Summary: Laying in Sam's arms solidifies your love. For someone else.
Warnings: suggestive content/implications, MAJOR angst, bittersweet moment but mainly bitter, Sam being emotionally intelligent but kinda wishing he wasn't, no use of Y/n
Rating: Mature/15+
Word Count: 800
A/n: I wrote this with any male character for "him" so you can read it as whoever you like! I tried to use "Snowflake" in a different way than most prompts, I hope you like it!
All you wanted was to relieve some tension. You didn't want anything tender, just something fun, meaningless. But you should have known that nothing with Sam Winchester was meaningless, not when it came to you.
Every small smile you sent his way, every little glance, it all meant something to him, because you did. You meant the world to him, he just didn't mean the same to you.
You laid in his arms, in his bed, in his soul. He held you close, his grip on you firm but gentle, secure, the feeling foreign to you. His lips reached wherever they could, your cheeks, nose, forehead, eyelids, all the way down your neck. All the while pressing feather-light, lingering kisses to your warm skin, murmuring soft words between;
"Thank you" "You're beautiful, so beautiful" "You're the world" "My everything" "I love you, with every part of me I love you"
You pulled back, your hand resting along his jaw, thumb brushing over stubble as you stared into his eyes, deep, full of adoration, purely for you. You gave him a soft smile, something else behind your eyes, something he tried to ignore. Your voice was quiet and slightly broken as you spoke.
"Sam, I-I need to tell you something" You took a breath, finding words seemed to be more difficult than it had ever been "I- God, I don't-"
"You don't feel what I do. I know"
"You do?"
He huffed a breath, accompanied by a sad smile "You're not so good at hiding your feelings. I know it'll never be me. It's always been him, and it always will"
"I'm so sorry, I just, I don't know why I can't say anything right"
"I can try and help" His palm cupped your jaw, the pure, unadulterated love in his eye never fading "You feel for him what I feel for you. And even if he hasn't really seen you properly in years, nothing can change the way you love him. The way you'd do anything for him, even if it meant losing a part of yourself in the process. Sound about right?"
"Yeah, that's about it. How did y-" You stopped as you saw the look in his eyes, the look that said 'I know, because I've been there. I am there'.
"Just a hunch"
"It doesn't ever go away, does it?"
"No, not for me at least. I hope you're different, if not for me, then for yourself"
"You're far too kind to me"
"Hard to hurt the one you love, even if they don't love you back"
"I do love you Sam, just not the way you want me to. I really am sorry, I wish I felt what you do"
"Just, answer a question for me"
"Anything"
"Do you think, that somehow, if fate or God or whatever really controls the universe, made us meet first- do you think you could have loved me?"
"I-I really don't know, it's hard to predict what could have happened"
"Yeah, thought so"
A silence passed between the two of you, neither of you making any move to get up. You didn't know how much time passed before Sam spoke again, quieter than you'd ever heard him speak.
"You're a snowflake, y'know"
"What do you mean?"
"In a world full of ice, you're a snowflake. Beautiful, perfect and unique. I've never met anyone like you before, and I know I never will again. Thank you for letting me get to know you, it means more to me than you think"
"Sam" You voice cracked "W-why does this feel like goodbye?"
"I think you know it has to be"
"I-I don't want it to be"
"Neither do I. But if I really love you, I'll let you be happy, even if it isn't with me. Even if it kills me to let you go"
"I'll miss you, you know. I won't ever forget you, not for a day"
He smiled softly, a genuine smile this time "I won't either. And thank you, for one hell of a send off"
Through tears you both barely started to shed, you laughed. Your bodies were pressed together tight enough that you could feel every rumble in each other's chests.
"This- this must sound stupid but, is there anything I can do?"
"Let me pretend for a little bit longer"
"Of course"
Your hand slipped up into his hair, gripping tight as you held his head against your chest, not wanting to let go. You knew you'd have to eventually, but at least until the light of the morning shone in, you could both pretend that you shared feelings you wished you did.
That morning, when the sunlight filtered in through the motel room window and onto the empty, cold side of Sam's bed, it melted a snowflake that would never reform quite the same.
Summary: Ketch follows you to the end of your life...and saves you.
WC:2.1K
Warnings: suicide attempt. angst, hurt/comfort, arthur is a sweetheart
Read on ao3!
The night was cold—not just a winter chill, but the kind that felt personal. The kind that needled beneath your coat and skin, lodging itself in your bones like grief that had settled too long. Wind hissed through the bare trees and howled over the bridge, tugging at your clothes and hair like it meant to strip you bare. The metal railing beneath your fingers was slick and freezing, stinging your palms. Still, you held on. Not for safety. Just to feel something.
The world below was cloaked in darkness—the river a wide, ink-black maw swallowing the faint shimmer of distant streetlights. It moved fast, indifferent. Unbothered. Like it had taken lives before and wouldn’t blink at one more.
You stared down at it, heart silent, mind loud. The ache in your chest wasn’t sudden. It was the slow kind—accumulated over time, layered like sediment, too deep to scrape away now.
It would be easy.
One step.
One moment of letting go.
No scream, no drama. Just absence. Just… peace.
And no one would know. No one would miss you. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.
The thought struck harder than it should have—and you inhaled sharply, as if to prove you still could. The air burned on the way in.
"You’ve no idea how cliché this is," a voice cut through the night, warm and acerbic all at once.
You didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. But a flicker of something—recognition, annoyance, dread—rippled through you.
Of course. You knew that voice anywhere.
"Go away, Ketch."
Boots scraped the pavement, slow and measured—tactical, like always. His presence closed in, precise as a shadow. "Afraid I can’t do that, love."
You breathed out harshly through your nose, the air sharp in your throat, lungs tight with a cocktail of grief and fury and fatigue. Your knuckles whitened on the railing. "I’ve nothing left to live for, Arthur."
And then, silence.
Not the empty kind—but the loaded, aching kind. The kind that trembles just before something breaks. No smug retort. No glib cruelty. Just wind whistling around your body and the thrum of water lashing stone.
Then came his voice again—quiet. Raw. A thing scraped clean of armor. "That’s a lie."
Your spine stiffened, jaw clenched so tight it ached. "You don’t know that."
There was a shift behind you, a subtle heat pressing at your back—not touching, not yet. But near. Near enough that you could feel him now, a barrier against the cold, against the darkness. His warmth was a presence you hadn’t realized you missed until it returned.
"I do," he said.
Your throat worked around a knot of emotion. You shut your eyes. "Ketch—"
"You think I don’t know what it feels like?" His voice didn’t rise. If anything, it softened—edges dulled by memory, not disinterest. "To be used, discarded? To be the weapon they point and then abandon once you’ve done the damage?"
The words struck bone. Your breath hitched.
"I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and see nothing worth saving." He hesitated. "I know what it’s like to believe the world has no place for you once the mission ends."
He paused, and the quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable this time—it was reverent, like a shared ache settling between you.
"But I’d care." His voice cracked just barely. Just enough to be real.
You turned—slowly, as though any sharp motion might shatter the spell. Just enough to see him over your shoulder.
No smug smile. No rehearsed lines. His face, usually so carefully arranged into cold professionalism, had fallen open. Eyes tired. Mouth tense. Like he’d peeled off the persona and laid something vulnerable bare.
"Why?" Your voice trembled. "Why would you care about someone like me?"
His jaw flexed. He looked at you as if the question itself wounded him.
