#mr. ketch x reader

[holylulusworld]

Designed by pain (3)

Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader; Arthur Ketch x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, implied break-up, time jumps, strong reader

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

Designed by pain masterlist

Designed by pain (2)

Time is a funny thing. One moment you look at old pictures of the love you lost to reminisce, and the next moment, the life you knew is long gone.

A heartbeat later eight years are gone, and you are sitting in an airplane leading back to your old life.

You take a deep breath, and exhale sharply, feeling Ketch’s eyes on you.

“Y/N, if only you told me about this earlier. I would’ve asked someone else to come with me. I should’ve known better than to ask you to face the man breaking your heart.” Ketch became our closest friend over the amount of eight years. He’s your son’s godfather and the big brother you never had. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“I’ve got this, Arthur,” you glance at your laptop to check on the timetable for the meeting with Winchester & Singer Inc. once again. “I’m not the girl he left.”

Arthur sighs deeply but ignores the anxiety clawing at his chest. The last thing he wanted was to force you to face your past. “If you want to stay at the hotel, I can go to the meeting and tell them you got sick.”

“Your designer didn’t get sick. This is my project and won’t stay away from the meeting only because there is a slight possibility that I will run into that man!”

He gives up but worriedly watches you squirm in your seat. You still hate flying but try to put a brave face on. You’re fierce and strong-headed. Only one of the many things he likes about you.

“If you want me to, I’ll break his face after we sealed the deal,” Ketch casually says. “I’m not scared of getting my hands dirty.”

“No,” you grab his hand and squeeze it. “He’s not worth it, Arthur. After all these years I know Dean never felt anything for me. Even his brother tried to contact me years ago. I wasn’t very nice to Sam, but it had to be done.”

A split second can change your life. Dean never believed in fate or karma. But when you step inside the conference room, another man by your side, he’s suddenly a believer.

You take his breath away. Even if you aged, you did it with grace and grew even more beautiful. You carry yourself like no other woman, and he can barely keep himself from pouncing on you.

“Y/N?” Sam is the one rising from his seat first. He does what Dean wants to do. Sam wraps you in a hug, ignoring the man next to you. “It’s really you, Y/N. How have you been?”

“I’m good,” you pat his back, unsure how to react to Sam’s friendliness. “I hope you have been good too.”

Sam finally releases you. He apologizes for not greeting Ketch and shakes your boss’s hand. “Welcome, Mr. Ketch. We are glad you are willing to meet up with us.”

“My pleasure,” Ketch curtly replies. He shakes Sam’s hand while you look around the room. Dean’s eyes meet yours, but you act like he’s one of the people in the room you do not know. He’s only someone you used to know now.

“Daddy, daddy," you freeze when a little boy storms into the conference room. For a moment you watch Dean's reaction. His eyes are trained on you as his brother picks the boy up.

“And who is this young man,” your features soften for a moment, and you look at the boy in Sam’s arms. You blink and put a straight face on. Showing weakness is not in your plans. If this gets too intense you can cry in your hotel room, but not in front of Dean. Never in front of him.

"Y/N, this is Samuel, my son," you nod, turning your attention back toward Ketch, and the papers on the conference table.

Dean took the chance and stepped toward you and Ketch. He greeted your boss, and now he’s staring at you, eyes sparkling as you try to ignore his existence.

"Don't you want to greet Sam's son," Dean wonders but you remain stoic. "Y/N?” He questions. You loved kids, and always played with the children of your friends. Now you ignore the cute boy right in front of you. “What’s wrong with you?”

"I'm not into kids, Dean. What shall I do? Faint?" you huff and sit down, claiming the next best seat at the conference table. You unlock your phone and try to ignore Dean is standing right next to you.

"This isn't you, Y/N," you whip your head toward Dean, face still stoic. “Where is the quirky and lovely girl? Where is the girl who wanted kids and love?"

"Well," you slowly get back up to glare at Dean, a cold smile on your lips, "this is me after you." He inhales sharply, taken aback by your words. "Designed by pain, betrayal, and broken trust. Don't you like your creation?"

His jaw goes slack, and he flinches at your words. Dean doesn’t find his voice, and he swallows thickly.

You don’t wait for his reply. Instead of waiting for him to tell you that you are in the wrong, you sit back down and focus on your job. You’re here to sign the deal of the century, not to entertain Dean Winchester.

Dean can’t believe you have changed so much. Yes, eight years have passed, and he didn’t see you since he fucked things up. Still, you are so different from the girl he loved.

You’re not quirky and bubbly any longer. Maybe you told him the truth. Your new you got designed by pain. The pain he caused so many years ago.

“Did you listen,” John hisses at his eldest son. He clears his throat and tries to pull Dean’s attention toward business and away from you. “I know she’s still a hot piece of ass but get your shit together. You can dick down some bitch later.”

You wrinkle your nose. John is not very subtle. He whispered his insults, but you heard every word. Some things never change. John Winchester is still disgusting and sleazy.

“Shall we come to an end then,” Bobby Singer raises his voice. “I think we are all tired of talking about details. We should sign the papers and have a drink.”

You smirk. Bobby Singer owns a special place in your heart. Not only because he was the one getting you the job in London, but for having your back for years.

He covered your traces and made sure no one was able to find you. Not even Sam Winchester who tried anything to get in touch with you.

A single phone call was all it took to make him stop. You told him that you were about to marry and that you never loved his brother.

“Y/N, wait,” Dean puts his hand on your shoulder before you get the chance to follow Ketch out of the conference room. Your boss is engrossed in a conversation with Bobby and doesn’t see your face fall. “Can we at least talk? It’s good to see you.”

“Why?” You swat his hand off your shoulder but turn around to face him. “You didn’t want to talk after you embarrassed me in front of your family. I gave you a choice Dean. I left a note, almost begging you to not let me down.” 

“You didn’t leave a note. All I found was the engagement ring!” He gets louder. “After all these years you lie to me?”

“I left a note on the bed and placed the ring on top of the note. You didn’t call or come around. That’s all I needed to know. You wanted your ex, and I had to take care of…whatever.” You shrug and turn back around. “Who cares about the past? You had your reasons for not trying to fix things between us.”

“There was no note,” Dean says, a little confused about your behavior. “I swear there was no note. You must remember wrong.”

“I remember every single word I wrote, with tears in my eyes and trembling fingers,” you bitterly reply. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Don’t you think?”

And just like that, you grab your bag and leave the room. Dean watches you leave, just like that night.

“She didn’t leave a note,” he crosses his arms over his chest. Dean tries to recall that night. He remembers brushing Lisa’s advances off. He walked upstairs to apologize, and for make-up sex, only to find the room empty. “There was no note.” He shakes his head, remembering that the ring was lying on the bed, but no note.

“What’s wrong? Why did you let her go again?” Sam asks. “Dean?” He places his hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Y/N said she left a note, but there was none, Sammy. I swear there was no note, only the ring,” Dean shakes his head. “I don’t know why she’s lying.”

“What if she doesn’t lie, Dean,” Sam wonders. “Why should she lie about leaving a note? It’s been eight years, and she won’t get anything out of it if she lies.”

“You’re right.”

“So, who had the chance to sneak inside your shared room? Why would anyone take the note and leave the ring on the bed?” Sam wrinkles his forehead. “Let’s recall that night, Dean. What do you remember? Who went upstairs before you? Did you see anyone?”

Dean huffs. ”Mom went upstairs because Dad spilled his drink over her dress. I can’t remember seeing anyone else walking upstairs. I wasn’t sober that night, though.”

“Mother went upstairs,” Sam frowns deeply. He knows that Mary invited Lisa to the party. “That makes sense.”

“What?” Dean grunts. “Nothing makes sense anymore, Sammy. What was right is wrong and…” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s been eight years.”

“I didn’t take you for a quitter,” Sam taunts. “Why did you never marry, or have a relationship lasting longer than a week since Y/N is gone? You have been waiting for her all those years, and now you want to let her slip through your fingers again?”

“No…but…no…” Dean sighs deeply. “Y/N hates me, and I can’t blame her for it, Sammy.”

“Well then, let’s talk to mother. She has a lot to explain...”

Designed by pain (4)

Tags in reblog.

[wonik1ss]

baby project — ja.k

pairing : jake x f!reader

song rec : keeping tabs - niki + boyfriend material - gareth.t

a/n : second longest fanfic you will EVER get from me

“ FUCK U JAKE SIM!! “. You yelled hair covered in ketch up as Jake from the very back of your English class laughed maniacally at you. As your teacher had your bff Yunjin bring you to the bathroom to freshen up.

“ I can’t believe him! “. You yelled as you had your head under the schools faucet as Yunjin washed your hair out with some soap she for whatever reason had in her locker.

“ I really don’t understand why he is always pranking you! I have been with you since pre-k and I don’t have a single reason why he would be doing this! “. You nodded as you grabbed a bunch of paper towels and dried your hair. 

“ Think he was just born to annoy me at this point “. You said as Yunjin giggled.

“ I am so glad I have this class with you Jinnie If I didn’t I think I would die “. You pretended to faint as the girl giggled and grabbbed your hand.

“ I know I know now let’s get back to class before Mr. Young sends Jake to get us “. You gaged as the girl loudly laughed as you walked back to class.

-

“ What did I do to you? “. You whispered while looking up as Jake laughed.

“ Are you talking to your demons now? “

“ Ya guess you would know because you are one “. Jake rolled his eyes as Yunjin walked over to your desk.

“ Think.. Think of this of a bonding moment! “. You took both of her shoulders in your hands as you began to talk.

“ If I don’t make it out of this project alive make sure Yuna never touches my plushie collection “. Yunjin rolled her eyes and walked over to her partner, as you sighed.

Your teacher decided to place you and Jake as partners for this “ Baby Project “ your school decided to introduce this year. 3 weeks taking care of a baby with a male of female partner of your teachers choice.

“ Ok what do you want to name it? “. Jake asked as you raised your eyebrows.

“ It stupid it’s a boy! “. You hit Jakes head as his eyes went wide.

“ How did you know that? “

“ It fucking has a penis! “. You practically screamed as you pointed straight at your baby. Jake stared at his table as you rolled your eyes.

This was going to be a long 3 weeks…

-

“ TAKE THE DAMN BABY JAKE! “. You had spent all night with the baby crying and needing to be changed and coddled you were tired of it. Plus it was Jakes turn to take the baby but for some odd reason he just wouldn’t.

“ I.. I just can’t “. You rolled your eyes. Tf does he have to do on a Saturday night?

“ Why? “

“ I have soccer practice.. and the guys will make fun of me.. “

“ Do I look like I give a fuck just.. stuff it in your locker and I’ll text you when it needs something.. you have my number and the baby app on your phone right? “. Jake nodded as you handed him the baby and started to walk home before he grabbed your arm.

“ Don’t try to stalk me at practice now no visitors allowed “. Jack winked as your checks grew pink.

2 weeks left.. Just 2 weeks left..

-

You laughed at your friend Ning Nings joke as you got of the lunch line and walked to your groups table. Your group consisted of 3 girls which included you, Yunjin and ningning and Sunoo who just kinda popped into your group.

“ I swear that bitch Sooha wants to tustle with me and I swear if she tells me to back of Heeseung again I will fight her “. You laughed as Ning Ning went on and on about the one crazy girl in your class as you felt a shadow cast over you.

“ I’ll take the baby now.. If you want “. You looked up and titled your head.

“ But I have her till 3 period tomorrow? “

“ I know you have dance practice and Layla gets mosey around then.. so I’ll take her now “. You nodded and were about to pass the baby to the awkwardly boy until you remembered something.

“ You named him.. Layla? “

“ Ya after my dog “. You giggled.

“ You know his a boy right? “

“ Ya.. we can just call him Lay for short! “. You smiled and passed the baby over as Jake went to his table, and you swore you saw a pink tint on his ears.

“ Ooooh “. Sunoo cooed as you turned to him confused.

“ What? “

“ He likes you.. “. Yunjin said as her eyebrows went up and down.

“ What! no way! “. Your friends nodded as you stared at your plate of food in confusion.

Why did you whole friend group think you liked Jake.. and why was your stomach feeling so weird today?

-

“ Your seriously going to teach or baby to play soccer? “. You laughed as Jake pulled Lay from his back. The before almost naked baby now in a little Jersey and shorts. You burst out laughing as Jake pulled out a little soccer ball from his pocket too.

“ Ofcourse! We got to have something in common “. You smiled and followed the boy as he set the tiny ball down, you were on one side of it and Jake was on his knees behind the baby getting to ready to act like it was playing.

Then on the count of three you tried to kick the little ball into the goal but somehow everytime Jake won.

“ That’s unfair he has a soccer dad how am I supposed to beat that! “. You said as you tried your best to get the ball into the goal but once again Jake blocked you. But this time you tripped and fell on him.

You opened your eyes to see Jake’s worrying eyes looking all over you.

“ You ok Y/n? “. Jake hadn’t called you by your actual name for the bast 3 years you have known him…

“ Uh.. Ya ya “. You said as you slowly got of the worried boy,

“ Is.. Is the baby ok? “. You said looking around the grass for your little baby Lay.

“ Ya moved him out the way before you fell “. You laughed as Jake looked at you confused till he looked at the baby. It’s head had a dent.

“ That looks like 3 deducted points to me! “. Jake said acting like your teacher by even going the extra mile you wave on of his fingers around like he did.

Shit.. did Jake always look this cute?

-

“ That looks like 3 deducted pint to me! “. Your teacher said as you giggled.

“ Something funny Ms. Y/l “. You shock your head as Jake smiled at you as you were dismissed to your seats.

“ Got his reaction down to a tea “. You giggled as your teacher started talking about what you should have learned from the experience.

“ Y/n.. I have a question.. that you can totally ask me not to ask if yo- “

“ Just tell me Jake! “. You said as the boy rubbed the back of his neck.

“ You sure? “

“ Yes “

“ Like absolutely sure? “

“ Yes Jake “

“ Lik- “

“ Just tell me Jake! “

“ Would you want to go out with me this Friday? “. Your eyes went wide as Jake bit his lip while you stared at you.

“ Sure “

“ That didn’t sound like you want to.. “

“ Ok.. yes Jake I would love to go out with you om Staurday your so hot and nice why would I say no! “. You exaggerated as the boy blushed and laughed.

“ Something funny Mr. Sim? “. Your teacher asked as him and the rest of the class turned to the two of you.

“ No Mr. Young I just bagged myself a real life so I’m feeling pretty good right now! “. The whole class erupted into giggles and laughter as your cheeks flushed red and Jake sent a wink your way.

