed your teeth and watched as Dean walked away with sagging shoulders. As soon as he was out of the bathroom your own shoulders slumped.

            You were never going to fix this. Not after your word vomit last night. Dean’s absence didn’t go unnoticed when you exited the bathroom. Throwing your things in your duffel you shuffled to the door. Dean was just outside the door on the phone. When you and your duffel made an appearance he was on alert.

        “I gotta go. Hey.” His eyes danced between you and the bag. You kept yours just above his shoulders.

        “Hey, um, im gonna-look I’m gonna go. I-“

        “No you’re not.” When did he get so close to you? His hand tugged your bag off your shoulder. He took a deliberate step forward, then another. He didn’t stop until you were backed up against the door completely.

         “Dean-“He moved around you to open the door and the two of you stepped in. He continued to back you up inside the room. His eyes held a hunger that yours mirrored every time you looked at him. You grew breathless at the look.

          “No. Y/n. There have been some misunderstandings and I plan on working them out. Right. Now.” When the back of your knees made contact with the bed you gasped. Dean preyed on your surprise and locked his lips with yours. You both moaned at the contact. His lips were everything you imagined them to be. His tongue grazed your lip begging for permission to enter and you granted it. Your hands traveled their own path. They began at his chest and working their way to weave through his hair. His hands gripped your hip before ghosting up under your shirt. His callused thumb left goosebumps as it trailed just under your breast. You were thankful for foregoing the bra today. He trailed hot kisses to your jaw and then your neck, pausing just below your ear.

           “Tell me now if you want to stop Y/N.” He was insane. No way were you stopping.

            “I swear to god Dean Winchester if you stop now I’ll never forgive you.” He let out a breath and pushed your shirt over your head.

            “God, Y/N I’ve wanted this for a long time.” You couldn’t form words as his fingers traced your breast. His mouth followed the trail and plump lips wrapped around your nipple. An incoherent sound left your lips as his teeth put just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive bud. One hand covered the neglected breast while the other trailed down your body. He pushed your pants down. You tried helping him remove the offending article of clothing by kicking them away.  You bucked your hips into his hand as he cupped your sex. He knew all the buttons to push and you were one push from exploding. He pulled away from your nipple and looked at you. His eyes shone with adoration, overwhelming you with the feeling. You don’t think you’ve ever been looked at like that. It made you breathless. With a sense of urgency, you grabbed the hem of his shirt, pushing it over his head and threw it somewhere on the floor. You raked your hands up and down his chest. You played with the button of his jeans while thanking the gods for giving you the man in front of you. You placed kisses down his chest. You loved the whispered moans of your name coming from those beautiful lips. Your hands dragged his jeans and boxers down his muscular legs. His erection sprung free and you bit your lip in anticipation. You needed to taste him. Your hand wrapped around the base of his throbbing cock. Your tongue followed the line of the pulsing vain.

           “Fuck Y/N” He hissed as you pumped your hand and continued working him in your mouth. Hands gripped your hair, not controlling you but providing a steady force for him.

          “Baby, b-shit. You have to stop.” Your mouth left his cock with a wet pop.  He was panting above you, the sight of him caused you to bite your lip. Your core was dripping with need. You clenched your thighs in hopes to ease the growing heat and it didn’t go unnoticed by Dean. He pulled you up and pushed you back on the bed.  His fingers rubbed the inside of your thighs. They grazed where you needed him most causing you to cry out.

         “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” You would have blushed if he hadn’t peeled your damp underwear from your body. His fingers spread your cunt and without any hesitation he placed his mouth on your core. You both groaned. Your hips instinctively bucked into his mouth but his hand gripped your hip to keep you steady. Dean took his time, licking slow and long strips along your soaking pussy. His tongue danced up your pussy until it finally made contact with your swollen clit. Your back arched. Your hands went to Deans hair and you cried out his name. When his fingers replaced his tongue your core clenched. Sparks danced from your pussy to your fingers and back to your toes. You were so fucking close.

        “That’s right baby girl, come for me. You’re so wet for me.” His voice did it. His gravelly tone put you over the edge and the sparks all burst at once. He placed gentle kisses on your chest and neck until you came back down from your high. You kissed him as you climbed on top of him and positioned his cock with your pulsing entrance. As you sunk down onto him you both gasped. You didn’t move, you just enjoyed the feeling of him filling you up. He stretched your walls and throbbed inside of you. He had his head thrown back, a look of ecstasy on his face. His hands clenched your hips and your name was a plea on his lips. A plea you decided to answer. Slowly you lifted yourself up and the down again. You could feel every inch of him, but he only let you go that slow a few times before he angled his hips up and jutted forward. The new angle caused you to whimper with pleasure. Soon the two of you were lost in each other. It all pushed you over the edge. The scratch marks on his chest, the grip marks on your thighs, and the obscene sound of your wet pussy slamming down on his steel cock.

        “Y/N i-I’m close. Come with me baby. Come with me.” Two fingers drew tight circles over clit. He added a hint of pressure and just like that you were falling over the edge with Dean’s name on your lips.You collapsed on the pillow next to him trying to catch your breath. He pulled the blanket over the two of you and moved closer to you. He wrapped you in his arms while placing little kisses all over your shoulders and back. You sighed in content.

          “I hope your thoroughly addicted now Y/N.” You giggled in response and turned to face him.

          “I think I am, there’s no hope of rehab helping now.” He smiled in response and held you tighter.