"I’ve killed for less, you know." His tone was dry, bitter with self-loathing. "Lived for even less. But you—" He exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk curving his mouth. It didn’t touch his eyes. "I’m rather fond of you, actually."
Something in you cracked. Fractured clean down the middle.
Arthur Ketch didn’t do fondness. He did orders. Objectives. Control.
But here he was, unarmed in the worst way.
Your hands loosened on the railing, stiff and trembling.
"You have a terrible way of showing it," you whispered.
He breathed a short laugh, the sound frayed at the edges. Then, with careful precision—like he was defusing a bomb—he reached out and laid his hand over yours. His glove was gone. Just bare skin. Warm. Solid. Steady.
"Yes, well." His thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles. "I’m a work in progress."
You turned to face him fully now. Searching his eyes. Waiting for the trick, the dismissal, the scorn. But none came. Just him—flawed and flayed and still standing there.
And in the end, you stepped back from the edge—not because the darkness had lifted, not because hope suddenly bloomed, but because someone saw you.
Not the broken pieces. Not the ruin.
You.
And in Arthur Ketch’s eyes, that was enough.
For tonight, that was enough.
The walk back from the bridge was slow. Neither of you said anything at first.
The silence wasn’t heavy anymore—it was tentative, like a truce still figuring itself out. The wind hadn’t eased, but it felt less sharp with him beside you, his long coat brushing against your arm with each step.
He stayed close, but not possessively. Just enough that if your knees gave out, he could catch you.
"I wasn’t following you," he said finally, breaking the silence. "Well. Not at first."
You glanced sideways at him. "Just happened to show up at a bridge at midnight?"
His mouth twitched. "I’m not completely without instincts, you know. You’ve been... off. Even more than usual."
A pause. He looked ahead again.
"And when someone you’re... fond of disappears without a word, you tend to notice."
You weren’t sure what to say to that. The word ‘fond’ hung between you, softer than it had any right to be. He didn’t try to dress it up. Didn’t smirk or deliver it with irony. He just said it. Like it was fact.
When you finally reached the street, your legs ached. Everything did. Bone-tired. But there was a strange steadiness in your chest now, like the shaking had stopped—not because the storm had passed, but because someone had chosen to stand inside it with you.
Ketch slowed, then looked at you. "Come on. My car’s this way."
You hesitated. The night still loomed behind you, and the bridge felt like it was watching.
"You sure?"
He arched a brow. "If you think I’m letting you wander off into the dark alone again, you’re dumber than I am."
You huffed a sound that almost resembled a laugh. Almost.
He opened the passenger door for you without comment. No smugness, no expectation. Just a quiet offer. You climbed in. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself be driven somewhere warm. Somewhere not alone.
--
The motel room was dim, washed in the soft yellow glow of a single lamp near the bed. The kind of lighting that tried to be warm but couldn’t quite manage it—like everything else in the room. Peeling wallpaper. A humming mini-fridge. A chair no one should sit in barefoot.
But right now, it felt like a palace.
Ketch locked the door behind you with a click that sounded louder than it should have. You stood just inside the threshold, your arms still wrapped around yourself, the cold having sunk too deep to shake off with heat alone.
He didn’t rush you.
Instead, he peeled off his coat and slung it over the back of the chair, loosened his tie, and then moved to the little dresser where the coffee pot sat. Routine. Normal. Like he did this every night.
You watched him.
"I didn’t bring you here to talk," he said after a while, voice low. "Not unless you want to."
Your voice scraped out. "Then why?"
He didn’t turn around. Just reached for the Styrofoam cups. "Because everyone should have somewhere to go. And tonight, this is it."
You swallowed the lump forming again. It hadn’t gone away completely since the bridge. You weren’t sure it ever would.
"I didn’t think you’d care," you murmured.
He finally turned then, holding out a cup of black motel coffee. His expression was unreadable, but not cold. Never cold, not tonight.
"Then I clearly haven’t been doing a very good job," he said. "Or… perhaps I've been doing exactly what I was trained to do. Keep people at arm’s length. Don’t get attached. Don’t get hurt."
You took the cup from him, hands brushing briefly. He was still warm. You weren’t.
He leaned against the dresser beside you, arms folded, not looking at you now. Voice quieter.
"But you’re not just another bloody mission file, are you?"
You stared into the coffee like it might tell you what to say.
"No," you said finally. "I guess I’m not."
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was soft. Steady. Two people breathing in the same room. Still here.
He nodded toward the bed. "You should sleep. You look like hell."
You let out a soft laugh, just barely. "Thanks."
He moved to the other side of the room, dragging the chair a little farther from the wall so it creaked less when he sat. He slouched down, legs stretched, eyes half-lidded. Still watching. Still there.
"I’ll be here if you need anything."
You blinked at him. "You’re not leaving?"
He didn’t even look insulted by the question.
"Not unless you ask me to."
Something in your chest pulled taut, like a string too long ignored. And as you set the untouched coffee on the nightstand and climbed slowly into the motel bed—still in your clothes, still not quite trusting peace—you let your eyes fall closed for the first time in far too long.
And Arthur Ketch didn’t leave.
Not this time.
--
The first thing you noticed when you wake up the next morning was the stillness. Not the sharp, aching kind that haunted you most mornings. Not the silence that felt like punishment. This was different. Softer. Like the room was holding its breath, waiting for you to wake up on your own terms.
The motel curtains glowed faintly gold. Morning light leaked through the edges, casting long bars across the scratchy blanket and the familiar ache in your chest.
Only this time, the ache wasn’t sharp.
You shifted slightly beneath the covers, the weight of the night before pressing faintly into your bones—but it was quieter now. Distant. Like a storm that had passed just far enough to let you breathe again.
A soft sound caught your attention—a page turning. Your gaze slid slowly to the other side of the room. Ketch was still there. Still in the rickety motel chair, legs stretched out, boots unlaced now. He had a book in his hands—a real one, not some field manual—and a half-drunk cup of coffee on the windowsill. His hair was a little messier than usual, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the top buttons undone. The relaxed version of him that almost didn’t look real.
He hadn’t left.
He looked up and met your eyes, and for once, didn’t hide the concern in his. "Morning," he said softly, like anything louder might undo you.
You cleared your throat. Your voice came out rough. "Did you sleep?"
His brow ticked up, faint amusement at the edge of his mouth. "Not really. These chairs are designed by sadists."
You huffed a faint laugh. It startled you. He seemed to notice.
Ketch set the book down carefully on the side table. “How do you feel?”
That was a dangerous question. Too direct. But his tone made it feel less like a demand and more like… an offer. An opening.
You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then said quietly, "Like I’m still here."
It wasn’t nothing. And he seemed to know that.
"Good," he said. "That’s a start."
You sat up slowly, every muscle stiff with the memory of yesterday. He didn’t get up. Didn’t crowd you. Just let you move at your own pace, watched you with a kind of quiet reverence, like he was afraid to say the wrong thing and break this fragile truce the two of you had forged in the dark.
"Do you always make a habit of saving lost causes?" you asked, only half teasing.
He smirked faintly, but the answer came without its usual sarcasm.
"Only the ones that matter."
Your throat tightened. You reached for the coffee on the nightstand, lukewarm now. Still bitter. Still real.
And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t drowning.
Winchester!Reader, dom/sub & hunter/prey dynamic. ketch hates americans bc i think it’s funny lol. also, ketch and mary didn’t happen for plot reasons but they still worked together. age gap (he’s like 42 ish in my mind bc i like em old, reader is like 28ish, at least implied to be a decent bit younger than him) slight dacryphilia (crying kink). gunplay. hatefucking lowkey. boot riding. degradation. slight petplay. bondage. sorta dub con? he kidnaps you but dw you’re into it. reader and ketch both have tattoos. he’s old and mean :’( but so so hot. !!SUBSPACE AND CRYING AFTER SEX BUT IT’S SWEET!!