Boy were you happy for this Baby Project now..

[meganlpie]

The Cabin

Anonymous asked: Meg, could I request some Ketch please? I think something like Ketch and the reader don't get along so TFW does a sort of lock them in a closet until they get along thing except instead of a closet, they send the two off to a cabin so they don't have to hear them fight.

Here you are! I do not own Arthur Ketch or TFW. They belong to the writers/creators of SPN. 

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers! Angst, arguing, cliche snowstorm, FLUFF!

Pairings: Arthur Ketch x reader

Sam rubbed his temples and Dean looked ready to kill. You and Ketch were fighting…again. It was never ending with the two of you. You fought about everything. On the rare occasions you weren't fighting, the two of you would glare at each other across the room. Sam was pretty certain he knew why you fought so much, but Dean? He didn't care. He was just tired of it.

         "Alright, that's it! I've had it!" he cried. Your argument was cut off as you both looked at Dean. "I'm sick of this. You two are gonna work out whatever it is between you, if it kills you." He tossed a set of keys at you. You caught them and looked at him in confusion.

         "You're going up to one of Bobby's cabins and staying there until you can work together," Sam explained. You opened your mouth to argue with them, but Sam held up a hand. "Sorry, Y/N, but we can't hunt effectively with you at each other's throats. Just go and figure it out, okay?" You shot a glare at Ketch over your shoulder and stormed off to pack.

         Ketch glanced at the brothers. "Do you have idea why Y/N  hates me?" he asked. Sam smirked while Dean shrugged. "Figure it out, would you? Maybe then we could actually finish a hunt without you two fighting." Ketch sighed and nodded as he turned to go back his own bag. On his way, he passed your room. The door was slightly ajar and he could hear you muttering to yourself. Ignoring you, Ketch went to his own room.

         You heard him pass by and breathed a sigh of relief. You didn't want to fight right then. It was bad enough you were going to have to spend an unknown amount of time with him in the cabin. The thought of being in such close quarters with Ketch sent a shudder down your spine. Contrary to popular belief, you didn't hate the man. The tension between you two was simply caused by the unvoiced attraction you felt for him.

         You'd always felt physically attracted to the man. You hadn't cared much for his personality at first, but he was trying to change now that he was no longer part of the British Men of Letters. Still, you both had strong personalities and so butted heads a lot. You just didn't know how to voice your feelings without sounding weak or like a high school kid confessing a crush. If there was one thing you didn't want to be around Ketch, it was weak.

         You finished packing at met Ketch at his car. You didn't say anything as you threw your bag in the trunk and climbed in. In fact, you didn't say a word the entire ride to the cabin. What could you say? You had a feeling that, if you opened your mouth, you'd blame him and start yet another argument.

         "It looks like we are in for some inclement weather," Ketch muttered when you finally pulled up to the cabin. You let out a hum as you got out of the car. Ketch hurried to the trunk and grabbed your bags. "I can carry my own bag," you mumbled. Ketch ignored you. With a sigh, you turned on your heel and went to unlock the door.

         Once inside, you whirled on Ketch again. "Look, I don't like this. Not at all. I propose a deal. We stay the night and leave tomorrow morning.  Take separate vacations for say, oh, a week. Then meet back up and go back to the bunker together. Tell the boys we worked out our differences. We can just try to keep the fighting to a minimum in front of the boys."

         Ketch's lips turned down into a slight frown, but he didn't say anything. He didn't like being told what to do anymore. Not since he broke free of the "old men" of Kendrick's. But you seemed adamant that you weren't going to stay with him so he gave a small nod. With a smug smirk, you turned away and left him standing in the entryway.

         All night long, you slept like a rock, happy with your new arrangement. Ketch, however, laid awake most of the night. He couldn't help but wonder why you had such animosity toward him. He couldn't recall actually doing anything to you. While he didn't really care for the way the Winchesters and their pet angel were handling things, he knew it was for the best. You couldn't be the best hunting team if you were at each other's throats all the time. With a sigh, Ketch closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

         Ketch woke the next morning to the sound of the door slamming and a curse from you. He shot up and bolted over to the door. You were there, shaking snow out of your hair and glaring. "We're snowed in," you grumbled, shucking off your coat before you stormed into the kitchen of the cabin. Ketch heard pots and pans being moved around and he assumed you were going to try and cook breakfast.

         He entered the kitchen. You were muttering angrily to yourself while you flitted about the kitchen. "Perhaps I can be of assistance?" he asked, causing you to whirl around, your hand on your chest. "Son of a- DON'T DO THAT!" Ketch bit back a laugh and made his offer again. You appeared to contemplate it for a second before you sighed. Since you were going to be stuck there, you might as well play nice. "Sure. Would you mind getting the eggs out of the refrigerator?" Ketch actually smiled.

*time skip*

         Being stuck together in the cabin with Ketch wasn't as horrible as you thought it would be. Away from the hunting and the Winchesters, with a glass of whiskey, Ketch was downright pleasant. And your attraction to him only grew because of that. You didn't realize it would all come to a head one night.

         You don't know how it started, but you were on the brink of another argument. Heated words were being exchanged and insults tossed back and forth. "Why does it matter whether or not I hate you, Y/N? You don't seem to mind when other people hate you. Why me?" You let out a groan. "BECAUSE I DON'T LOVE ANY OTHER PEOPLE!" you cried and the atmosphere instantly shifted.

         "You don't…what?" You sighed as you ran your fingers through your hair. "I don't love them. I love you, K-Arthur. I didn't want to seem weak, so I didn't say anything." Ketch didn't speak, but kept taking steps closer until he was right in front of you. "If I have learned anything from my time at Kendrick's, it is that love does not make you weak. Love is what drives people to fight and to live. Love is a strength."

         "Not when the man you love doesn't love you back." Ketch chuckled, using his fingers to lift your chin. "And why do you get to decide how I feel? I never said I did not love you. Quite the contrary. I believe that what I have with you is the closest thing to love I will ever have." You smiled at him. "You think so?" Ketch brought his lips closer to hover over yours. "I do. Just as I believe that there are better uses of our time in this cabin than arguing." You arched a brow. "Oh? Such as?" Just as you predicted, Ketch slanted his lips across yours. You sighed into the kiss, happy to have all your feelings out in the open, and reciprocated. Now you just had to tell the boys.

(a/n: This took me WAAAAAAAAAY longer than it should have! But I hope you like it!)

Forever Tags: @brewsthespirit-blog @fizzyxcustard​ @aikibriarrose​ @esoltis280​ @lady-of-lies​ 

SPN Tags: @jotink78​ @princessofthefandomrealm​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​

[faith-in-dean]

Kendricks: A Hell on Earth - Three

Summary: Due to a given promise of your parents, you were sold off to be a student at Kendricks University. Nothing seemed right, all the people were stuck up. Your professor was an asshole. An asshole that would wrap you around his finger and make your life hell.

Words: 1058

Pairing: Eventual Professor!Arthur Ketch x Reader

General Warnings: Angst, Violence, Murder, Character Death, Smut, eventual Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Cheating, Manipulation, Abusive Relationship 

A/N: I am dying to hear your feedback. Extra warnings for this chapter in the tags. Please check them before reading.

Masterpost

“I'm sorry,” Mikayla whispered when you had joined her on your seat, looking pale.

“Not your fault… but he's so going to kill me,” you muttered, trying your best to make your situation better in paying attention and not complaining for once.

Your stomach was hurting as you waited with anxiety. No idea why you had suddenly felt this bad. Usually, you never were the type to get so anxious about something like this. Well, maybe you were this anxious because you were around serial killers.

Mr. Ketch kept addressing you directly, making a bad example out of you every so often, making you feel even more uncomfortable. He was there to get you. And you were so done.

Once the lesson was over, Mikayla had wished you good luck as you headed to Mr. Ketch, ready to follow him into his office, swallowing thickly.

“Miss Y/L/N, just what am I supposed to do with you? You do not pay attention to my classes, you speak bad about this school and me and disrespect our rules,” he said, locking the door without you noticing.

“I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to,” you muttered, barely able to face your professor.

“We both know that's not true. Well, now we have two options,” a dark grin had spread across his face, “either I hand you over to Dr. Hess and she will decide over your date which will be your death.”

“No… please no, whatever the second option is, I'll do it,” you nearly begged. As much all of this sucks, you actually didn't want to die.

“That pleases me, Miss Y/L/N. Take off your clothes,” Mr. Ketch ordered, loosening up his tie.

“W-what?” only stuttering out these words, you seemed to be able to answer.

“You've heard me. Unless you want me to tell Dr. Hess,” Ketch quirked a brow and headed towards the door.

“No... please don't,” with a quiet sigh you began to undress. You so shouldn't do this. What was he even trying to do?”

“Good girl. Now lean over that desk and spread your legs for me, hands behind your back,” his voice had deepened about a hundred times and when you would look at him, Ketch’s eyes were darkened.

You shouldn't be doing this.

But you did it nonetheless. The wood was cold against your chest and you just couldn't find a comfortable position.

“Should you be doing this?” Your voice was quiet as you got into the position he wanted, feeling him tie your wrists together.

“No one would believe a nobody like you, no one will find out. So I can do as I want to,” Ketch said before his hand landed on your ass with a hard slap, making you yelp.

“You better be quiet or your punishment will be worse,” Ketch had yanked your head back by your hair, speaking right into your ear.

“From now on, you'll do as I please, you'll listen to me and you will do anything I want, whenever I want it. If you don't, I'll hand you out to Dr. Hess,” you felt his finger press into your pussy without a warning, making you squeeze around him out of reflex.

You shouldn't be doing this.

“Not that you'll make any relationships here either way but you are not allowed to get with anyone. You and your whole body belong to me,” he had pressed his fingers deeper into you, beginning to work you open.

“This shouldn't be happening,” you whispered but felt your core becoming hotter.

He was attractive, there was no lie about it. But he was an asshole. An asshole that was now blackmailing you to his finest.

“I don't hear you telling me to stop,” Ketch muttered and you could hear his zipper opening up while his fingers still pressed into you.

He was right, you didn't tell him to stop. And you wouldn't.

He withdrew his fingers only for him to push in his cock, making you gasp.

“We shouldn't do this,” you managed to say as he filled you up.

“Shut up,” Ketch hissed, one of his hands holding onto your tied up wrists as his other hand spanked you once again before he began to thrust into you at a fast and hard pace.

You tried your best to not moan, making it seem like you didn't enjoy this whole situation when in fact, you had enjoyed it a lot.

“Pretending you don't… like this, huh? I feel your pussy drenching my cock,” Ketch managed to say between grunts. He had changed his angle, managing to push in deeper and finally drawing a moan from you.

You wanted to grip onto the table for support, needing something to balance the feeling of being penetrated.

Ketch had spanked you over and over, groaning as he began to pound into you. You couldn't hold back any moan anymore and you were sure that you couldn't hold back your orgasm any longer.

“I'm gonna cum,” you whined, pressing into him a bit more.

“Don't. Not unless I tell you to,” Ketch ordered and you just weren't exactly sure if you could handle it.

He had found your G-Spot, hitting it with each thrust, making it harder and harder to hold back your orgasm. Until you couldn't hold back anymore and squeezed him tight as you came with a loud moan.

“I've told you not to cum,” Arthur hissed and pulled you up by your hair, hand wrapping around your throat, “I'll have to teach you discipline.”

His lips grazed your ear, lightly biting it. Ketch kept you in position like this, pounding into you until he hit his own release, coming with a loud groan as he pressed you back onto the table, filling you up deeply.

As soon as he had been fully spent, he pulled out of you and left you for yourself.

“Good luck freeing yourself. I'll see you for the first fight training on time tomorrow. Or come late and face your punishment,” Arthur said, adjusting himself before he left you tied up and naked in his office.

You were screwed and that not only because your professor has found his way to blackmail you for sex but also because you found it surprisingly hot. And that was wrong in every way.

@evyiione @xtina2191 @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @craftersdust @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @melodymishahiddlestan @mogaruke @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @lucifersxvessel @thepoet1975 @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @thinkwritexpress-official @cameronbraswell @thewinterhunter @bestieswithmydarkthoughts @gabavaldman @marisayouass @winchesterprincessbride @magpiegirl80 @fuckyeahfeysand @iowarose @angel-of-love2210 @wolfechildofslytherin @sasquatch5 @spnjunky @asgardianvamp21 @cutelittlepurplesouls @brooke-supernatural16 @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @xxwarhawk  @itsbubbaog @30inlovewiththecoco1​ @meganlpie​ @maliadestiny

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Arthur Ketch x Reader

Summary: Set during 13.17, The Thing (Ketch & Dean cross the rift)

Arthur Ketch plans to accompany Dean on his mission to save Jack and Mary. Though he doesn’t expect anyone to take a personal interest in his well-being, he’s in for a surprise when a friend of the Winchesters, Y/N, shows him genuine concern and dare he say... care?

Ketch. Deserves. Love. 

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

It was decided. Dean Winchester and Arthur Ketch would cross the rift to save Jack and Mary. Sam and Y/N on the other hand would stay behind in case of any curveballs.

“I’ve got Cas and Row on speed dial if anything goes sideways, alright? Just don’t do anything too crazy, or else I’ll totally kill you when you get back,” Y/N said, hugging Dean tightly.

They parted and he clicked his tongue with a smile. “Sure thing kid. Keep the pie warm in the oven for me, yeah?”

“You know it.”

With a final wave, Dean stepped aside to say his goodbyes to Sam.

As the Winchesters embraced, Y/N noticed Ketch standing in the corner of the room. His stance was rigid and it was clear he felt like an outsider to the bunker’s warmth and friendship. As Y/N watched, Ketch caught her eye and nodded in her direction. With a flinch, she turned away and cleared her throat.

Though she would never admit it, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a spark whenever Ketch was in the room. Yes, he had questionable morals, but there was an undeniable charm to him as well. Beneath his coarse exterior, Y/N recognized a goodness that Sam and Dean refused to acknowledge.

At the end of the day, Ketch was only human. A man haunted by his past, seeking redemption. She of all people could understand that.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N approached him. When he saw her coming, he straightened defensively and turned up his chin.

“Miss L/N,” he said politely, nodding at her once more.

“Hey Ketch. I just wanted to say-”

He held out a hand and sighed. “Please, let me spare you the preambles.” Ketch cleared his throat and adjusted his collar nonchalantly. “I am to bring your beloved Winchester home in one piece lest I wish you to hunt me to the ends of the earth and slaughter me through the most graphic means possible. Is that right?”