Like any other hunter, you’ve had those days where you end up being hunted. Between being tracked down by a pissed pff werewolf pack for killing their sibling, held hostage as a bloodbag for vampires… Hell, you even were nearly dessert for a couple of djinns on more than one occasion.
The difference between those times and where you find yourself now, is that nobody knows you’re even in danger yet.
Ketch’s stare is cold and calculated as he speaks slowly, drawing out his words to add to his cruel tone.
“You want to act like a big girl? Fine by me. You’ll have to prove it to me, though. All I see is a scared little girl hiding behind her mouth.” He taunts, hardly even cracking a smirk. “You Americans are too proud. If it weren’t for your un-killable brothers, you would’ve been six feet underground ages ago.”
You know he won’t kill you, of course. Ketch may not particularly like your brothers, but he knows better than to hurt you. Besides, this is clearly personal on a level you don’t quite understand.
You’d been alone in the bunker while Sam and Dean were off dealing with getting the bunker prepped with all the newcomers; everyone else had broken off into groups to gather supplies and basic necessities for the additional twenty people now housed in the bunker.
You’d gotten home from an easy, one-woman hunt, made yourself a drink, and had just sat down in the library to relax for a few minutes before getting ready to turn in when your personal phone rang, the ringer at top volume as it sat on the end of the bed. You whined petulantly and stood to retrieve the call, leaving your drink on the table.
It had only been Dean checking in, making sure you were okay.
You assured him all was well, you were just planning to take a shower and go to bed early (not mentioning you’d settle down while thinking of a certain someone), before hanging up.
When you returned, you didn’t notice that the drink tasted a little off, somewhere close to stale. You tried not to doze off as you sat in the library, but the blanket over your lap was so cozy and your brain felt so light and fuzzy.
You’d dozed in and out of consciousness, but it all felt like a dream. Like when you were a kid in the back of the car, passed out from late night drives, being carried into your room by your stepdad.
You were actually being carried, however, wrapped in the blanket off the couch. You catch glimpses off the stairs, then the door as it closes heavy behind you, and as you’re taken outside, you feel the faint humming power of the hidden protection sigils and runes fade as you leave their safety.
Your head lolls to the side as you’re gently jostled about, but there’s no concern of falling or being dropped in your delirious mind.
During all this, as you’re laid on what you think might be the bench seat of someone’s car, you were able to make out a voice. Smooth, deep, accented.
“Can’t wait to teach you a lesson, pet.”
Somewhere in your mind, the connection was made that Ketch drugged and was actively kidnapping you, but the alarm bells kept fading away each time until you fell unconscious again.
Now, as you stand in the middle of the woods somewhere in Kansas—or did he cross state lines into Nebraska? All these midwestern forests look the same—you find yourself staring back in fear.
He’s intimidating to begin with. Military trained, no-nonsense, ruthless hitman with enough weapons on him at any given moment, it would be comical if he ever had to suddenly remove them from his person. He’s tall, constantly wearing black, and as of late, full tactical gear. Unfortunately for you, it tends to catch your attention much easier than you’d care to admit.
There’s something about his eyes, his tone. His physical appearance already made you want to run for the hills when you first saw him, but he speaks like he’s owed something.
“If you don’t want this, say the word. I’ll drive you back to the bunker and we’ll never speak of it again, no harm done.”
Admittedly, you’re still a little groggy. “What do you mean, ‘this?’ You kidnapped me and brought me into the woods, I’m not really sure what you’re asking for, dude.”
“Don’t act like you haven’t purposely crossed every damn line—like you don’t look at me like you want me to rip you apart. Trust me, I do. I want nothing more than to shut that pretty mouth of yours up. You act so smart and brave, Miss Winchester, but you’re just a brat who needs to be put in her place.”
As he stands there, a heavy semi-automatic rifle slung across his broad back, shoulders squared and jaw tight as he speaks, you feel the heat begin to pool inside of you.
You flush, finally looking away. The crunch of leaves and suddenly he’s a few steps closer, but still out of reach. “I’m asking one last time—do you want to see how far I’m going to take this? How far I’ll push you? I won’t be kind, love.”
You take a shaky breath after a moment, nodding.
“Fine, but you’ll have to catch me, first.”
You don’t give Ketch a moment to think before you’re booking it through the trees, deeper into the forest. You hear him laugh, something evil twisted in it.
—
Sure, after they tortured your brother, the British Men of Letters were number one on your shit list. However, with forced proximity and your life being unbelievably busy as of late, you found yourself running into Ketch a lot more than you originally would’ve liked.
Call it the daddy issues, or maybe because you’ve been the only girl around “big strong men” most of your life, and the fact that you never got to fool around like your brothers. Sam and Dean were far too protective for you to have any semblance of a relationship. It’s not like you’re a virgin, but you’ve rarely gotten the chance to take your time when it comes to enjoying sex.
You were hungry, clearly aching for it, and that’s something that Ketch picked up on from the second you met. A stubborn, headstrong young woman who always had to have the last word and didn’t take shit from anyone. A woman too used to being strong for everyone else, she was in desperate need for someone else to take control for once.
You saw that role being filled with Ketch in your fantasies, late nights after a rough hunt when you’re too pent up and tired to sleep and too scared to let go of the knife. It was supposed to be a distraction, not a crush. Something fleeting to think about when your hand is between your legs and you’re biting the pillow to keep quiet in the dead of night.
You found it in your daydreams, reading in the library during the start of a hunt, pretending to focus on the pages when you’re really imagining his hand around your throat, that calm, deep, sultry voice whispering filth into your ear as he—
You get the gist.
It had come to a head when you sent Dean and Ketch off to the Apocalypse World to find Mary and Jack, and when Ketch didn’t return, you found yourself a little heartbroken. Yeah, you’ve lost your share of people. It comes with this life. You’ve learned how to grieve quickly and move onto the next world-ending catastrophe at your doorstep. You know he’s seen how tired you are; the number of late-night, gas station coffee runs, researching until the crack of dawn on how to find Lucifer, anything about the rift, only to go to sleep for an hour or so before starting the day again.
And then, there was that one conversation.
You’d been in the bunker, alone for once. After a nasty vamp hunt, you were covered in blood, you had a nasty gash spanning across your left shoulder, and there wasn’t an inch of your body that wasn’t sore.
You’d felt a lot better after a boiling hot shower and some decent skincare, walking through the halls of the bunker with your hair wrapped in a towel and comfy clothes on—Sam’s old purple shirt, the one with the dog that you saved after he went to the Cage, and Dean’s hot dog pajama pants. You were covered in scratches, some deep and some surface level. Clearly, you were looking rough. As you were rummaging through the fridge for dinner, you suddenly felt like you weren’t alone, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end.
“Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me!” You nearly jumped out of your skin, one hand already wrapped around the handle of a large knife from the block in the counter. Ketch’s hands were raised in defense as he took you in.
“Apologies. I was looking for your brothers, neither of them are answering their phones. You weren’t, either.” He states, emotionless as ever. He says the last sentence with an air of suspicion, as if you’d been purposely ignoring him.
You sigh, nodding as you return the knife to where it belongs. “Yeah, we just got back from a hunt an hour ago. They went to the bar, Dean’s probably already getting laid by now. We’re taking a weekend, talk to us again in two days.”
You turn and return back to the fridge, disregarding him now.
“What on earth did this to you?”
“Wendigo, I hate the fucking things. There were three, which has never happened to us before, we got backed into a corner. They attacked all at once and if Cas hadn’t been there, we would’ve been toast.”
He stands, rigid as ever. “You could’ve called.”
“Yeah, after you’ve been so sweet to us? We took our chances, and we all made it out alive.”
“Hardly. Are you going to seek medical attention, or get drunk?” He scoffs, as you rustle behind a few beer bottles.
“I need to eat something before I stitch these shut, or else I’ll pass out.”
Ketch watches as your knees shake as you squat down, fingers trembling as you move. Clearly you’re either in immense pain or still disoriented.
“Sit.”
“Excuse me? I am not a dog—Ketchputmedown!”
Your vision suddenly spins as you’re scooped off the ground, secure in his arms as he moves to sit you at the table. Okay, definitely disoriented. You’re dizzy for a moment, as you squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto the table for dear life.
“What the hell was that?”
“Not a dog, but you continue to whine like a bitch. I’m feeding you, then I’ll sew you back together. You’re in no condition to be alone right now.”
You roll your eyes but make no move to stand, letting him take your place. It’s now that you notice he’s not in his usual tactical gear or a suit, just a pressed, black silk button down and slacks. Casual, for him, overdressed compared to your current state. Tattoos that you’d never noticed took up most of his forearms before disappearing under his sleeves. They’re all l runes and sigils of some sort, likely for protection. You’ve caught glimpses of the ink before, memorized the pattern of the cross tattoo on the back of his right hand, but this is your first good look. You’re memorizing them for later.
It doesn’t take long for him to make a sandwich and some fruit, cut carefully.
“Show off. You do this for every girl you try to kill?”
He doesn’t answer. He leaves you with a fork for the fruit and leaves the kitchen, and for a few tense moments, you listen out for him. It’s near silent, almost eerie until you hear him approach, carrying an expansive first aid kit.
“Eat, please.”
You scoff, spearing a strawberry with the fork. “Fine, just don’t say anything about the tattoos.”
His brow furrows as he lifts the hem of the shirt, where he sees dark ink above your tailbone; an anti possession sigil in the middle, surrounded by whirls of fine lines and a phrase in latin above. Along your hips and towards the front of your belly there were more, but he didn’t get a direct look.
“Fortuna caeca est? Fate is blind?”
“I asked you not to say anything,” You chide mid-bite. “I like my tattoos, frankly.”
“You have multiple?”
“Well, you haven’t taken my clothes off yet, have you?”
Yeah, that was certainly testing the waters. Since then, it’s been tense between you. Not in a bad way, but obvious enough to you that there’s something there, on both ends.
You come to realize you’ve been running for a while. You try to catch your breath, pinning yourself against a tree. It’s too quiet, even the bugs and birds are silent. They know a predator is among them, clearly knowing better than to interrupt the hunt. Your chest heaves as you look into the sky, eyes shutting briefly as you try to regulate your breathing.
A branch snaps in the distance and your eyes go wide. The tree is low enough, if you’re quick you can climb it. Thankfully, you hadn’t taken your shoes off when you got back home.
You right yourself and book it up the tree, thanking Sam in your mind for making you go to the gym with him sometimes, this upper body strength thing is great. You manage to get about twelve feet up before you hear another noise, closer, this time. Leaves crunch and sticks break under his boots as he approaches the clearing, rifle raised to shoot.
“You don’t have much farther to go. You could make this very easy on yourself if you just come out.”
He’s a fluid shadow in the night and you’re hardly able to make out his silhouette until he’s just a few feet away.
You stay silent as the grave as he passes below you, watchful eye on the scope as he creeps quietly through the brush. As he stalks away, you slowly climb down the tree, tentatively placing your feet flat on the ground, keeping your eyes glued to his figure as he steps further from you. Once you think you’re in the clear, you bolt in the other direction, not caring about the noise.
He tracked you this far, which already proves how skilled he is, which means he already knows where you are; the least you can do is make it fun for him.
He spins on his heel and runs, footsteps thundering on the ground behind you. You may be the smallest and physically weakest Winchester, but you were the quickest. Ketch, of course, knew you were en route to be a high school track legend as a kid; it was in your BMOL file. He knew you’d give him a run for his money (no pun intended).
Trees whip past as you sprint through the woods, fear snapping up your spine like lighting when the first shot rings out, hitting a tree to your right as you pass. Wood chips fly out and hit you in the back of the head as you shriek, nearly losing your footing on a patch of wet leaves as you darted to the left. You know he isn’t aiming to kill, and while you don’t really want a fresh bullet wound anytime soon, there’s a thrill to his skill as a marksman. At this point, if it means he’ll finally have his way with you, you’ll take the lead slug.
You’re quick to collect yourself, chest heaving as you switch directions, moving east into another deep section of the woods. You hear him growl behind you, something feral rising from his chest.
Another shot rings out, narrowly missing your ankle by just a few inches, hitting the damp forest floor and sending a spray of mud and leaf litter up the side of your leg. That’s the one that sends you to the ground, too worried about the potential ricochet from the bullet hitting a rock to notice the tree root that catches your left ankle. You crash to the ground and roll quick and unceremoniously as you fail to catch yourself. You take quite a tumble as your world spins, too disoriented to realize he’s already right behind you.
One hand grabs the back of your neck, shoving you into the wet ground. The sharp edge of a rock cuts into your chin, causing you to wince. His thighs brace your hips as he kneels over you, pressing his full weight into your hips and shoulders.
“That’s it, try to fight me off, you’ll just make this harder on yourself.” He sneers, his free hand moving to grapple your wrists and wrench them behind your back, then the tight sting of metal cuffs against the bone.
You shake and try to buck him off, but of course, it’s no use. He’s 6’2 and at least 200 pounds of carefully trained muscle. Part of you is certain that he could bench press you twice over without breaking a sweat.
“Get off!” You attempt a futile kick to his knee, the force on your back too much to wiggle out of.
“No, you made up your mind the second you ran away. You’re mine, Miss Winchester.”
Ketch shifts, keeping one hand splayed over your shoulders as he moves down, rutting his hips into your ass. You hear the shifting of fabric and then the familiar click of the safety of a gun being switched off.
“I don’t understand how it’s taken anyone this long to put you in your place, pet. That mouth of yours is entirely too big for your own good,” He grits, and you feel the muzzle of the pistol at your temple as he bucks against your clothed cunt and you can’t help the startled moan that rises from your throat.
“Fuck, you’re a filthy girl, aren’t you? Moaning like a whore when I have my favorite gun to your skull. How fucked in the head do you have to be to get wet over this?”
“You like it,” You wheeze as he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. He looms over you like a thundercloud, shrouded in danger and darkness. Your eyes flutter shut as he shifts again, pulling you roughly to your knees with his arm wrapped tightly around your neck, meaty bicep and forearm squishing your cheeks. You gasp and sputter as you try to breathe, but you’re already fading fast with how tight his grip is, and he still is holding the gun.
He’s quick to shove his hand down the front of your leggings, slipping his gloved fingers between your fold and groaning at the warmth he was met with.
“Look at that, pet,” He removes his hand, deliberately avoiding your clit as he holds his gloved fingers up to the moonlight, where they glisten with moisture. “I can’t wait to have my fun with you.”