Y/N blinked. “Actually, I was going to give you this.” Reaching into her duffle-bag, she grabbed a canteen and handed it to Ketch. “I thought you might need it. Wouldn’t want you getting dehydrated out there...” she trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

He looked down at the offering and frowned in quiet surprise. “Ah yes, of course. Forgive me, you American hunters have always been a colourful bunch.”

“Arthur?”

He turned up at the use of his first name. No one ever bothered using it. He was only ever Ketch- a weapon, never an individual.

“Yes Y/N?”

“I know we haven’t always been on the same page.” She stared at the zipper of his vest as she spoke, afraid she’d lose her cool completely if she met his gaze.

“Come on now, I’m no basilisk.” Y/N looked up and saw a slight smile tugging at Ketch’s lips. “You can look at me.”

“Right,” she said, her cheeks warming. “I just wanted to say, be careful. Watch out for yourself and make it home in one piece.” Her words came out in a rush and she winced at her incoherency.

“The bunker isn’t my home,” Ketch sniffed. “This is only just a chapter house where I happen to be freelancing. The brothers Winchester can attest to that.” He was perplexed by Y/N’s apparent concern and couldn’t understand her kindness. Surely it was a trick of some sort... she couldn’t possibly care for him, could she?

Y/N smiled sympathetically and placed a hand on his chest. “It could be. A home, that is.”

Ketch stiffened at her touch, but made no move to pull away. “Thank you for your consideration, Miss L/N,” he said uncertainly.

Y/N looked up at him and smiled. Lifting her hand to his cheek, she whispered “stay safe out there,” before walking away.

For a moment Ketch stood still, caught in a trance. It wasn’t until Dean yelled to him from across the room that he was struck back to reality. “Hey Ketch, what are you waiting for? I’m not about to hold your hand the whole way, so get moving!”

The former British Man of Letters quickly composed himself and waltzed towards the ill-tempered Winchester. “The whole way? Why Dean, are you suggesting we walk into the new world arm in arm? How very chivalrous of you.”

“Shut up. Sam, tell him to shut up.” With a final look of annoyance, Dean crossed the rift.

Ketch rolled his eyes before looking over his shoulder one last time. He saw Y/N send him a small wave and a subtle wink before turning away to talk to Sam. Ketch touched his cheek and smiled. He could still feel the ghost of Y/N’s touch upon his skin. With a renewed sense of purpose, Ketch stepped into the rift. For once in his life, he had something meaningful to come home to.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

Might I suggest Something Borrowed?

I know... he’s an iffy character and has caused the Winchesters grief... but like, he’s also so cool??? I mean, he has a motorcycle!!! Brownie points for you Ketch!!!

If you’d like to be tagged in any future Supernatural fics, just tell me in the comments... or visit my taglist! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Supernatural fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Dean, Christmas with TFW series, etc…) Requests are open btw!!

HAVE A BRILLIANT DAY!!!

Tagging the suave:  @the-chaotic-cow @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @adaydreamaway08 @stitchintimefan @andthevillainshallrises

[xx-multi-fandom-fics]

Chupacabra Part 2

This starts later on the same night as part 1. You’re holding up your part of the deal which is that you’d watch a movie of Mr. Ketch’s picking.

Part 1

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 1041

You walked into the Men of Letters bunker after going out to get some snacks for tonight’s movie date with Mr. Ketch. You had bought chips, pretzels, and soda. You suddenly felt nervous, wondering what movie Ketch would pick. 

What if he picks a really scary movie? Even though you were an extremely good hunter and faced all kinds of monsters daily, horror movies still terrified you. 

As you walked through the maze of hallways, you finally found the movie room. The door was shut, yet you could see light peaking out from underneath the large white door.

You wondered if someone had gotten there before you and were now watching their own movie. Shit! Now our night will be ruined. 

After you knocked on the door and received no response, you peered in. However, no one was in the room. It looked as if someone was about to start watching a movie. There were different kinds of candy in bowls that sat across the table in a straight row. One bowl held M&Ms. Another contained Mike and Ike’s. The last one had gummy worms in it. You also noticed that there was one bowl almost overflowing with popcorn on the tan couch in front of the movie screen. 

Suddenly you heard a noise from behind. You spun around and saw Ketch in a different outfit from earlier today looking minorly distressed. 

“Surprise,” he sighed. “You came earlier than I thought you would. I was supposed to be waiting in here, so I could see your reaction. Well, do you like it?”

“Oh my god! Of course I do! I thought someone else had beaten us to the room! You didn’t have to do all of this. I was supposed to be the one to set  up the night. You were only supposed to pick the movie. I bought some snacks for tonight,” you said handing him the bags of food. “So what are we watching?” 

Ketch held up a DVD case with a mischievous smile. Halloween... Great... You feigned a smile, trying to look excited even though you instantly felt anxious. He began laughing as soon as he saw your fake smile. He opened the case and inside was a Ghostbusters DVD.

The wave of anxiety left as quick as it came. “Did you seriously buy Halloween just so you could use the cover to prank me?”

“Maybe,” he said once again showing his mischievous smile and then began laughing once again.

“Ugh, I hate you,” you said teasingly glaring at him, which only made Ketch laugh more.

Ketch stopped laughing, leaned towards you, and whispered, “Well, I love you.”

You blushed, much to your embarrassment. You playfully shoved him.

“I’m going to go get more bowls for these snacks,” Ketch stated, holding up the bags that you had given him.

“Okay.” You moved the bowl of popcorn and sat down on the coach. As you looked around the room, you began to more loved. He did all of this for me. You began to blush again. You hid your face by looking at the floor when you heard an approaching sound. 

“Ready?” Ketch questioned as he stepped into the room.

“Ready!” you said cheerfully looking up once the blush had gone away.

He kissed your forehead as he bent down to pick the DVD case off of the table in front of you. He put the DVD in and came back. You scooched closer to him as the movie began and put your head on his shoulder. Periodically throughout the movie, he would gently bring his fingers through your hair as you snuggled closer to him. You would occasionally sit up to grab a bowl of snacks or candy, grab a handful then push it onto Ketch’s lap to see if he wanted any. As the movie ended you began to sit up. Ketch reached over and pulled you in with his arm. You snuggled against him until you found a comfortable position. 

“So, Y/N, did you like the movie?” Ketch asked looking down at you.

“More than I thought I would. But those ghosts look nothing like the ones that we hunt. Is this really one of your favorite movies?” 

“Not my favorite, but it’s in my top fifteen. Do you expect people who have never hunted before to know what a ghost looks like?”

“True. I guess I liked it.” 

You got up and looked around. There were still massive amounts of each snack.

“I guess we bought too much. What are we going to do with all of this?” you asked. 

As Ketch began to respond, you quickly jumped up, grabbed a bowl, and threw some of it’s contents at him. Only a few pieces hit him, and he looked up with an expression of shock. He quickly grabbed another bowl and ran to the opposite side of the room.

“Is that really your best? You only hit me with a couple pieces. My accuracy is far better,” Ketch taunted.

“You want my best?” you confidently teased.

“Oh, you know I do,” he breathed.

You instantly hurled a handful of candy at him. A lot more hit him this time. You each rapidly threw the snacks, handful after handful, trying to out do the other. Once one bowl ran out, you’d quickly run up to the table and grab another bowl. After there were no more bowls, you both looked up at each other.

 “Great. Now we have to clean it all up,” Ketch murmured looking all around seeing the mess the two of you had created. Candy, popcorn, and chips were strewn all about the room.

“We? You mean you?” you replied.

“Y/N! You better help me with this. Most of it was you anyways!” he joked. 

You dashed for the table and threw pieces of candy that had landed there at him. Ketch lunged for the couch to get all of the pieces that landed there and began to throw them at you. Once there was no more clean snacks to throw at each other, you both began to clean up. 

“I get to pick what we do for our next date,” you said grinning as you swept up the candy on the floor.

“I’ll be counting the days,” Ketch purred.

Thanks so much for reading! This one was a little longer than part one, but I loved writing it and felt that it needed to be longer. Do you want me to continue this series or start something new? If you want me to start something new or have requests for anything else for me to write, let me know. Tag list below the cut.

Tag list:

@wayward-mirage         @room-with-a-cat

[luciisthebest]

Fire Burns Masterlist

Summary: Ketch and the reader meet in a hunt gone wrong. Even though she hates the man with all her heart, she can’t help but be attracted to him. Can Ketch overcome his shortcomings to win the reader over or is the pair doomed?

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x Reader

• Playing With Fire: Part 1

• Scorching Fire: Part 2

[butiaintgonnaloveem]

Like an Open Book

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x Reader

Word Count: 1330

Warnings: Smutty times and I am not at all sorry. Also not terribly graphic, so it’s cool.

A/N: So, yeah, @wi-deangirl77 and I were having a lovely conversation about Ketch that absolutely devolved into blatant objectification and sexual scenarios. It happens, but then it needed more, so I wrote it and quickly posted it. Enjoy.

You knew this was coming. You’d seen the signs building up for weeks.

“Damn!”

You hear him curse, the hotel suite not providing much privacy. You draw in a deep breath of your own, centering yourself before the storm you know is on its way.

“What’s going on?” 

“Those damned Winchesters.”

“Always,” you mutter, “Why do you let them get to you?”

He squeezes his fist, holding it up as he rubs his knuckles along his lips - one of his tells, “You give them an inch, and they take a mile.”

You tilt your head as you look him over. His perfect posture even more stiff than usual, eyes narrowed in a glare, fingers relentlessly straightening his tie as they always are when he’s anxious. God, the ‘Old Men’ as he and Mick liked to call them would be disappointed that he’d gotten so sloppy.

“You need to relax,” you say, walking over to him and gripping his shoulders in your palms.

He scoffs at your statement of the obvious.

“No, dear,” you lean in to whisper in his ear, “You need to relax,” you emphasize.

He reaches a hand up to catch yours as you massage at this tight muscles, “Is that so?”

“Mhhmm,” you hum, “I believe you’re quite overdue.”

He draws in a deep breath, his chest heaving, “Well then, let’s get on with it.”

Your lips curl. You walk around his side and grip at his tie, pulling him up out of his seat and along as you walk backward to the bed, “Yes. Let’s.”

He keeps his eyes on yours while he undresses, taking the time to fold his jacket and slacks and lay them out. You pick up his tie after he unknots it, sliding the silk between your fingers as you watch him strip layer by later.

“Stop.” You order once he reaches his boxers, “That’s enough.” Then you nod your chin toward the bed, waiting for him to climb in. A slow, lingering look and the slightest shift of his eyebrow is all you get in response, his chin still raised in the usual defiance. You step forward, pushing into his space.

“Come on now, Arthur, don’t make us both wait.” You pinch his chin, your lips close enough to touch, but still held back just enough to make him sway toward you. “It’ll be so good.” You hold his stare, promising everything with your eyes. He finally drops his shoulders, trying to leave some of the tension behind as he climbs into the bed and lies down on his back.

The thing is, he can get out of the knots by the time you make sure they're tight enough.

He knows it, you know it. It’s a game you love to both win and lose.

“Well?” he challenges, arms flexing in the bonds, breath controlled and even. Still far too tense.

“Relax Mr. Ketch, I will take very good care of you.”

His body is laid out, and you look him over like a damn buffet trying to decide where to start. Making sure he’s watching you, you start to strip down, stopping short of removing your own undergarments, then kneel onto the bed. Leaning over him, you trace over his fingers, then down his palms, grinning when he closes his fist to hold your hand for a few seconds. Another tell, a signal really, only you’re privy to.

He lets go, and you move your hands down his arms, squeezing and massaging the tension out along the way and paying close attention as his breathing relaxes, each inhale dragging out a little longer, eyes closing a little longer with each blink.

“That’s it,” you whisper, lips hovering just at the hinge of his jaw. You bring your hands down to hold yourself above him, swinging your leg over to straddle him, and now using your lips to make your way lower, tasting him as you go, doubling your efforts when you hit a spot that makes his breath hitch, loving that he gives you the opportunity to see him this way. You feel him flex beneath you, lifting his hips as you pull yours away.

“If you want more you need to use your words, darling.” You demand, voice steady. He inhales deeply, unable to stop the flush from rising in his cheeks, but stubbornly staring you down. You crawl backward, fingers trailing down his torso until you reach the last of his clothing, “It’s more fun when you beg.”

“I’m not a dog,” he argues, his arms twitching above him.

“Of course not, just tell me what you want.”

“You. Always.”

Damn. While it happens more often now that he’s a free agent, it’s still a rush to see him with such an open and earnest look about him. No scrutinizing glares or sharp edges.

“My god, you’re a sap.” 

You lean in to kiss him, using one hand to support yourself and the other to tug at the last barriers of clothing - twisting and pulling, even using your feet to yank them out of the way before lining yourself up with him and sinking down. You each cry out, interrupting the kiss when noises of satisfaction escape at the feeling of him inside you.

You grin against his lips before lifting up and moving back down, constantly changing your tempo, building him up until his head is shoved back into the pillow, mouth gaping at the ceiling, then back down again until he practically snarls at you; his chin quivering and giving away that he's nearly lost his patience and his tolerance for being "helpless.” You stop completely, eyebrow lifted as you stare him down, reminding him that he needs this - wants this. You wait, both of you with panting breaths before he shifts his shoulders and relaxes. 

And then you lift yourself, slowly moving up and down his shaft again, dragging it out for you as much as him.

"Good boy, Arthur," you sass, just to watch his jaw clench at your cheekiness.

His speed never fails to catch you off-guard. His arms wrap around you as his body twists to flip your positions.

“I am not a dog.”

“But you are my good boy,” you scratch your fingers over his scalp.

Lips twitch in a quick snarl before twisting into a wicked smile. “Hmm, you’re going to push too far one day.”

“I hope so,” you nip at him then slide your tongue across his plump lower lip. He moves to support himself above you while you spread your legs wide and shift to settle his hips between your thighs. “I’m supposed to be helping you relax, though.”

“Trust me, my dear, my mind is clear of anything but you.” He holds eye contact with you as he leans down over your chest and tugs your nipple between his teeth, making your back arch with the pull.

“Yes,” you hiss.

From there, he takes you apart, kissing and sucking his way across your skin, his fingers tease between your legs while you try to pull him in with legs hooked around him. Finally, he relents, pushing back into you - slowly, then quickly - his rhythm steady as he drives you both toward the finish. His grunts become shorter and choppy as they always do when he’s close, and you squeeze your legs tighter around him and hold tightly to his shoulders. 

“Yes, baby, come on,” you urge, like always.

But then he pulls away. He slows down again and you catch your breath. 

“You think I’m done?” He keeps a gentle pace, enough to keep the edge right there. You're nearly at the point that you can't take anymore, and that's when he holds you down by your forearms. Rubs his light stubble against your cheek and neck, and growls a whisper into your ear. "Not yet love. I'm not done with you yet."

So, maybe you don’t know all his tells.

[always-and-forever-indeed]

Arthur Ketch x Reader Oneshot

Hi, so I’m back and I tried myself on a oneshot. It’s a KetchxReader. I honestly just sat down and wrote an idea out that I had in my head. It’s not following the spn story line. I would appreciate some feedback because it would help me improve my writing. I don’t own any of the characters. 

Characters: Arthur Ketch, Fem!Reader, Dean Winchester

Warning: Angst(?), break-up

Words total: 1411 words

“Do you remember when we took that trip to the beach? I remember it as clear as it was yesterday because it was the day you told me that you would never leave me.”

We had just finished a hunt in Florida, and I was able to convince him into going to the beach and watching the sunset. I love taking a moment to breathe after a hunt just to remind myself that I am still alive. At first Ketch was complaining of course. He was always so focused on doing his job but after watching me closely for a few moments he gave in. I don’t know what it was, but I could see his eyes soften. Arthur even gave me a little smile when he agreed. I was so happy that I simply hugged him. He seemed surprised about it, but I guess we were both as surprised as he hugged back.

We got into his Bentley and drove to the closest beach. I simply sat down in the sand while Ketch started rambling about his suit getting dirty. I honestly didn’t pay much attention to him. I enjoyed the sand underneath me and the wind that was softly blowing through my hair. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I love the smell of the sand and ocean. It gave me peace. As I opened my eyes, I saw that Ketch was sitting next to me. He had stopped talking and was watching me closely as if he was trying to figure me out.

“Why?” he asked.  “Why what?” I responded confused.  “Why haven’t you left me yet? Why aren’t you scared of me? Why don’t you hate me like the Winchesters do?”.  I was surprised by his questions. “Should I be scared of you? Arthur, yes you have done some bad things in the past, but you changed. I can see it. I remember when we first used to hunt. Your whole demeanour was different. Now, you are more kind, you are trying to be a better person and I can see that. Yes, Sam and Dean might have a grudge against you, but can you blame them? After what you did? Not that I judge you, but I believe in second chances and you haven’t given me a reason to mistrust you” I answered. Ketch looked shocked by my answer. He adjusted the cuff links of his suit, a habit which I noticed he was doing when he was insecure. “I don’t deserve you. You are everything I’m not. But still I can’t get you out of my head. I want to change, I don’t want to be this cold-hearted monster because I want to be with you. You had me intrigued the first second I laid my eyes on you. You ...” Ketch rambled on.

“Arthur” I interrupted him. He looked as me, scared about what I would say next. I studied his face. Arthur was pouring his heart out, what he had never done before. Ketch looked completely broken. I took his face in my hands and pressed my lips to his. The kiss was everything I wasn’t expecting. It was full of passion. Arthur moved his lips softly against mine.

That night we slept together for the first time.  It was the start of our relationship or at least that’s what I thought…

Now I’m sitting here in my room in the bunker, in one of his shirts and I’m crying again. I thought by now my eyes would be completely drained. You don’t even deserve my tears but still I can’t help it. That night at the beach was a month ago. I was happy and I thought he was too. I thought I knew him but apparently, I didn’t.  Two weeks after the beach Arthur turned into his old self. He became cold and distant and I don’t even know why.  I tried for another week but then I had to face reality. Arthur never really loved me. He just played with me.

One day I confronted him in the library and tried to get some answers. He just looked at me with his emotionless eyes. “You’re right. I never loved you. It was all for fun but then you had to turn it into something serious. Love, you should know that that’s not who I am. But I guess that’s your personality. Your kindness will kill you someday” Ketch shrugged it off. I wanted to punch him so bad in that moment. I was balling my fists. Of course, he noticed it and just smirked. “You can punch me if it makes you feel better, but it won’t change anything” he said. “How…How can you be like this? I thought you changed. I believed you, trusted you! You really are a cold-hearted monster. Just so you know, you will regret this, but I don’t care. If ever see you again… I will kill you so stay away from me Ketch!” I screamed at him with tears in my eyes. I turned around to walk to my room. I didn’t care if Sam or Dean heard us.  But also, I didn’t see a heartbroken Ketch as soon as I left the room.

 *Ketch POV*

It hurt me so bad to see her break down in front of me. But it’s for the best. I’m no good for her. I’m doing this to protect her. Or that’s what I’m telling myself. I had to keep my cold emotionless face on so that she understood that I was serious. “… I will kill you so stay away from me Ketch!” she screamed at me. She turned around and left the library. And I just let her walk away even though it hurt more than any other torture I had suffered before.

“Give me one good reason not to kill you right now” I heard someone say from behind me. I turned around to face an angry Dean Winchester. “You have every right to, honestly, but it had to be done” I answered him. He glared at me. “You had to break her heart? Oh no, you son of a bitch. She’s a good person and she deserves the world. You don’t get to swoon in and hurt her.” I can understand him. Y/N is like a sister to the Winchesters and I hurt her, badly. “Well, I guess you heard her, I’m going to leave because otherwise she will kill me herself. Now if you excuse me Winchester, I have to go drown my sorrows in the next pub” with that I made my way toward the staircase.

“If you love her why did you do this to her?” I heard Dean ask me. I turned around to face the older Winchester. “I’m no good for anyone especially since the British men of Letters found me here in America. They want me dead and if they find out about her… I can’t risk it Dean. I love her too much to sign her death sentence so even though I love her… I have to let her go.” Dean looked shocked by my explanation. “So, if you excuse me, I have to leave the country and get as far away from her as possible” I said while making my way to the door, “Oh and Dean, I would appreciate it if this would stay between the two of us. I don’t want her looking for me” with that I walked out the door with the intention of never coming back.

 3 Months later…

*Y/N POV*

“Do you remember when we took that trip to the beach? I remember it as clear as it was yesterday because it was the day you told me that you would never leave me.”

I sent the message to the number that was still saved as Arthur Ketch in my phone. I never expected an answer. I knew better than to think that Ketch kept the same number. I didn’t get my hopes up, so I put my phone down and got back to researching for the case that I was working. It was in the middle of the night when I heard the notification sound of my phone. I fell asleep on the book that I was reading so I picked up my phone, probably just Dean asking me to come back to the bunker.

“I always will, Love. “

Thank you for reading! :) 

Feedback would be highly appreciated.

[imagines-oneshots-blog]

A Lesson in International Etiquette

Archive of Our Own: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9923021

Pairing: Arthur (Mr.) Ketch x Reader Word count: 7,311 Warnings:  Lots of Smut and Cursing, Unprotected Sex, Riding, Vampire Killing, Violence Authors Note: That was my first stab at a Mr. Ketch paiiring, if you liked it please follow the link to AO3 and let me know your thoughts!!  

He was following you.

You were sure he thought that he was being stealthy, that he’d underestimated your observational skills, but you could recognize the sleek chrome of that beautiful bike, a Norton Commando by the looks of it, anywhere. Shit, if it had been anyone else you would’ve approached him, tits shamelessly displayed, hips swinging brashly, and asked for a ride in a tone that left little room for dissent. But this was him; a goddamn Brit, and you weren’t exactly positively inclined towards the Commonwealth.

Sure, you’d heard the whole “World Without Monster’s” punchline from his green eyed friend whose name you couldn’t quite recall, but frankly you weren’t buying what they were selling. Perhaps it was some deep rooted sense of national pride, but the thought of American hunters needing help from their long-lost Daddies sat poorly with you. You and your ilk could handle your monsters just fine, thank you very much.

You’d promptly told him to go fuck himself, however in retrospect you’d probably taken a beat too long to reply, and blatant interest had probably sparked a bit too brightly behind your eyes. They did have an insanely impressive arsenal, and those accents….

Mmm, talk about a panty dropper.

Not yours though; your lacey numbers would stay firmly on your admittedly luscious ass, no matter how startlingly pretty that friend of his , Mike or Matt or whatever the fuck his name was, eyes had been or how much your fingers had itched to trace the sleek lines of his gun, a high tech number that occasionally peeked out from behind the tailored, obviously moneyed suit jacket that clung to his broad shoulders. Indeed, everything about the lot of them had reeked of superiority, of status, and that pissed you the fuck off.

Though nothing annoyed you more than the fact that you were currently hunting a vamp nest all by your lonesome and you kept spotting that fucking bike every time you rounded a corner. Did this Brit, this Mr. Ketch, really think that you couldn’t handle one pitiful nest by yourself? Did he think that you’d make a mistake, leave a loose end? No; vamps were easy, its people that were difficult. Especially smirking, smartly dressed, gun toting British men who didn’t know when to back the hell off. Seriously though, did he expect to gank monsters efficiently in the best that Crockett & Jones had to offer?

You sighed, shaking your head as you strode through the small, somewhat shabby downtown that this barely-a-spot-on-the-map had to offer. You’d just finished your afternoon coffee, the perfect people watching cover to scout for cocky vamps that dared to come out into the open of the town square, and were walking back to your car when you caught a flash of something in the side mirror of a powder blue Subaru parked on the curb; a dark, well-tailored suit-like something that had your jaw clenching and your fingers tightening around your car keys. That bastard had the nerve to tail you in public? Creeping after you from town to town was bad enough, now he was stuck to your shoe on your errands too? There was no way in hell that you’d let yourself be followed like one of the monsters you hunted. Enough was enough.

With an extra huff in your step you continued walking down the street, aiming straight for the nearby alley way, your footfalls hurried and assured. You rounded the corner into the darkened path, the high brick walls successfully obscuring you from the view of the street. You pressed your back against the brick, settling in one of the shadows playing in the high walls, the cool clay bricks pressing icily into your back. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you sucked in silent, rage filled breaths. You quietly slipped your large knife from its sheath at your hip, where it was safely covered from public view by flannel or cotton. You counted your heart beats anxiously, wagering that your Brit would round the corner behind you in three, two one…

Sure enough he followed suit, his steps fast, almost jogging as if he sensed you were trying to lose him. One large hand was curled around his gun, the one you’d been dying to check out. Obviously he sensed something awry. He was right.

Before he could react or spot you out of the corner of his eye you darted at him, shifting the knife so that it faced outwards in your grasp and gripping the smooth, slip of his lapel in your other fist. Using your momentum and his surprise to your advantage, you flipped him to the opposite wall, slamming his back none-so-gently against the brick. The sharp huff of his breath was music to your ears as you slid the knife against his skin, the blade’s edge pressing keenly against his pulse; a pulse which strangely didn’t seem to have sped up despite his compromised position.

You fervently tried to push away the rapidly dawning realizations that not only was he was much bigger than you’d remembered, but his eyes, which had at first glance seemed black, were in fact a deep, stormy green so aphotic they were nearly grey. You could see flecks of true emerald ringing his pupil; such a beautiful color for such a hard man. And damn, was he hard; this close you could practically feel the strength surging in his immense body, seated in the coil of his shoulders, the thick set of his neck, the clutch of his expansive hands that were raising in surrender. You did like them big…

No! Don’t lick your lips, you commanded yourself as your set about your task once more. You were pissed off, not turned on, damnit! But then again, wasn’t there such a fine line between the two?

“Why the hell have you been following me?” You grated out, pleased with how steadfastly angry your voice sounded. No hint of the arousal flaring traitorously in your belly.

“So you noticed that, eh?” His accent was even more lilting that you’d remembered, though his friend, Mack, Mark, what the fuck was his name, had done most of the talking during that meeting.

“Yes, I fucking noticed, now answer the damn question before your jugular spray decorates this alley way.”

“Quite the mouth on you,” He muttered under his breath, though the heat, the near admiration in the statement, and in his eyes, had your stomach doing strange flipping motions low in your belly, “As you might’ve noticed my task here in your country is to recruit hunters, and you are a hunter that the British Men of Letters has shown interest in. I was hoping to observe your technique to better gauge whether you would be cooperative or not.” He emphasized his doubt at your cooperation with a downwards glance at the knife you had pressed against his throat, and with something that was almost embarrassment you relaxed the blade an inch, giving him some room. Oddly, he didn’t look like he’d been disturbed by the threat whatsoever.

“Then why didn’t you just approach me instead of making me think you were a stalker on my heels?”

“I wanted to observe your habits. Learn your techniques. I see now that this approach was not the most fortuitous.”

“No, Mr. Ketch,” You said, anger still coiling hotly in your veins, nearly strong enough to stamp out the lust that had begun to fire through you at the clean, musky masculine scent that was all him, “It really wasn’t. Stay out of my way. If I see your face again..” You trailed off, running your knife against his throat in one last warning. You’d found that sometimes non-verbal threats worked best. To your increasing ire he didn’t look frightened. In fact, he looked almost amused, like a cat watching a fish in a bowl.

Pissed off and just reckless enough not to give a damn, you nicked his flesh, right below his adam’s apple, and delighted in the spark of real anger that flared behind his eyes in response.

“Don’t fuck with me.” You whispered to him, your face so close to his you could feel the heat of his mouth, the mouth that was no longer smirking. Good, served him right.

Turning on your heel, satisfied that you’d left him properly spanked, you practically pranced away, feeling almost high from that tense, charged interaction. It had been awhile since you’d gone toe to toe with what you deemed a worthy adversary, and you came away from it feeling more alive than ever. As you strode you swore you heard him mutter, “What if that is exactly what intend to do, love?” but you decided to graciously, democratically, ignore that comment and the heat it left sizzling through your veins.

However you couldn’t ignore the way that your body tingled as you felt his eyes, those dark, dark eyes, boring into you from behind, all the way until you were out of sight. You hurriedly climbed in your car and turned your stereo, which was currently spewing Bad Company, all the way to the max. You were amped up, full of something that urged your muscles to clench, your heart to race. You knew there was only one way to dispel this adrenaline, this hot coil of emotion, and push thoughts of that snarky, smart ass Brit out of your head.

Watch out vamps, it’s hunting season.

__________________________________________________________________

You reveled in the hefty swing of your machete, in the powerful bite of its sharp edge. Heads rolled beneath the flick of your wrist, eyes deadened and fangs retracted. You heard hisses from all around you but by your count you had finished off six of the ten. That meant four left.

Your careful steps barely echoed in the halls of the long abandoned warehouse you were currently traversing, the ground zero for this nest. Figured though, vamps liked dark, secluded places and you couldn’t get more hermetic, or dingy, than this. Many of the glass windows were long broken, letting in the howling wind in long, moaning gusts. This place was fucking creepy, but then again so were these monsters.