“Whatever makes you think your dick is big.” You grunt, swallowing as much air as possible when his arm relaxed ever so slightly.
Ketch growls and shoves your leggings down to your knees, then pushes you back towards the ground, moving to grip your hair at the root as he maneuvers you onto your belly. He’s quick to pull a knife from somewhere on his person and cuts the leggings completely off.
“Ah, so those are the tattoos I’ve yet to see. Look at that, you’re soaked. This is all you needed to fix that attitude of yours, isn’t it? A rough hand?”
When you stubbornly don’t respond, he slaps your ass hard enough to leave a handprint immediately.
“You’ll answer when I fucking speak to you, is that understood?” The gun is back on you again, this time digging into the back of your skull.
“Y-Yes!”
“Yes, Sir. Say. It. Back.” He spanks you three times in the same spot for emphasis on each word.
“Yes, Sir,” You moan, your panties cold and damp against the nighttime air.
Ketch hums, pleased. “Like I said, pet, you just need a rough hand. Now that you’re listening, I’ll give you a choice. I’ll either fuck your face and if you behave, I’ll consider playing nice.”
As he speaks, he runs his fingertips over the crotch of your panties, circling your hole and avoiding your clit altogether. Your hips buck backwards, searching for more friction, which earns you a harsh yank on your scalp.
“Or, should you continue with your recent behavior, I’ll string you up to this tree, gag you, and fuck you until you learn your lesson. Either way won’t be gentle, but one of them ends with you earning the chance to cum.” You shudder at the thought, how pent up and hot you feel. Your excitement from his words melts into tingles across your cunt at the idea of his cock anywhere inside of you.
“T-The first one. Please.” You swallow. “Sir!”
Ketch laughs lowly, pulling away until he’s kneeling upright over your ass. You take the chance to relax for a brief moment as he plots his next move.
Ketch is quick to stand, kicking you gently at the hip to roll onto your back, before he’s reaching down to haul you up by the hair until you’re back on your knees.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous when you’re crying for me.” You didn’t even notice the wetness at your lash line until he pointed it out. You assumed your blurry vision was from being choked out, not from your blatant desperation.
You gasp for breath as he uses his right hand to unbutton his pants, quickly freeing his hard cock. You certainly expected something impressive, but his cock is intimidating. He’s big, not terribly thick, but he’s fairly long. He clearly takes care of himself and is carefully groomed, the dark hair cropped fairly short across the base and his balls.
If you weren’t already in enough trouble, you certainly don’t want to think about trying to take him with no prep.
“Open up. If you even think about biting, I’ll rip out your teeth.” He threatens, gripping his cock at the base and guiding himself into your mouth.
He’s immediately heavy on your tongue, warm and salty with pre. His chest heaves with a sigh of relief at the warmth of your mouth. It’s certainly a stretch, and somewhat tricky to avoid using your teeth, but you manage just fine once he sets a rhythm, giving you little time to prepare.
“That’s it, take my cock like a good bitch. You take orders so well when you’re desperate. Perhaps I’ll give my pretty dog a treat if she does a good job. Wouldn’t you like that?”
You nod around his cock, tears welling as he hits the back of your throat. Both of his hands on your head, using you like a toy for his pleasure. Obscene noises rise from your throat as it’s assaulted, unladylike and whorish.
“Make me cum down that pretty throat and I’ll give you a treat, but you’ll have to beg me for it. Think you can do that?” He asks, condescending and hateful.
Ketch pulls you off of his cock roughly and you cough, sputtering and nodding, shaking and teary-eyed.
“Yes, Sir! Please, I wanna make you cum!” You whine pathetically. If anyone who knew you saw, they surely wouldn’t have imagined that Y/N Winchester, badass hunter, true vessel of the archangel Gabriel, would be slutting herself out to the man who tried to kill her at least twice. Oh, how the mighty fall, some would say.
“Come on, pet, you can do better than that. This could be life or death for all you know?” Again, the gun is out and pressing to your temple. With the downright feral look in his eye, a wave of fear washes down your spine and a fresh round of tears wells.
“Please, don’t kill me, Sir! Can I please have your cum down my throat, please?” Your lip wobbles and the grin on Ketch’s face is giddy and depraved.
“Oh, what a good girl you’re becoming for me. Come on, keep it up.” He orders. The low timber of his voice made the hair on your neck stand on end as you nodded eagerly, guiding your mouth back on him.
You’re on his cock again in an instant, spit and cum rolling down your chin as you hollow your cheeks and get to work, taking him as deep as you can. Over and over, as he thrusts back in the tip of his cock hits your soft palate, making a soft, squishy sound with each pass. You’re sure you look a mess, desperate and drooling in the middle of the woods at Arthur Ketch’s mercy, because the idea of him berating you made you wetter than a slip n’ slide.
It’s not much longer before his hips begin to stutter, and he presses his cock fully down your throat, groaning hoarsely as he shoots his load.
It sticks to the back of your throat and coats your tongue as he pulls out halfway through his orgasm, pumping himself to completion across your face. He sighs as he relaxes, the hand in your hair relaxing as he rubs gently at your scalp. You keen at the slightest bit of praise, your head falling to his thigh as you catch your breath.
“Still with me, darling?” He asks, breathless.
You nod, looking up through wet lashes, your mouth slightly parted with small pants.
“Yeah, ‘m good.” You pant, jaw slack and voice hoarse.
He huffs with a cocky grin, putting himself away with one hand, and then removing his touch in favor of a silver lighter and a pack of cigarettes, probably an expensive kind from the UK, based on the unfamiliar packaging. He crouches behind you, slipping the lighter in your hand, both of which are still behind your back.
“Give me a light, will you, love?” He pulls your hair back off your shoulder and plants a chaste kiss on the side of your neck. You shudder and nod, clumsily doing your best to feel for the switch, and there’s a flash of warmth in your palm as you light it. He holds the cig there for a moment too long, before clicking his tongue and flicking the extra ash off. It flitters through the air in a dying orange glow, before landing on the small of your back, where your shirt has ridden up. It doesn’t hurt, but there’s a whisper of heat that rests there for a second.
“You’re already such a good toy for me, darling. Let’s see if you can exceed my expectations.” He holds the cigarette between his lips as he makes a show of standing, towering over you, still knelt on the ground. Ketch steps around you, hands clasped behind his back as he looks you over approvingly, before coming to a stop. The toe of his boot is pressing against your crotch with delightful force, the feel of cold leather sending a shiver up your spine.
”Get yourself off before I finish this.” He orders coldly, any interest in your pleasure suddenly missing from his cadence. You position yourself closer by shuffling, then settle. Your eyes flit up to his as you rock your hips, mouth falling open with a needy whine. “How’s that feeling, pet?”
“Good!” You gasp. The curve of the boot digs into your cunt, not rough, but definitely inescapable. Your eyes dart between his handsome face and the slowly-burning cigarette between his fingers, taking in as much of this as possible, just in case it’s just some dream—that would be one freaky ass Djinn. “Feels good, Sir.”
“Oh, just imagine the things I could do to you. I knew you were depraved, but fuck, you’re practically bent. Bet you can’t even cum without someone telling you to. What exactly has that dirty mind of yours been thinking about me, hm?”
You have to squeeze your eyes shut to focus on his words, but your own spilled out like a burst fire hydrant.
“I-I think about you telling me what to do, like now. Choking me,” His shoulders roll back with what you assume is pride as you speak. “Fucking me on a hunt. Tying me up and doing whatever you want with me. Marking me.”