Suddenly one jumped out at you, stupidly revealing its hiding place and sealing its fate. Within a matter of seconds it was a pile of flesh and bones on the floor, the last mark it felt on this earth a puddle of cooling vamp blood.

Seven down three to go. You flicked a willful strand of hair that had managed to escape your high ponytail from your eyes, wiping the sweat beading down your forehead on one arm, eager to get this over with. The sooner these monsters were dead the sooner your ass would be getting trashed at the nearest bar, and quite possibly getting lucky. It’d been awhile since you’d had any action to write home about and you would need somewhere to direct all this post hunt adrenaline. Hot, nameless, wild sex was your most favorite way to do just that.

Your fingers curled anticipatorily around the hilt of your blade, itching, anxious. “Come on, bastards,” You muttered under your breath, “Come and get me.”

As if on cue all three remaining vamps came forward, their ghastly teeth bared and their short, wicked claws out. They circled like vultures, eyeing your neck, the juncture of your arms, your wrist, all the places where your pulse pounded the strongest, all the places they could attack. Fat lot of good it’d do them, you’d taken the precaution of injecting a healthy dose of dead man’s blood in your veins. One bite and theses suckers would drop like rocks, writhing on the floor, just begging to be decapitated.

You smirked at the nearest one and beckoned it with a crook of your finger and a tilt of your head. And suddenly they were on you, hissing and clawing and biting, trying their damndest to take you down. Your swung mightily, measuredly, and delighted in the delicious sounds of heads rolling. When the red cleared from your vision you glanced down at your prizes, smirking slightly. Wait…

Two heads? Hadn’t there been three vamps. Oh shit, you thought as you heard movement behind you, a slight shuffling of feet that told you it was preparing to pounce. You braced, grasping your machete and whirling, only to see claws swiping at you, raised and glinting in the low light. Running on pure instinct you leapt back, but they grazed your middle, slashing the skin below the wire of your bra, and you could tell in an instant that your quick motions had rendered the cuts barely skin deep, though they still smarted like hell.

Cursing, you prepared to swing your machete, only to see the pallid gleam of a blade flashing suddenly behind the vamps head, the wicked knife they belonged to coming to rest at its throat. The creature stilled instantly, eyes wild, fangs bared, claws dripping with your blood.

“There, there my boy,” Mr. Ketch’s smooth, accented voice rang in the quiet of the warehouse, lilting over the howl of the wind and the creaking of old chains, “is that any way to treat a lady?”

Through your shock at seeing him here despite your adamant warnings to kindly fuck off you could acknowledge the healthy modicum of gratitude filling your chest at his presence, the much needed break allowing you to slump against a nearby crate and clutch your bleeding wound. Though it wasn’t deep, the upper layers of skin tended to bleed heavily, making it look much worse than it actually was. Some antiseptic, most likely in the form of the whiskey sitting on the dresser in your motel room, and some bandages and you’d be good as new. With your wound assessed, you turned your attention back to Mr. Ketch and the vampire he had at the end of his blade. He was staring at the creature with mild disinterest, as if this were as tedious as picking up milk from the grocery store. In a way you assumed for him it was, especially if these damned Brits were as prolific as they claimed.

“Look at me,” He said, his voice almost bored as he taunted the vamp, “Look who brings your death.” The vamps eyes flicked to the ancient looking cross tattooed on the back Ketch’s hand and it snarled before stilling once more.

You’d heard rumors that this Mr. Ketch was a psychopath, that he was slightly unhinged, but you couldn’t quite picture it, couldn’t quite see it in your mind’s eye until now, as his dark, forest green eyes glinted with malicious, calculating rage and his lips curled into a cold sneer just before he slid his machete through the vamps neck, the cut as unhampered as a hot knife through butter. The creatures head tumbled to the ground, followed momentarily by its lifeless body, the weighted, fleshy whomps the only sounds that rang in the dank warehouse.

After watching the vamp fall Ketch’s gaze fell on you, those dark eyes intense and stormy as they drank you in. You swore you could almost see lust glinting sharply in his gaze as he swept that rapt stare up and down your form, the heat that answered within your body from his petting gaze staggering you with its strength. You wondered briefly what you looked like, hair thrown in a haphazard ponytail atop your head, loose strands sticking to your neck, skin gleaming with a fresh sheen of sweat, chest heaving as you licked your lips. Would he find you captivating this way, fresh from a hunt, with vamps blood splattered on your skin and blood lust in your eyes? The answering gleam in his dark gaze told you yes, he found you utterly captivating like this.

Post hunt adrenaline, you chided yourself, fiercely adamant that this, whatever it was, was nothing more than that simple explaination. Two hunters high on the good fight.

Then why did you feel the need see what else he could do with those long fingers, those smirking lips, that refined tongue. Why did you want to know how many vamps he’d killed and watch his chest huff with exertion as he took on a werewolf. Why did he suddenly look traitorously delicious to you now?

“Were you trying to kill it or make out with it?” You grated in a pain roughened voice as you began to stand uneasily, eager to dispel the carnal thoughts running through your head and the heavy tension filing the dank space, “I couldn’t tell for a second there. I don’t usually give a fuck unless it puts my ass on the line.” You said gesturing to your bleeding middle.

To your immense relief a smile curved his lips, lips that suddenly looked leagues more inviting, and he sheathed his blade in a previously unseen holster hanging from his belt, striding over to aid your rise. The fingers he wrapped around the uninjured portion of your waist were dry and warm, and that simple touch sent tingles skittering down your spine. Inwardly cursing your reactions to him, you looped your arm around the shoulder he had lowered in offering, trying hard to ignore the thick coil of muscle that roiled beneath your fingers, and leaned into him as he helped you rise.

“I’ll take that as an American thank you,” He said, a smile coloring his voice as he began to lead you to his car, “You’re quite welcome. Though I was impressed by the talent you showed here tonight. You had the situation quite in hand. Well, up until the end that is.”

Despite your annoyance at his somewhat backhanded compliment you found yourself laughing lightly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m just surprised your ascot didn’t get in the way.”

“Actually this is a windsor knot t-” He began but you cut him off with a sharp squeeze to the shoulder and an exasperated exhale.

“I know the difference between an ascot and a tie, dickwad! Jesus Christ…” This time he chuckled, the way the sound hummed in his chest doing interesting things to the knot coiling in your lower belly.

You passed the quick journey to your humble lodgings, a room at the Motel Six at the edge of town, in pleasant conversation about weapons, a conversation you’d started when you’d asked where his “fancy vampire vaporizer” was. He was hasty and eager to fill you in on the details, and proper name, of that weapon and the countless others he had in his arsenal. You assumed this was a standard part of the sales pitch, and even though you resented it you couldn’t stem your curiosity about him and his resources.

“Do you have the necessary medical supplies to tend to your wound?” He asked once you’d stopped in front of your section of the Motel.

“Whiskey, check. Bandages, check. I’m all good.” You said, just barely suppressing a groan as you shifted to get out of the vehicle.

“You aren’t serious.” He said, his tone incredulous.

“Quite,” You replied, mocking his accent teasingly as you shifted in the plush leather seat. When he didn’t reply, you realized he was staring agape in obvious horror, and not for the first time today you felt something akin to embarrassment creep up your neck due to him and his impossibly high British standards. At your sudden silence and lack of ability to meet his eyes he seemed to decide upon his next course of action.

“Alright, I’m coming in to tend to you. Let me grab my medical kit.”

“No, really, that’s completely unnecessary, I swear-“ He cut you off with the curt slam of his door, leaving you to sigh heavily, his footsteps sure and decided as he retrieved a black briefcase from the trunk and came around to your side. He opened the passenger’s side door, and you peered up at him, stubbornness coloring your features. He extended a hand to help you stand but in your rebelliousness you hung onto the door frame for support instead. You swear you saw him smirk as you passed him on unsteady feet, but you pushed aside the pleasure blooming in your chest at that, focusing instead on digging your room key out of your jeans pocket.

You felt the heat of his body, warm and immense, as he stood behind you at the door. You took a moment longer than was necessary to unlock the door, happy to bask in his heat for just a few extra seconds. That post hunt adrenaline was singing through your veins, heightening everything from the lamplight filtering in the thin curtains hanging on the windows to the way the cut of Ketch’s jaw had you biting back a sigh. Judging by the gleam in his dark eyes he’d caught it, and his smirk widened in response.

“Alright let’s get this over with,” You huffed, turning away from him so that he wouldn’t see the blush deepening on your cheeks. You flicked on a few lights as you strode about, casting a warm glow around the room. Standing close to the lamp on the nightstand, facing away from the small table that Ketch was currently setting up his medical station on, you drew up your shirt to assess the vamp’s damage. There were three light marks raking from one side of your middle to the other, and though they had bled profusely you were sure that with time and care they’d heal without a mark. For that you were thankful; your body already sported a myriad of scars, and you weren’t keen on adding another one to the mix just yet.

“Ready when you are.” He said from behind you, nearly making you start from your thoughts of old wounds from monster fights long past. You cleared your throat and crossed to the mini fridge, drawing out two cold beers and striding to the table. As you moved to the chair closest to his you caught sight of him, and for just a moment your breath caught harshly in your throat.

He’d stripped off his jacket and tie, leaving him in just that crisp dress shirt, unbuttoned for good, tempting measure, sleeves rolled up on his thickly muscled arms, and his loose slacks as he lounged in that chair with all the grace of a panther; predatory, beautiful. The shed clothes had revealed glimpses of more tattoos; what looked like a wing peeking out from his left forearm, and what could be its twin on the right; an unidentifiable crest peeking out from the buttons on his dress shirt. Suddenly you were filled with the thrumming urge to sit in his lap and trace those intricate designs with your fingers, and then your tongue, exploring the other secrets hidden beneath his uptight getup. Those wicked tats, combined with the undeniable badassness of his kill and the cocktail of self-preserving chemicals rushing through your veins had you clearing your throat loudly to stem the low moan of want that threatened to slip from your lips as you twisted the cap of your beer off and took a hearty swig.

“Ready,” You announced after draining half of the bottle, shifting uneasily when he leaned forward to grasp the hem of your blood soaked t shirt.

“May I?” He asked quietly, his voice low and almost throaty, his fingers hesitating near the clasp of your jeans, skirting the low hem of your shirt. You nodded twice, your hands clasping your beer, bringing it up to your lips once more as those slender fingers probed at your wound, tracing lightly over dried blood. His touch was tinged with perfunctory purpose, but there was something else flashing behind his eyes…appreciation maybe, or more accurately admiration.

And suddenly those slender fingers were gone, preparing a swab of peroxide to swipe the blood away and cleanse the scratches, which only smarted lightly at the touch of the cleansing chemicals. You drained your beer, plunking it down on the table as you swallowed, grimacing slightly at the sour taste.

“What do you usually do after a hunt?” You asked, desperate for a reprieve from the pain, and more importantly from the heated carnal thoughts rushing through your mind.

“Well, I’ll help a bit with cleanup and disposal, and then I’ll write up a formal report for the Organization. I might celebrate by cleaning my weapons.”

You waited for him to elaborate, to add on something, anything, but he didn’t. “Really,” You prompted, glancing at his handsome, concentrated features that were affixed to your midriff, “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He affirmed, his tone distant as he wiped away caked blood, “Why, what do you do?”

You grinned, sighing as you remembered countless nights of celebratory debauchery, some of which included the Winchesters. “Well,” you began, cracking open that second beer, settling your sock feet into the empty space in his chair,  wedged beside his right hip, steadfastly ignoring the questioning looks he threw your way, “Us American hunters celebrate with libations. Preferably of the whiskey variety. The more the merrier.”

“So you get snookered?” Ketch asked in an amused tone as he began to tape bandages onto your healing flesh. You noticed the bandages had some sort of rune work ingrained in the ply of the cotton; some kind of accelerated healing spell work maybe?

“Well, in a word, yeah.” You scowled at the judgement in his tone, “What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, nothing.” He paused, the ensuing silence heavily laden with unspoken meaning. You continued staring until finally he looked up briefly from his work to question, “But there are no reports, no one to formally address?”

“Hell no,” You scoffed, gulping heavily from your beer before you replied, “Damn, you British are so uptight! Do you ever let loose? Have fun?”

Ketch glanced up, seeming to consider carefully before he replied, “Well I do on occasion enjoy a nice glass of Lagavulin and a good cigar.”

You paused in disbelief before you replied, “Oh no that’s so boring it’s almost sad. We’ll have to celebrate properly then. Get good and smashed after a hunt together sometime, American style. Though, preferably when I’m not sporting a vampy love tat.”

Ketch finished taping your wound and sat back in his chair surveying his work, you, appraisingly, “It’s a deal, then.”

“Good.” You replied, grinning as you rose and slipped the blood stained shirt over your head, your back to him as you dug in your duffel, your fingers closing quickly around a black tank top. Once that was on you snagged another two beers from the fridge and plopped back down into your chair, cracking them both open and pushing one towards him, “Until then, let’s celebrate a bit more mildly.”

For a moment you were worried that Ketch might not accept, but finally his long, slender fingers closed around the sweating bottle and he smiled warmly at you before you raised yours in offering.

“Thank you.” You said, catching his gaze as you clinked your bottles together. He held your eyes for a moment and then canted his head in a graceful nod. Damn, sometimes he was just so sophisticated, regal even. You drank fast and hard, wanting the alcohol to embolden you, to lift some of the crushing tension off of your shoulders, alleviate the warmth of attraction crackling in the air between you.

“You know our British hunters don’t usually suffer from raging alcoholism,” Ketch began, surveying the label on the bottle he cradled in one large hand, “But I’ll be damned if a stiff drink after a kill isn’t satisfying.”

“Right!” You crooned, leaning forwards in your seat, choosing to ignore the jab in the former part of his sentence for the complement in the latter, “I’m telling you, a night at the bar after a good, successful hunt is a damn good way to let off some steam. It’s a close second to…” You trailed off suddenly, biting your lip hard to stem the flow of words that had threatened to tumble from your mouth. It’s a close second to riding your way to ecstasy on the lap of a stranger. Work off that adrenaline properly.

Fuck, just thinking that while sitting this close to Ketch had your body thrumming, wanton lust sitting low in your belly, making your cheeks flush and your throat tighten. Suddenly your mind was filled with thoughts of riding him, of slipping into that chair, working the buttons of that dress shirt loose, running your tongue down his chest. Mmm…

You took another hearty swig to cover the groan that stumbled from your throat, but you couldn’t stop your eyes from darting to the thick lines of his neck, or from running down his chest straight to the seat of his lap, your gaze practically stripping him where he sat.

“It’s a close second to what,” He prompted, that hungry, predatory, gleam in his dark eyes once more, his gaze glinting wickedly as he leaned forwards, bracing those beefy forearms on his spread knees, “Because I can think of a few, more naughty ways to  ‘let off some steam’, as you say.”

Oh fuck, he did not just say that. Jesus, that deep accented voice crooning those wicked words almost had you whimpering like a fool, but damn you didn’t want him to stop. You could play ball too…

“Oh yeah,” You hummed in response, leaning forwards, matching his stance as you licked your lips, “Like what?”

“Like my tongue running up your naked thighs, teasing your sensitive flesh, nipping your exposed skin,” Jesus, the man had a way with words, “Like my mouth at your ear while I slip inside you slowly, achingly. I guarantee you that would do the trick.”

That damn smirk of his was driving you crazy, taunting you, pushing you. Alright old sport, game fucking on…

Before you could stop yourself you were up, crossing to him in a few measured steps, bracing an arm on either side of his chair and leaning in to press your mouth hotly against his. He responded instantly, those huge hands wrapping low around your slim back, cupping the curve of your ass as your lips tangled, your tongue tracing the outline of his full bottom lip as your groaned softly, wantonly against his lips. “Stop talking,” You murmured against his mouth, threading your fingers in his thick hair, pulling him closer, “Another American lesson; put up or shut up.”

“Yes ma’am,” He murmured against your lips, causing wicked shivers to erupt on your skin, sending sharp tingles racing down your spine. You wanted to hear his moans as you rode him, hear his posh curses as you slipped wetly along his shaft, bouncing wildly in his lap. You needed that, and you needed it now.

You worked the clasp of your suddenly stifling jeans with impatient fingers, huffing against his seeking lips in annoyance, only to feel it come undone beneath the onslaught of your digits a moment later. His hands were on your waist then, pushing the denim down the sleek lines of your legs, helping as you stepped out of them. As soon as they were discarded on the floor those long fingers were tracing the intricate tattoo that graced your hip; vivid, lifelike roses scattered from your hip bone to the top of your thigh. The piece had cost a small fortune and taken multiple trips to the chair, but you were proud of it, and evidently so was Ketch.

“Do you approve?” You questioned with a raised eyebrow, loving the admiration banked in his eyes. You knew he could tell that it had been a painful, grueling process to get the artwork on your body, but somehow you sensed that this only made him admire you more.

“Quite,” He answered with a breathtaking smile before those lips were on yours once more and his fingers were wrapping around your bared thighs, hauling you into his lap, pushing your hips methodically against the rigid, throbbing steel of his hard cock.

You gasped against his mouth when you felt just how big he was; hot and hard against the slick lace of your panties, a fitting match to the rest of his bulky frame, and your belly quivered with molten want. You’d wanted a proper lay, and you now realized you were about to get it. You wanted it rough and dirty and right fucking now.

You broke away from his lips for just a moment to trail your hot mouth down his neck, nipping and sucking your way to the hollow of his throat, your fingers slipping to the buttons of his dress shirt, popping them open as your tongue slipped along his warm, firm skin. He tasted like spice and leather and something else, something all masculine strength that had your sex clenching wetly.

He was so big that you barely had to shift to reach his chest, but his hands slotted into your hair to help aid your ministrations nonetheless. You groaned when those deft fingers of his tore out the hair tie securing your locks atop your head, and you growled low in your throat when he replaced the band with the tight ring of his fist, that grasp so stunningly erotic, you found yourself clenching your thighs tightly around his hips.

You realized then that what turned this monolith of a man on was power; exchanging it, playing with it, possessing it, losing it. He was a junkie that traded in control, in domination. And he’d just met his match.

You raised your mouth from his chest to capture his lips once more, and with conscious motions you began to rock your weeping sex against the steel bar of his throbbing cock, knowing it would drive him crazy. Sure enough a low, need driven moan ripped from his throat, and you smiled against his lips, knowing you had just secured your place of power in this transaction.

You reached for the clasp of his belt, loving the gentle metal tinkle that the parts made as you tore it out of the way. You hastily undid the clasp of his pants, drawing the throbbing length of him out into your waiting palm.

“What do you want,” You murmured against his mouth, nipping none so gently at his full bottom lip as you crooned, “Tell me.”

He growled and bucked his hips up, sliding the thick, throbbing length of his cock further into your tight grasp, “I think that’s quite evident, darling.” You couldn’t stop the giggles that erupted from your lips at that, loving the way his proper accent clashed deliciously with the naked need in his voice.

“I want to hear you say it,” You whispered wickedly, your tongue flicking out against the delicate shell of his ear, “Tell me you want to fuck me.”

“The mouth on you, you naughty minx,” He groaned, palming your ass hard with both of his large hands, “I want to fuck you raw, make you feel me for days.” He growled against your exposed neck, his teeth biting, his tongue curling against your skin. You gasped, bucking your hips automatically, arousal driving your fervent actions.

Not wanting to wait anymore, you drew aside the soaked material of your panties and lined up the crown of his cock with your sex, slipping the head along your soaked entrance. You weren’t sure you could fit all of his generous length, but you were sure as hell gonna enjoy trying.

“More,” He grated, using his hands on your ass to lower you onto his throbbing shaft, inch by blessed inch. You gasped, writhing against him, panting hotly against his neck.

“Fuck,” You groaned low as he bottomed out, the fit so tight you could perceive him throbbing inside of you. Your ragged breaths rattled from your heaving chest, your skin slicked with a fresh layer of perspiration, your loose hair tumbling about your shoulders. His mouth was kissing patterns up your neck, along the line of your jaw, his fingers flexing eagerly against the flesh of your ass.

“Move on me love,” He commanded, a devil at your ear, words hot against your skin. You were helpless to do anything but obey, craving the slick slide of him, huge and throbbing, inside of you, wanting his groans against your skin.

You snapped your hips up, moving up the length of his cock, before lowering yourself down, slowly and deliciously. You repeated your motions countless times, the friction sparking from your bodies sweetening the slide of him inside you. After the long, sweet, slow fucks of your pussy on him, Ketch decided to take matters into his own hands, gripping your hips tightly and slamming you down quicker, more forcefully onto his waiting cock.

“Ketch!” You cried out, holding onto his  wide shoulders as he repeated this teeth-chattering motion, vigorously bucking his own hips up to meet yours as he worked your pliant body over him. Suddenly the dirtiness, the wicked neediness of your fucking struck you full force, causing your pussy to clench in a wet rush around his cock, and your nails to bit deeper into his shoulders.

You felt him smile against your neck as he began to piston his hips in earnest, the speed and intensity of his thrusts delighting you. His hips bumped your clit with each bruising thrust, spearing pleasure straight to your core. You let your head fall back, your hair brushing your ass, as you effectively became putty in his arms, giving your body over to his wants, to his needs.

Your belly clenched powerfully, hotly, warning you of your impending orgasm, just as Ketch captured the hard bud of your nipple in his molten mouth, biting and sucking as you slipped along his length. You cursed and moaned as he moved to the other one, his teeth sinfully rough against your flushed skin. When his mouth released you his gaze remained rapt on your bouncing breasts, his long fingers tightening almost painfully against your hips.

Pain, pleasure, friction, wetness; all sensations blurred together, capped by the deliciously naughty sound of your skin slapping, your bodies meeting, and suddenly, without warning you were cumming, dirty, filthy words slipping from your lips as you came undone in his arms, your sex clenching powerfully around his cock.

Ketch snarled at your neck, his momentous control snapping as you felt his follow suit, cumming suddenly inside you, spurned no doubt by the force and immediacy of your own orgasm, rope after rope of hot, powerful release jetting inside you, leaving you a dripping, mewling mess in his lap.

Then the after shudders; your breaths panting against his damp neck, your thighs loosening around his hips, his fingers sweeping the hair off your neck, slipping down the notches of your spine. For a few moments you imagined you felt a kind of peace here in his arms. After all, this was the best fuck you’d had in ages, endorphins were bound to get released right along-side your thundering orgasm. But then you shook yourself hard and began to ease him out of you, fixing your panties as you rose on shaky legs to grab your long discarded jeans. This was just like any other one night stand; it didn’t matter that he stared into your eyes as he eased inside you or called you ‘love’ while he palmed your ass. You would treat this just like any other booty call, despite what you felt blooming in your chest.

“I must say, that was quite different from the British way.” Ketch sighed, his tone satisfied but his eyes rapt on your body even though he’d just had you, his gaze following the long motions of your limbs as you drew your jeans arduously up your legs.

“Oh yeah?” You asked absently, shimmying your hips to draw your jeans over your curves, a smile flitting uncontrollably at your lips as you realized that he’d been right; you’d feel him for days.

“If I had a way of contacting you I could arrange to show you how we do it in the Commonwealth.”

Your fingers paused at the clasp of your jeans, your eyes flying up to meet his, which at the moment seemed more green than black, filled with more warmth than cold. Wait a minute, was he…

“Are you asking for my number?” You choked out, incredulous. After a moment that smirk morphed into a smile, and you swear your heart fucking skipped a beat.

“Well, yes I believe I am.” Ketch said, his long legs stretched out before him, his arms resting relaxed in his lap. Did you just fuck this man right into domestication?

“Another American lesson;” You said sweetly as you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before looking him in the eye, “you can’t always get what you want.”

__________________________________________________________________

By the time you’d pranced away, out of the cradle of his thighs, leaving him with a slightly slacked jaw and an appreciative gleam in his eyes, and indulged in a much needed hot shower, you’d returned to an empty motel room and a deeply satisfied body.

Alone, exhausted, and utterly spent in all the right ways, you climbed into the starchy sheets, leaving worries of how exactly you’d retrieve your car and why this confusing, attractive man would want a round two with you for tomorrow, when your body wasn’t buzzing and your head wasn’t whirling with memories of tattooed skin and accents whispering naughty words in your ear.

The next morning, after finishing off the dregs of the beers still on the table and scrounging for any leftovers that were in the mini fridge, you dressed and began to prepare for the 3 some odd mile long trek to your car. Every so often you’d glance that the chair, that chair, that sat innocently at the table, as if it hadn’t just been the catalyst for your cataclysmic night, and bite your lip, remembered heat flushing low in your body.

You were so distracted when you left the motel room, pulling the door shut behind you, that you nearly walked past your car, parked nonchalantly in the space right in front of your door. You stared at it warily, scanning your surroundings for anything amiss, but except for a few rowdy teens blowing up bottle rockets in the far corner of the parking lot the area was totally dead.

You slipped your keys out of your pocket, and as you unlocked the front door you noticed a bottle with an attacked note to it. Upon closer inspection you identified it as Lagavulin.

Ketch.

Of course he’d hot-wired your car. Asshole.

Despite your annoyance at the violation of your baby, you couldn’t stem the warmth that bloomed in your chest at the care this gesture showed. You gazed fondly at the whiskey, truly the only acceptable gift, and read the note, which looked like it’d come from an expensive, official stationary. Of fucking course.

If you ever want a lesson in British customs of copulation, I’d be more than happy to oblige. Until next time.

- K

Attached at the bottom of the note was what could be nothing other than the British Man of Letters phone number. Smiling like an idiot, you took your gifts inside with you, pouring a hearty glass and sipping happily. Maybe it had been a one night stand, but perhaps you hadn’t mistaken that heat in his eyes, that intensity in his voice as he’d murmured wicked words to you, that possessive grasp of his hands at your neck, your waist, your thighs.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d give him a call. Right after you finished your whiskey.

[cathrin2405]

What have I learned from David Haydn-Jones/Arthur Ketch:

[substarshine]

Ketch is My Kink

Chapter 4

It’s hard to breathe. The whole room is a swirling mass of smoke and flames. I’m lying in my bed staring up at Mr. Ketch. There is a lighter in his hand and he taps it against his chin a few times before tossing it over his shoulder. He leans in close, whispering in my ear, “Are you sure this is what you want? Once we start down this road, there’s no turning back.” I can hear the flames crackling all around me and the smoke alarm sounding in the other room. I touch his face “Yes, I want this.” He turns, walks to the door, opens it, and leaves the room. The shriek of the smoke alarm comes pouring through the open door. It’s deafening and I cover my ears to block the sound…

The sound jars me from my sleep and I squint against the daylight that floods my room. The alarm clock is chiming incessantly in my ear and I slap the off button to silence it. I shake my head in an attempt to clear away the last vestiges of the dream. No, not a dream - a warning. A warning I fully intend to ignore. I check the time and quickly go into panic mode. I’ve overslept and now I’m running late. In my rush to exit the bed, my foot gets tangled in the sheet and I fall facedown on the floor. ‘Smooth, girlfriend. Real smooth.’ I think to myself. Maybe I’ll be lucky and he wasn’t watching at that exact moment. I pick myself up and hurry to the closet to get dressed. I’m adjusting my skirt, sans panties, when my phone buzzes. I grab the phone and my bag as I run out of the apartment to the elevator and press the down button. As I’m waiting for it to arrive, I check the message. It’s from a number I don’t recognize, but I open it anyway.

'Have a nice trip, Love?'

Oh shit. It’s him and apparently he witnessed my tumble from the bed. Great.

'Hurry up or you’ll miss the meeting. K'.

The elevator dings and I get in. How could I forget that today was the day of our weekly status meeting? ‘Yes!’ I think as the elevator descends. I laugh at my new found excitement for the meetings I used to loathe.

I drive to the office at breakneck speed and arrive just in time for him to hold the door open for me, as usual, and I nod my thanks, as usual. He makes a dashing impression with his beautifully tailored three-piece suit, pocket square, and not one hair out of place. The quintessential English gentleman. Well, on the surface. Beneath the glossy exterior and the posh mannerisms beats the heart of a brutal, sadistic killer. It’s not for nothing that Mr. Ketch is the British Men of Letters number one agent in the field. How many men, women, or creatures have tried to kill him? Tried and failed. Tried and died. We take our usual seats next to each other and Mr. Davies calls the meeting to order. He begins to drone on about something or other. My eyes are on him, but all my attention is focused on the man to my left. Ketch is also staring at Mr. Davies with seemingly rapt attention. I can hear my phone buzzing in my bag, but ignore it and it stops. I feel his foot give mine a tap under the table. My phone begins it’s staccato buzzing again and his foot taps a matching tempo against mine. I finally understand what he’s telling me without words

‘Answer your phone, it’s me.’