Your movements grow shaky as you try to keep a rhythm, a coil of heat tightening low in your gut. You’re sopping wet, surely leaking over the toe of his shoe and onto the forest floor below. A chilly breeze sweeps through the woods and your nipples clearly are pebbled against the thin material of your top. You swear you see his control crack at the mention of him marking his territory.
“I want you to take me away, farther this time,” You keen. “Just us. Doesn’t even have to be romantic, just… us. You could do what you want to me, I don’t care—jus’ want your attention.”
Ketch is pleased as punch, scoffing lightly at the thought of a ‘romantic getaway.’
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’d take you in the middle of the night, just like this. Gag you, tie you up and fuck you until you’re screaming for mercy. I’m good at torture, pet, you just have to beg the question. I’d fill that tight cunt of yours until you’re leaking with me, then keep going.” His words are venomous, full of promises and cruelty. “Maybe I’d take you out for dinner, but you’re too much of a slut to appreciate it. A messy whore like you is only worried about getting something inside of her.”
You can only babble your agreements, degrading yourself further for his approval, feeding his massive ego like it has been starving without you.
“Whatever you want from me, I’ll give it to you. I’d stop hunting, I’d just be yours,” The cigarette is nearly halfway gone, smoke curling around his sharp jawline like one of those expensive neckties he likes.
That’s the comment that finally breaks his composure. He takes the cig between his lips again, before yanking you off the ground, onto your feet until you’re bent face-first over a conveniently flat-topped boulder. There’s the flick of a knife opening, before your shirt is cut from the back, neckline to the bottom hem. He’s quick to strip you from the last of your clothes, yanking your ruined panties down to your ankles.
“Fuck, you look so good like this, bent over and crying for me. Right where you belong, hm?” His hand grips your jaw as he cages you in, one hand splayed beside your head. His stare roams down your spine, the layers of ink etched into your skin like a canvas
“Yes! I’m yours, Sir, please! Please touch me, you’re right, I need it so bad,” You hiccup.
His (now gloveless) hand meets your clit and your knees shake against rough stone as he laughs coldly. You grit your teeth as you finally feel the beginning of your end.
“You’re tighter than I thought you’d be,” He comments snidely as his fingers breach you. “All those dirty ideas were just in your head? Nobody was ever good enough to finally make your tempestuous dreams a reality?”
“No! No, Sir, mhm! Only you.”
You tremble as he unravels you, mind, body, and soul. Ketch shushes you tauntingly, slowly.
“Hush, pet, you’ve got me. I’m wrapped around that pretty neck of yours and I’m not leaving you.” He swears, pumping his fingers deeper inside. You tense in anticipation as his thumb begins to circle your clit, pushing your hips back against his palm. “Don’t get greedy, sweet girl, I’ll give you what you’re so desperate for.”
One hand settles over the anti-possession tattoo above your ass as the other gets to work releasing himself from his pants again, then lining himself up.
“Deep breath for me, yeah?” You nod as he clutches the base of your throat at the same time as he slides himself home inside of you. The stretch is impressive, and as Ketch presses himself against you, he’s heavy in your belly and you can feel him land somewhere deep inside with each forward thrust. You exhale with a groan of relief.
“Atta girl, taking me so well. Just as perfect as I imagined you to be.”
“More, please. Tell me more!” You sob. Your throat bobs perfectly into the cup of his palm and he can feel your pulse hammering beneath his fingertips.
“Narcissist. You want to know everything? Fine.” He’s downright mean with his words, now, as if he was being kind starting off. “Since the moment I saw you—”
He startled you with a deliciously painful thrust and a slap against your ass.
“I knew I wanted to rip you apart. I wanted nothing more than to feel your blood on my hands, the hands of a killer. That’s what you called me, right?”
“He’s a fucking killer, Mary! Why the hell would you ever consider working with them a good idea?!”
He moves his hand slowly up to your jaw, then over your mouth and nose to cut off any chance of breathing. Your eyes roll back as he hits just the right spot, causing you to tighten around him like a vice.
“The more I watched, I saw what you really are. You’re smart to be afraid of me. You’re a scared, little fawn, desperate for another man to hide behind, to be protected by. Oh, I’ll do that love, and more. I’d be better off slitting your throat just before you cum, then washing my murderous hands of your blood.”
You jerk in his grasp, lashes fluttering as you begin to suffocate.
“I’m enjoying myself too much with you, call me a masochist for putting up with it—but you’re the one getting off from my mercy. I’ll protect you, and more. I’ll keep you all to myself, locked away, never to be seen from again, as long as you let me use you however I see fit. You want to leave? Say the word, but even afterwards, you’ll be stuck with the memories of being put into your place.” His words are laced with hostility, and you can imagine his perfect teeth bared as he speaks.
Right as your vision begins to grow spotty, he releases your airways and you cry out as he pumps himself in, deep and rough. Your pelvic floor contracts and you cum, finally. Your toes tingle and heat crawls through your skin, starting from your pussy outwards. Your bare nipples scrape across the stone as he gropes your chest, twisting and pinching as he pleases.
Tears of relief fall as Ketch releases with a few low grunts, snapping his hips into your ass in succession. He slows his pace as you come down, crying softly as your chest heaves. It’s quiet for a moment, besides your stuttering breaths as you both come down.
Ketch is quick to uncuff you, massaging up your arms and back to soothe your sore muscles.
“Are you alright?” He finally asks.
You shake the hair out of your face and look at him over your shoulder, bleary eyed and teary.
”I’m okay,” You sniffle, releasing a staggered breath. You slowly pull your arms up to your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious as you turn to shyly face him. All of your pent-up want and desperation, not just for him, but for any form of intimacy has finally been released, and your brain can’t keep up, still dazed from the harsh treatment.
“No more tears, you’ve done so well for me, love,” He tilts your chin up with a hooked finger, smirking proudly at you. There’s something soft, almost domestic in his voice as your eyes meet his.
You huff a laugh, but your slight embarrassment brought on a new wave of tears.
”Sorry, I just…” You wipe your face, trying to look anywhere but at him.
“Clearly, you needed that. Sometimes, sexual depravity is rooted in trauma. Plenty of which, you have. If this is how you want to confront it, I’m more than happy to help.” He turns you to face him again, this time by the shoulders as he kisses you, slow and sure.
You let it happen, let him guide you through this new introduction. When he pulls back, your eyes are wide and glossy.
”Thank you.” You murmur.
“Cry, if you need to. I’ve no problem with it. Come, let’s get you home.”
“You’re not…are you leaving?” You ask with a glimmer of hope in your voice. Ketch has turned and is unzipping a backpack he must’ve brought with him (you were too focused on not getting shot to notice it) and pulling out the blanket from the couch in the library. He pulls your wet panties back where they belong and wraps the blanket around your shoulders, then leans down to scoop you into his arms. The cigarette has been stomped into the dirt by now, faded and cold.
Your right hand goes to his chest to steady yourself, as if he’d ever let you fall.
~Abby is taken on a hunt, leaving Sam and Dean behind in what they thought was a nest of vamps. Turns out her captors had bigger plans, and maybe it was all just an elaborate trap.~
Arthur Ketch x Abigail Watson (OFC), Dean Winchester x Abby, Sam Winchester.
5,009 Words
Warnings: Angst. Smut. Plot Twist. NSFW. Extremely rough relations. Slapping, fighting, kicking, biting, choking. Handcuffs, Breath play, Asphyxiation Kink, Dirty Talk, Marking, Claiming. It’s rough sex, ok? Not like normal fic rough sex.
2020
A Rough Debriefing - Read By Arthur Ketch Himself - PodFic
Easier To Hate Him
Ketch x Reader
Drabble
2019
Little Sister
Ketch x Reader, Dean
Crack Drabble
2019
Never
Ketch x Reader
Romance Drabble
2021
Rough
Ketch x Reader
NSFW Drabble
2021
The Devil Knows
~They’ve tried everything to break you, but your will is strong. Will their last attempt be the thing that brings you down?~
Y/N, ‘Dean’, Some surprises (spoilers. if you reeeeally want to know, check the bottom tags)
2,438 Words
Warnings: NSFW! This is a dark fic. Torture. NonCon elements. DubCon. Knife Play. Blood. Foreign Object Insertion. Bondage. Plot twist.
2019
I got @heavenssexiestangel for @spnfanficpond secret Santa. I've never written for Ketch. Hope you enjoy!!
It's an unlikely pair. A hunter and a men of letters or is it after all?
Arthur Ketch x GN Reader
American hunters were equivalent to neanderthals or that's what was taught to the British men of letters. They ran in head first, guns blazing and solved everything with violence and most of the time let their emotions get the best of them. Hunters couldn't be trusted. Ketch had learnt a lot of his teachings had indeed been fasle what really made him truly renounce anything he'd ever learned was the moment he first laid eyes on you.
You were infuriating, stubborn enough to put Dean Winchester to shame and the temper on you would make Lucifer himself think twice about crossing you. The first impression Ketch managed to have of you was the fact that you possessed a marvelous right hook.
—----------
You knew what Dean and Sam both had told you. Ketch had changed when he came back from the dead, he'd ditched the old way of thinking he'd been taught but you hadn't got your lick in when he'd betrayed the boys, when he'd nearly killed them and had brain washed Mary into killing so many hunters.
Without thinking the moment you walked into the bunker and saw him standing in the library you'd shoved right past both Winchesters and did your best to knock his head clean off his shoulders. You'd at least managed to stagger him but damn him he'd simply wiped a thumb across his lip to collect the blood that you'd drawn and gave you a wicked looking grin “Well you must be Y/N. I've heard so much about you”
You'd gone for another swing but Dean had grabbed your arm “Easy killer. He's on our side now. You know I wouldn't let him be standing here if he couldn't be trusted” you hadn't taken your eyes off Ketch even as you told Dean “Fine. But if he hurts another hunter I'll kill him and make it stick”
The first time you'd started to trust Ketch was when he'd gotten hurt on a hunt to protect you.
The two of you had gotten separated from Sam and Dean hunting down a werewolf pack that had all gone rogue. Ten head. You heard a noise and turned half a second too late, the claws would have dug into your stomach had Ketch not snatched you out of the way taking the blow himself. You screamed his name but had to concentrate on the threat at hand. He'd survive, you hoped.
You'd killed two wolves before San and Dean heard your screams and came running. Between the three of you the remaining pack members were quickly disposed of.
You'd ran to Ketch and found him sitting at the base of a tree holding pressure to his side “Dammit Arthur what the fuck was that?” The asshole had literally grinned at you “I believe that's the first time you've ever called me Arthur” you shook your head as your hands moved across his stomach, easily slipping under his shirt to examine the wound further “Yeah well I thought the one thing I could count on was you being self centered enough to not be a self sacrificing idiot. Guess our hunter tendencies rubbed off on you a bit?”
—--------------
If he would have to admit it, that was when he started to develop feelings for you. You kneeling next to him, arguing with Dean over the contents of a first aid kit and arguing with himself over sitting still while you tended to his injuries.
You were something he never would've expected when he'd first gotten tasked with coming to the states nor expected when he came back from the dead. A hunter who was everything he'd never known he needed.
When did you start to develop feelings for Ketch despite your better judgment? Was it when he started to truly try to understand the way hunters worked? Was it when he started trying to make amends for his past? Was it when he'd gotten hurt to protect you, to protect innocent people on hunts and when he started throwing his hat in the game to fight for hunters instead of against them?
You had never meant to even develop a friendship with the man. For the longest you couldn't help but tie him in with the torture Sam had endured and the line of dead hunters that had gotten left behind. Then you started seeing signs of how Sam trusted him, how Dean trusted him and then he even earned Garth, Jody and Donna's trust.
—-------------
You were in the armory of the bunker. A variety of weapons were laid out in front of you and you were target practicing. Anything to keep your mind off the brown eyed englishman that was currently helping Sam decipher lore in the library.
You heard a low whistle and looked back to see none other than the man in question himself. You raised an eyebrow at him “What? Impressed that hunters do have some skills?” He gave you a smile that shouldn't be no where near as alluring as it was to you “You rather tend to impress me daily”
You shook your head and turned back to the targets “So it's not weird that you slept with my friends’ mother and now you're flirting with me?” He chuckled lightly and you hadn't realized he'd gotten that close to you until he said “in my defense i hadn't even met you yet”
You spun around and took a step back to put space between you “What do you want Arthur?” “One date. If you don't enjoy yourself feel free to kick my ass afterwards” you knew you should say no, say it was a bad idea but instead your mouth opened and the words “Ok. When and where?” Fell out.
Eight months had passed since you agreed to go out with Ketch. Eight months since you were no longer just friends or work allies with him.
He hadn't been what you'd expected. He was capable of kindness. He listened when you spoke and wanted your opinion on things. He cared about you. When it came to a more personal aspect of your budding relationship he was more than giving, the type of man to find pleasure in giving pleasure.
You were happy.
A loud bark of laughter escaped you at something Dean had said. All of you were around a bonfire on some of Donna's property. Leave it to all of you to decide that was the best course of getting together for Christmas eve.
Cabins were littered around while families with kids had taken the main house. A big breakfast was planned for morning with a gift exchange but for now about two dozen of you were just enjoying the down time together.
You were curled up in a lounge chair, laid back against Arthur's chest watching the flames flicker around. He'd even ditched his usual wear for jeans and a t-shirt under his thick jacket. You would make a hunter out of him yet. He leaned up close to your ear to whisper “You look absolutely stunning in the fire light” you shook your head but felt your cheeks warm “Still a damn flirt?”
He pressed a kiss to your cheek “Always” then pulled the blanket you had across your lap tighter around you about the time you heard your watch chime midnight “Merry Christmas darling” you turned to catch his lips in a quick kiss “I love you Arthur” he froze for a moment then a broad grin split his face “Now that's the best present I could've asked for. I love you too Y/N”
Based on this request: Can you do a Ketch x Reader where they are stuck in a room during a hunt and they can’t get out so they play 20 questions to get to know each other better and in the end confess their feelings for each other
Here you are, lovelies! *I do not own ANY SPN characters. They belong to the writers/creators of the show.*
Warnings: Trapped Together, fluff-ish?
Pairings: Arthur Ketch x reader
It was a good thing you didn't hate Ketch. Really it was. Because if you'd hated him, he wouldn't survive the night. He was driving you batty, pacing like a caged tiger. You understood why. You didn't much appreciate being trapped either, but it was that or become a monster's plaything. At least you'd been able to get into a place where you could ward against everything and the horde of demons couldn't get in.
"Ketch! Please just sit down, you're driving me nuts!" He paused long enough to glare at you before resuming his pacing. He didn't like being stuck in one space for too long. That much was obvious. Not to mention you were both exhausted from the hunt followed by the demon chase. They'd come out of nowhere after the two of you had taken out a vampire nest.