I reach into my bag as inconspicuously as possible and retrieve my phone. I place it on my lap and see that i have a new email that reads:

'Follow these direction EXACTLY or there will be consequences. Place your feet six inches apart. Now.’ I do as I’m told and continue reading. ‘Open the attached link and watch the video in its entirety. DO NOT AVERT YOUR EYES FROM THE SCREEN. DO NOT MOVE YOUR HANDS FROM YOUR PHONE. DO NOT CROSS OR CLOSE YOUR LEGS.’

I swallow nervously or excitedly or both, I don’t know. I click on the link and the screen goes black. I think something has gone wrong, but then a room gradually appears. Everything has the eery greenish glow that comes from a night vision camera and it takes me a moment to recognize the room. It’s my bedroom and I’m asleep in my bed. The door swings open and he saunters in like he owns the place. He walks to the foot of my bed, removes the comforter that covers me, and places it to the side. I watch as he grabs the bottom corners of the bedsheets and slowly pulls it until my feet are hanging off the edge. He moves toward the headboard and gently places my arms straight above my head. Like a magician yanking a tablecloth from beneath plates, he removes my nightshirt with one smooth, quick pull. Watching this is so fucking hot. I know what’s coming next and I begin to squeeze my legs shut, desperate to feel some friction.

He must have sensed the movement because he whispers, “No.” under his breath, barely loud enough for me to hear. He places his foot between mine to prevent any further deviations from his directions. On the screen, I watch him remove some lengths of rope from his jacket pockets. He ties my ankles and wrists to the bed frame. How in the hell did I sleep through all of this?! He removes his clothes and hangs them neatly in my closet. He returns to the foot of my bed and stares at me as I lay there naked, and tied spread eagle. He stares at me and strokes his cock a few times. He kneels on the floor, his torso between my legs, and buries his face in my pussy while simultaneously pumping his hard cock into the mattress.

I inhale deeply. This is torture. I can’t take it. My knees seem to start closing on their own. He quickly slides his hand from the table and grabs my left knee in his vice-like grip. He pushes down and forces my leg to straighten. He hooks his knee over mine and plants his leg firmly between mine. I glance up from the screen expecting an angry glare, but there is the hint of a smile on his lips. I notice a small mole above his lip and wonder how I’d missed it before. After briefly looking into my eyes and he pointedly looks down to the phone in my lap. I follow his unspoken order and return my eyes to the screen.

He is now standing and turns, walking toward the closet. He grabs something from his jacket and walks directly to the camera. Even in the peculiar light from the night vision image, the glint of my juices on his face is evident. While looking directly into the camera, he runs his tongue lewdly over his top lip. He lifts his arm to reveal my stolen panties in his hand, which he uses to wipe his face clean. A rakish grin is on his lips as he turns and walks back to the foot of the bed. Slowly, he crawls over my body. His movements smooth and deliberate, like a jungle cat. He’s positioned his cock between my legs and he props both of his elbows on either side of my head. With one hand, he gently opens my mouth and he uses the other to push the panties in, gagging me. Looking over his shoulder at the camera, he smiles, and then lowers his mouth to my ear. I see my own eyes fly open as he thrusts into me and then the screen goes black.

I’m panting slightly as I return my phone to my bag and then place both hands on the table in front of me. My legs, once again, try to close even though it’s impossible with his leg between them. The meeting is adjourned and I’m suddenly brought back to reality. He removes his leg from between mine and stands to leave. I rise and begin to follow when Mr. Davies calls me back and says, “I need to speak to you privately. I’ll visit your office later today. Alright?” I nod my assent and quickly leave the room. My phone begins to buzz and I see a new message from Ketch.

‘You disobeyed my orders. Go directly to your office to receive your punishment.'

[meganlpie]

Occasionally Clumsy

Anonymous asked: Hi! Can I request a Ketch x fem!reader where she’s really clumsy in every day life, but not when she hunts? Ketch is confused and irritated by it at first, but he soon finds it endearing? Maybe after someone else says something to her about it and it upsets her, he tells her that it’s what makes her unique? Fluff please

Here you go, lovely! I do not own ANY Supernatural characters. They belong to the creators of the show. 

Warnings: Clumsiness, cute awkwardness, fluff, Mary isn’t very nice in this. 

Pairings: Arthur Ketch x fem!reader, Dean Winchester, Mary Winchester

Arthur Ketch was confused. For one of the first times in his hunting life, he was absolutely perplexed. He didn’t understand how someone could be so graceful and lithe when chasing down or hunting monsters, but then turn around and be so hopelessly clumsy in their day to day life. And yet, there you were.

               Ketch had met you when the Winchesters called you in as back up. The hunt was a particularly rough witch hunt. A newly formed coven of witches who didn’t have a true grasp of their powers was terrorizing a small city. The boys called you in and you joined them in a matter of hours. You had burst into the room, ready to take down the threat. Ketch was almost in awe of your abilities.

               Then, when the hunt was over, you joined the Winchester, Ketch, and Mick at the bar for a victory drink. That was when Ketch began to see how clumsy you were. In that night alone, you tripped over your own feet at least four times, spilling your drink down your front at least once. You had simply shrugged and grabbed a clean shirt from your bag. You also managed to bump into several people and run into the corner of the table, bruising your hip.

               When you moved into the bunker, things got more interesting. You had fallen off stools, chairs, and ladders. You bumped into people all the time and tripped over air. And yet, when there was a hunt, none of that happened. You were like a gymnast or a dancer. Every move was graceful and purposeful. You did your job and you did it well. It confused Ketch to no end.

               However, the man got used to your klutziness over time. And soon, he found it as just another quirk in your personality. An endearing one at that. Sometimes, when you tripped or something, you’d get embarrassed, especially if someone else got hurt. Then, if you were the only victim, you’d simply laugh it off and go about your day. Then came the day when you couldn’t laugh it off.

               Mary was in a particularly foul mood. The hunt she’d been on hadn’t gone well and she just wanted to drink in peace. You came into the kitchen talking to Ketch and smiled at her. “Hi, Mary.” She hummed in response. You shrugged and went about your business. You grabbed a beer for yourself and Ketch. When you turned to hand Ketch his beer, you tripped over the door of the fridge. Your open can of beer went flying and landed right on Mary’s lap.

               The blonde squealed as the cold liquid hit her. “Mary! I am so sorry!” Mary glared at you and snapped, “Get yourself together and learn how to walk without causing casualties. Hopeless.” She stalked out of the kitchen, leaving you behind, your lip trembling. Dean sauntered in. “Just saw Mom. Was that your doing, grace?” Normally you would have laughed at the sarcastic nickname, but this time, it hurt.

               No one had ever snapped at you for being clumsy before. It wasn’t like you could help it. You tried to be more graceful. Really you did, but you just couldn’t get your body to cooperate unless you were focused on a hunt. You knew it was inconvenient for those around you, but they usually just laughed it off like you, even Mary.

               You didn’t say a word as you left the kitchen and headed for your room. Ketch watched you go and sighed. “What was that about?” Dean asked, looked to Ketch. Ketch didn’t answer. He decided to follow after you instead. “Well okay then,” he heard Dean mutter.

               Ketch knocked on your door and heard a muffled, “Come in.” He slowly opened the door and saw you sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed. “Why are you on the floor, love?” You looked up at him, tears still in your eyes. “It’s the only place I can be without causing causalities. Can’t trip or fall if I’m already on the floor,” you told him, “Mary’s right. I’m hopeless.”

               Ketch arched a brow and motioned for you to get up. You sighed, but did what he asked. In the process, your feet got tangled together and you fell, right into Ketch’s waiting arms. It was as if he’d expected you to fall. You groaned loudly and pushed away from him. You landed on your bed with a soft PLOP! “I AM hopeless!”

               "You are not hopeless, Y/N. You are…unique for certain, but not hopeless.“ You let out a bitter chuckle. "Unique? Yeah. No one trips over air like me. Spills beer like me. Runs into walls like me.” Ketch laughed and sat next to you. “Come now. Have you seen yourself when you hunt?” You nodded. “Of course. It’s the only time I’m not a klutz. I’m too focused. Maybe I should just hunt all the time. I’d never be clumsy again.”

               "Then you wouldn’t be you, love.“ You shrugged. "Would that be such a bad thing?” Ketch’s brows drew together. “Yes it would. I don’t think you realize how much you mean to the Winchesters and Mick. To me.” You turned you head to look at him in surprise. “To you?” Ketch reluctantly nodded. He had made leaps and bounds in breaking his programming from Kendrick’s, but feelings were still new to him and expressing them, even more so.

               "Yes, to me. Hunting is all I’ve ever known and there is so much darkness in that. Then you came along. You showed me that, even with the darkness, there is light. Your clumsy ways and the way you laugh at yourself. It reminds me that life, even this life, doesn’t always have to be so serious and…grim.“ Ketch felt the words starting to stick to his tongue. It was too much. Too much feeling.

               "Aw, Ketch, I didn’t know you cared,” you teased, sensing his discomfort at sharing such a soft side of himself. He glared at you. “Yes, well. I suppose I do.” You grinned. “You like me,” you said in sing-song, “You want to love me. You want to hug me. You want to ki-” You were cut off by Ketch’s lips being pressed against yours. You moved to cup his cheek with your hand, but you misjudged how close you were to the edge of the bed.

               You promptly slid off the mattress, accidentally grabbing Ketch’s lapel and pulling him down to the floor with you. You both landed with an “Oof!” before you burst into a fit of giggles. Ketch shook his head and laughed quietly. Yep, you were definitely a klutz, but you were his klutz.

(a/n: Ketch needs some happiness.)

Tagging: @fairytalesexistxx @brewsthespirit-blog @jotink78 @stone-met @fairytale07

[faith-in-dean]

Kendricks: A Hell on Earth

Summary: Due to a given promise of your parents, you were sold off to be a student at Kendricks University. Nothing seemed right, all the people were stuck up. Your professor was an asshole. An asshole that would wrap you around his finger and make your life hell.

Pairing: Eventual Professor!Arthur Ketch x Reader

General Warnings: Angst, Violence, Murder, Character Death, Smut, eventual Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Cheating, Manipulation, Abusive Relationship (Some of these are not final and there might be warnings that need to be added as the story goes on. Not every warning counts in for every Chapter) University AU - British Men of Letters Style

Part One 

Part Two 

Part Three

[tuttifuckinfruttifriday]

I’m so happy you write for Ketch!! He does deserve some love 🥺💕 the episode was way better after reading that

𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Arthur Ketch x Reader

Summary: Set during 13.17, The Thing (Ketch & Dean cross the rift)

Arthur Ketch plans to accompany Dean on his mission to save Jack and Mary. Though he doesn’t expect anyone to take a personal interest in his well-being, he’s in for a surprise when a friend of the Winchesters, Y/N, shows him genuine concern and dare he say… care?

Ketch. Deserves. Love. 

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

It was decided. Dean Winchester and Arthur Ketch would cross the rift to save Jack and Mary. Sam and Y/N on the other hand would stay behind in case of any curveballs.

“I’ve got Cas and Row on speed dial if anything goes sideways, alright? Just don’t do anything too crazy, or else I’ll totally kill you when you get back,” Y/N said, hugging Dean tightly.

Afficher davantage

[talesmaniac89]

The Man in Apartment 43 - Part 26

Series Masterpost (Complete)

Summary: Dean x Reader - Neighbours AU - Dean and the reader live next door to each other and can’t stand each other. Will things change once circumstances bring this bartender and businessman duo closer together?

Triggers: Talk of kidnapping, injuries, hospitals

Y/N = Your name | Y/L/N = Your last name | Y/E/C = Your eye colour | Y/H/C = Your hair colour

A/N: This part is only from Dean's perspective.

Start Here | Last Part | Next Part

Dean The incessant beeping pulled Dean back out of the darkness that had temporarily swallowed him. Sending shocks of dull pain, diluted by annoyance, through his system as he kept his eyes shut, trying to get his bearings.

How long had he been out?

What had happened after the click of the gun he’d been sure would end his life? He thought he remembered the cops.. He was sure that he’d felt the twinge of relief of (Y/N) being safe. Had he imagined it all?

The last thing he remembered was… What was it?

He remembered the sounds of paramedics, urging him to respond to them. And (Y/N), he remembered his beautiful girl next door. She’d been crying. He’d tried to… Had he told her how he felt? He thought he did, though he couldn’t be sure if it wasn’t just all a dream concocted by his mind once he fell unconscious. The final confessions of a doomed man.

Still, he was sure he heard her, saw her. In the ambulance? Had he been in an ambulance? Damn it, his mind was jumbled and slow and he had to fight the urge to not scream in frustration. Everything was hazy… Blurry.

It was all snapshots, but nothing fit together right. The only clear spot was her. His sunshine girl.

Where everything else was out of focus, she was crystal clear. The tears that had stained her beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes and the slight tremble to her lips as she tried to hold back her sobs. Her small voice begging him to be ok, begging for forgiveness for crimes that weren’t hers to carry. Her fragile-but-strong shoulders had been shaking under the weight of those damn unearned chains and shackles, and Dean hadn’t been able to push them away or carry them for her.

Though, even if those moments with her were clear. They were all still just as jumbled together as everything else. As if the heavy hit to his head had rearranged the fragmented memories from the hellish night.

Wrestling with his own memories, Dean frowned at the constant beeping and the voices arguing quietly in the background. It was all too loud, too much. He couldn’t think straight with all that noise.

Gritting his teeth in preparation for the light he could somehow sense through his shut eyelids, Dean opened his eyes carefully. Looking out through the veils of his eyelashes at first, before the sight in front of him made him open them fully.

(Y/N), thank god…

She wasn’t looking his way, her jaw set with that cute stubborn expression she’d wear to show whomever got in her way that she wasn’t budging. And, as Dean finally managed to blink away the rest of the fog over his eyes, the target of her stubborn rage and whispered arguments came into view. At first, Dean had to fight the bile rising in his throat when he saw the crisp uniform of the Detective, however, as his features came fully into view, the panic that was slowly building vanished with a short push of air through pursed lips. Detective Davies, not Ketch.

Thank god, she was safe. He hadn’t just dreamt it all up.

“You heard the doctor Ms. (Y/L/N), Mr. Winchester will be fine. His ribs are mainly bruised with just one hairline fracture. The bullet only strayed him and the injury to his head wasn’t serious either. At most he might be suffering from a concussion. He’ll be cleared to return home after one night under observation…” Mick Davies’ voice was exasperated as he kept his words soft and barely even audible in the otherwise quiet room.

“I told you. I’m not going anywhere until Dean wakes up,” (Y/N) whisper-yelled at Detective Douchebag as she crossed her arms defensively over her chest as if physically restraining herself.

“I’m sorry Ms. (Y/L/N), but we need you to…”

The nearly mechanic way the words left Mick Davies told Dean that it wasn't the first time he’d parroted those exact words. And by the exhausted look in his eyes when she cut him off with another stubborn shake of her head, it wasn’t the first time the girl from apartment 42 had refused to listen either.

“No detective. I am not going anywhere. He was shot trying to save me after Brian tried to kill him. And then one of your own, Ketch, tried to finish the job!” Though whispering, it was clear to Dean that she was lacing each word with as much vitriol as she could. Using them as weapons to keep the detective at bay and shut him up.

Yet as quick as the anger and spite had shown up in her voice, it bled away with a single relieved sob as her eyes strayed to Dean on the bed. Eyes widening as they met with his once she realised he was awake.

“Thank God… Dean,”

Her stiff hold crumbled away as she hurried to his side. Unshed tears veiling (Y/E/C) eyes; she slid into the seat next to what Dean now realised was his hospital bed. Though he couldn’t take his eyes off of her for long enough to check the rest of his surroundings.

Reaching out a weak, heavy hand, Dean tried to lift it up to wipe at the tears staining her beautiful, tired eyes. Yet, before he could reach her, (Y/N)’s smaller hand wrapped around his and gently placed it back on the bed.

“How do you feel? The doctor said you were incredibly lucky. The bullet only…” She started, ready to parrot the same diagnosis that Dean had heard the detective talk about only moments earlier as he just smiled at her.

Squeezing her hand softly, he cut off her talk before she started rambling. He had so much he wanted to tell her… He wanted to reassure her he was fine. He wanted to finally fully let her know how he felt. Hell, he needed to make sure she was uninjured… Yet, as he opened his mouth, the only thing that truly mattered ended up spilling out past dry lips.

“You’re safe,” Dean sighed in relief as he let his thumb run along the back of her hand, revelling in the feel of her skin under his fingers. She was warm, safe, alive… She was there. Away from Brian, and the whole nightmare. Thank god.

“I’m so sorry Dean, I…” Her soft voice trembled and broke over the words as she once more tried to apologise for sins that weren’t hers to carry or ask forgiveness for. Shaking his head softly, Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning in pain as his brain still rattled painfully in his skull from every small move he made.

“Don’t (Y/N). It’s not your fault… Please don’t,” Cutting off her words, Dean pulled softly at her hand, making her lean in closer to him as he gently removed his fingers from hers to move a few stray hairs out of her face and softly swipe his thumb against the wetness on her cheek.

“Never apologise. This isn’t on you. Ok?” He whispered, as his weak arm lost what little strength it had and fell back on the bed as his fingertips reached for hers.

“Ok…” Finding his hand again, his girl next door gently squeezed his hand with a small nod as she took a few steadying breaths and wiped away the rest of her tears with the sleeve of her jacket.

“So, what happened?” Throwing her a small, tired smile, Dean kept his eyes on his sunshine girl as he raised his voice enough to be sure the detective could hear him too. Finally giving fully up on trying to understand his own fragmented memories.

Seeing the question as his cue to speak up, Mick Davies stepped closer to the bed, though still keeping himself at a professional distance. Close enough to be seen and heard, but not close enough to disturb the fragile calm that had fallen over the hospital room as (Y/N) held onto Dean’s hand with a small, tired smile.

“When we arrived at the lakehouse, Mr. Lackland was trying to restrain Ms. (Y/L/N) and Arthur… Mr. Ketch had you handcuffed on the floor,” Luckily Detective Davies started at the beginning. Saving Dean from having to ask him to go back to when his memories grew hazy and soft at the edges from the blow to the head and lack of oxygen in his lungs.

“We were very lucky. If we’d arrived a moment later, or if Mr. Ketch hadn’t valued his own life above anything else… When we called for them to put their weapons down, they both did so without a fight,” The detective continued, the unspoken ‘what ifs’ clear in his tone as Dean internally shuddered at the thought of a gun fight breaking out in the cabin and (Y/N) getting caught in the crossfire.

Yeah…

They’d been lucky. Lucky that she hadn’t gotten hurt. Lucky that the police showed up when they did. Hell, they’d been lucky the police showed up at all. Considering they barely even saw Brian as a threat.

Gritting his teeth to keep the anger that was slowly bubbling up from under the surface from rising, Dean cleared his throat as he forced himself to pull his eyes off of the girl from apartment 42 to look at the detective. The whole incompetent police force had nearly ended up getting him killed and her… Fuck, something so much worse almost happened to her.

“Why?” Dean tried to keep the anger and vitriol out of his voice as he shot the question at the uniformed man. Clipping it down to only the basest syllable in fear that if he kept speaking, he’d start screaming.

“I… What do you mean?” Mick Davies seemed genuinely confused as his eyes went from Dean and over to the tired woman, the victim, in the chair next to him. As if he could find the rest of Dean’s question hiding somewhere else in the sterile hospital room.

“Why did you even come? I thought you said you didn’t believe that Brian was anywhere near the lakehouse?” Giving up on hiding his anger, he spat the questions at the detective, his hand gently squeezing (Y/N)’s as he spoke. As if to reassure himself she was really there and that this wasn’t some dream he’d concocted in his final moments on earth.

“Ms. (Y/L/N)’s lawyer, your brother, called. He had been unable to get through to you. At first the phone rang, but when he tried again and again, it kept going to voicemail. So… He contacted us fearing the worst. In our conversation with him, some of the details he mentioned about the officer he had spoken to earlier in the day led us to look into Arthur Ketch. Only to discover he had been missing for hours,”

The near automatic drone of the detective’s voice hinted at practised and rehearsed words he’d probably already shared with the girl from apartment 42 earlier while Dean was still unconscious. Yet, to him it all just sounded like excuses. As if the uniformed man was rambling, looking for some way to excuse his own failures.

Of course, it was Sammy.

In this whole fucked up situation, the only person they could have counted on was Sam. He had a good head on his shoulders. And once more, he’d managed to save the day.

“Mr. Winch… I mean, Sam Winchester then pushed us to bring a few officers out to the lakehouse to check on you, having a hunch regarding Arthur Ketch. Which was verified when we realised that the earlier sightings and reports of Brian in town had been filed by Ketch himself,” Detective Davies continued his rehearsed speech, choosing to ignore the burning look Dean threw his way as he focused on the wall over his head instead.

The detective’s earlier words echoed in the back of Dean’s mind, giving him pause. It all made sense now. Why Davies had been so sure Brian was nowhere near the cabin when he called them. Ketch had filed false reports spotting Brian in town to throw them off the scent and buy them a few more hours. That bastard had played the whole system.

All for his sadistic little plan.

“So when you realised…” Dean pushed when he noticed that Davies had stopped speaking, waiting for some form of input from him.

“Yes, when we then realised that Brian could be on his way to your location, we mobilised a full team. Plus we got another team working on finding out everything we can about Mr. Ketch as well. The results so far have been… Troubling,” Davies picked up where he left off with a curt nod. His lips pursing and brow furrowing at the idea of one of their own pulling one over on them.

“He did talk about how he’d been running circles around you guys this whole time,” Dean hadn’t meant for the words to make the detective flinch. Yet, as he saw Mick Davies’ otherwise tense and strict hold shift uncomfortably, he found some twisted pleasure in putting the detective back in his place. This was all their fault.

Opening his mouth to argue against Dean’s words, the detective seemed to think better of it as he shook his head with a tired, defeated sigh. His shoulders falling as he seemed less like an officer standing at parade rest, and more like just a man.

“Unfortunately… It also seems he’s been using government databases to feed Brian information. Much of what Mr. Lackland learned about Ms. (Y/L/N)... About both of you, was information given to him by Mr. Arthur Ketch. I’m sorry to say that he was telling the truth, he has been hindering this investigation from day one,” Davies finally said with a sigh. Admitting to their failures, even though he still put all the blame on the monster in their midst.

“Stop calling him that,” Before Davies could continue his robotic retelling, a small voice spoke up from next to Dean. (Y/N)’s voice was low and barely audible. But in the quiet of the hospital room, with only the machines attached to Dean’s body whirring and beeping away, her words were still clearly audible to both of the men in the room.

For a beat, the room fell silent as the detective tried to wrap his head around her words. His lips parting and closing around nothing as he tried to find some fault in his own by-the-book retelling of the events.

“I’m sorry?” Davies finally asked, unable to untangle (Y/N)’s somewhat cryptic words.

“Stop calling that monster Mr. Ketch. He is one of yours! A detective,” (Y/N)’s voice was stronger this time around, growing in volume as (Y/H/C) hair whipped around her when she turned to throw the words directly at the detective. Making him once more frown. Though not from guilt, Dean noted, but rather confusion.

“No Mr… Officer Ketch was never a detective. It is true that he was aiming to become one. He had recently passed the exam, but… Some of his previous arrests were… Dubious. So, he was under heavy review,” The detective picked his words carefully. Rolling them around in his mouth before delivering each and every carefully selected word as he paused between statements.

In the hospital bed, Dean froze for a second as the realisation hit him, before slowly, painstakingly so, sitting up a little more in the bed. Gritting his teeth against the dull pain that was once again returning now that whatever painkillers they’d pumped him full of were slowly waning.

Ketch’s whole plan, the plan that had hinged on him rising through the ranks, had failed from the start. Even if something had happened to (Y/N) that night, it wouldn’t have been Ketch that got the case. Damn it, the bastard wasn’t just sadistic, he was delusional. Just like his puppet, Brian. Both of them had been living out their own sick, twisted play. And (Y/N) had been cast as the unwilling lead. By two delusional bastards.

Looking back up, Dean realised the room had grown quiet again as his eyes went from (Y/N)’s fiery ones and over to the confused detective looking at them both for clarification. But the girl from apartment 42 kept her lips firmly together, pursed in annoyance and anger as she refused to meet the detective’s eye. Keeping herself busy by letting fidgeting hands straighten out Dean’s sheets and fussing over him whenever he grimaced uncontrollably from a new burst of dull pain. The fire in her eyes softened as she busied herself fixing his pillows to try and make him more comfortable.

“He told us he was. He said that when he planned this whole thing back a year ago. He had Brian wait because he needed a promotion. That he had planned it all out so he would lead the investigation if (Y/N) was… If I hadn’t been there that first night,” Dean finally clarified as he reached for her hand. Unwilling to talk about what could have happened that night if he hadn’t been around and if she hadn’t slept on his couch instead of going back to apartment 42.

“Well, he had been promoted within the ranks of officers, but not to the level where he’d lead a missing persons case,” Davies hesitated over his words as he took a small notepad out of his jacket pocket. Jotting something down as he mulled Dean’s words over. For a second the only sound in the room was pen against paper as he quickly wrote down the details, before shutting the notebook with an audible snap and placing it back in his jacket.

“We still have a lot to investigate. And I can’t do anything but apologise for the fact that our operation was compromised the way it was, but… We have them both in custody. And though we need to wait for the results of the investigation and the subsequent court proceedings, I am confident they’ll both be going away for a very long time,” He finally continued, summing up the short retelling of events with words that portrayed the anger simmering right under the surface in the detective as well.

Though the words were standard and basic, devoid of any emotion, Dean could tell… Arthur Ketch had betrayed his comrades at the police station. And they weren’t going to let that go.

“I hope they rot in jail,” (Y/N) spat, her eyes still only on Dean as she carefully brushed some hair out of his face before curling her trembling fingers into a tight fist. She was trying so hard to be strong. And it broke Dean’s heart. Lifting his hand, he gently pried the fingers loose, holding her small hand in his own as he kept his eyes on hers, even when the detective continued speaking.

“We have them both on attempted murder charges, as well as attempted kidnapping, bodily harm… The list goes on and on. Not to mention that Officer Ketch has additional charges for hindering the investigation, aiding and abetting a criminal, and the theft of a standard issue firearm, since both guns found at the scene were police issued weapons,” The detective’s words were nothing but facts, but they held a promise. To both the police itself, and to the girl from apartment 42, that he would do everything in his power to lock them up and throw away the key.

Making a show out of looking at his wrist watch, the detective released a tired sigh as he looked out the hospital window at the sun that was slowly rising over the horizon and painting the sky in the first few soft shades of pink.

“Now, we’ll need…” He started, but before he could finish his sentence he was cut down by the door nearly hitting the wall as it was pushed open. The end of his sentence, fully drowned out by the redhead in the doorway as she let out a relieved sob from seeing her best friend safe and sound.

“(Y/N)!” Charlie rushed into the room along with Gabriel, both of them ignoring the detective as they nearly threw themselves at the girl from apartment 42. Fuzzing over her as they looked for any signs of injuries on their best friend.

Looking at the scene with a tired smile, Dean let his eyes drift towards the door to give them some semblance of privacy as his eyes met a frazzled Sam’s. Throwing his worried brother a lopsided grin, he chuckled weakly at the tried and tested eye roll he got in return as his little brother rushed to his side.

“Sorry I didn’t answer your call, I was kinda… Tied up,” Dean joked. Though, by the look in Sam’s eyes, his attempt at humour fell flat as his brother just squared his jaw and shook his head. Sending shaggy brown hair flying back and forth. His normally perfectly styled appearance, which came with the job, all out of place as the signs of Sammy’s night were written clearly on his body. From the wrinkled mess of a shirt to the way his hair fell haphazardly around his face after clearly having spent the better part of the night pulling at it in worry.

“Jerk…” Sam just huffed in return, his voice tired and worried as he took in the machines surrounding his brother.

“What did the…” Before Sam could ask any more questions, the detective cleared his throat and nodded towards the door.

“I’ll give you all a…” Shutting his mouth as Charlie scoffed at him, he just nodded curtly before making his way to the door to give them all a moment.

Looking around the room, at the small group of friends, family and strangers that had all been pulled together by the hellish events, Dean finally felt himself fully relax.

The nightmare was over.

(Y/N) was safe.

Start Here | Last Part | Next Part

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Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @starsandmidnightblue @screechingartisancashbailiff @septixtrash @punof-agun @deandreamernp @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @justagirlinafandomworld

The Man in Apartment 43 Tags: @campingmonkey @talia-ciufo @monkeymcpoopoo @deans-baby-momma @kalesrebellion @sarahpunkinator @smokinserious @cookiechipdough @winchestergirl82 @babykalika2001 @bagpussjocken @faded-blue @thefridgeismybestie @t1his-is-my-life-story @elliloumom @pinknerdpanda @zombiecupcake29 @justaparttimeauthor @that-one-gay-girl @ceisbill @starchildwild @poptart06294 @gia-25 @siospins2 @ariesbabe1993

Forevers will be added as separate reblog.