"Please. I know you're anxious to get out of here, but could you please settle down? We're safe in here for now and I called the boys. They're sending Jody and Donna to come help us." Ketch hummed before finally sitting in the only other chair in the room. It was then that you noticed the injury to his arm. "Were you bitten?" He shook his head. "No. That was from one of the demons." You hummed in response and then it got quiet again. Normally that didn't bother you, but stuck in one tiny room, the silence was almost stifling.
"Alright, rather than sitting here doing nothing, I think we should get to know each other better. If we're going to be hunting together more often, we may as well." Ketch's eyes flickered over to you for a moment before he asked, "What did you have in mind?" You felt a smile stretch over your lips. At least he was willing. You were certain you were going to have to practically pull teeth to get him to talk. From what you'd seen, Ketch was a pretty closed off man. Not that you blamed him after what he'd gone through.
"20 Questions. It's the easiest way I can think of." Ketch nodded once, his eyes regarding you as you shifted to try and get more comfortable. "Are you going to sit or stand there all night?" He arched a brow at your teasing tone. "Is that one of your questions? I must say, I expected more from you." You rolled your eyes and gave a sarcastic laugh. "Haha. Jokes. Who knew you had it in you? Now rules: once the game starts it doesn't stop until we've both asked 20 questions. The questions can be anything from the most simple to the most deep that require thought. And we must answer truthfully. Ready?" At Ketch's nod, you proceeded to start the game.
"I'll start with a basic question. Favorite color?" A small smirk made its way onto Ketch's lips as he shook his head at you. "Purple." You let out a small noise of surprise. "I would have suspected red or black." It was Ketch's turn to roll his eyes as he replied, "Purple is the color of royalty, darling. Now, I believe it's my turn. What would you be doing if you weren't a hunter?" You laughed lightly and had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
*time skip*
You and Ketch had spent what felt like hours asking questions back and forth. Not that you minded. It was nice getting an inside look into his mind. Although, your heart hurt for all the torture he'd gone through as a child and into his adulthood. By the time you got to the last round of questions, you wanted nothing more than to wrap the man up in a hug. Unfortunately, you were also at your last question.
You glance up into Ketch's eyes and asked the question you'd been avoiding. You weren't sure how he'd react in all honesty, but you were running out of questions at the moment. "Have you ever been in love?" Ketch's small smile faltered a bit. His brows lowered over his eyes as he tried to think. His gaze flickered over to you then back toward the door. For a moment, it didn't look like he was going to answer the question.
"Perhaps." It was your turn to look confused, prompting him to sigh. "Love is considered a…weakness in Kendrick's. It isn't something encouraged. That being said, I am uncertain as to what love feels like. It is possible I've been in love without realizing." His eyes met your again and you swore they were boring into your soul. You swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling the air in the room thicken with the tension he was causing.
"My last question then, is it?" he asked suddenly. The moment between you was broken in an instant. You nodded. You honestly thought you were going to get whiplash at the pace he changed the subject. Ketch stood and placed one hand in his pocket. You'd been around him long enough to know he only did that when he was grabbing a weapon or feeling unsure of himself. No one else had noticed it. They just thought it was a normal mannerism of his.
His eyes met yours again and he asked, "Do you think, after all I've done for the old men, that someone could love me? Help me have the happiness everyone around me seems to desire so much…Could you?" You blinked in surprise. That was not the question you were expecting. Ketch was very, very good at masking his feelings. There were rarely any signs of vulnerability in the man, though you were able to catch them here and there. Your mind was in a state of confusion so you said the first thing you could think of.
"That's two questions." Ketch scoffed lightly, but looked away from you. Even from his profile you could tell he was upset. You rose from your seat and closed the space between you. He turned his head so he could look at you once more. Without taking your eyes off his, you gently took the hand that wasn't in his pocket in your hand. "Truth?" you asked and he nodded. "Those were the rules after all, were they not?"
"I do. I know someone could love you. Someone doeslove you, Ke-Arthur." The only sign that Ketch was caught off guard was the slight tightening of his hand around yours. "Really?" he asked, disbelief lacing his voice. You never heard him sound so insecure before. It was odd. Still, you smiled. "Really." Your free hand moved up to cup his cheek.
You felt your heart hammering in your chest as a smirk replaced his look of disbelief. "I thought so. The sentiment is returned, darling." You wanted to be mad at him. He'd gotten you to admit something that you were petrified to admit. Still, with him so close, it was hard to think about anything other than having him as close as possible.
Just as Ketch's lips were about to meet yours, the doors burst open. The two of you sprang apart like two teenagers being caught making out on the parent's couch. "Oh, um…carry on," Donna's voice came from the doorway. She ushered Jody out, saying, "Nothing to see here, Jody. Move along." You felt your face heat up as Ketch let out a laugh, prompting you to do the same. You knew you'd never hear the end of this from Jody. Ketch took your hand again, placing a kiss to the back of it, before leading you out to the car.
This is a birthday imagine for starryangelimagines. I hope you have an amazing day. Love you!
Arthur checked himself over once more as he adjusted his tie. After helping the Winchesters defeat Chuck he retired from the hunting life for good. A while after he met and fell in love with a beautiful woman. Her name was Y/N. And she was absolutely the most stunning woman he had ever met. Now she was his girlfriend and they lived together. Tonight was her birthday. And he made sure tonight would be a night she'd never forget. Just as he finished fixing his tie Y/N walked in wearing the gown he had purchased for her for tonight. "How do I look?" she asked a little shyly. Ketch's intense but loving gaze always made her cheeks heat up.
"You my darling," he said walking over to her and gently grabbing her hand, "just keep getting more beautiful every time I see you," he placed a soft kiss on her knuckles.
"Always the charmer Mr. Ketch," she teased.
"Ony for you love," he said holding out his arm, "are we ready?" She nodded taking his arm and he led her outside. She softly gasped as her eyes widened. There waiting for them was a white carriage being pulled by two beautiful, black horses.
"This is for us?" she asked. He nodded as he helped her into the carriage.
"Where to Sir?" the driver of the carriage asked. Y/N's eyes widened again when he mentioned the name of one of the fanciest restaurants in London.
"Are you planning on spoiling me tonight?" she asked with a wide smile.
"Kitten if I have it my way you will be spoiled every single day," he said placing a soft kiss on her hand. Once they arrived at the restaurant and were seated the pair enjoyed their meal and talked. The place was so romantic. It was dimly lit and not very many other people were there. It was almost like the world melted away. After dinner, they headed back to the carriage and were now off to a secret location. Y/N rested her head on Ketch's shoulder as she watched the streets slowly go by. The carriage stopped and Ketch lead her up a little hidden path. It lead to a small gazebo. It had flowers around it and a little swinging sofa.
"What's this?" she asked.
"I figured we could sit here and look up at the stars," he said. She noticed then there was no ceiling on the gazebo. She smiled.
"It's beautiful," she told him. The two of them got comfy and she cuddled into Ketch's side as he wrapped his arm around her and gently started to swing. Y/N looked up at the twinkling stars. "Beyond beautiful,".
"It is," he agreed, "but it pales in comparison to your beauty Love,". She blushed at the sweet words. The warm breeze blowing and the quietness of the night soon had Y/N closing her eyes. The slow swinging movement almost lulling her to sleep. Ketch looked over and smiled.
"How about we head home?" he suggested and she hummed in agreement. Soon the carriage was pulling back up in front of their house. Ketch paid the driver as Y/N gave both horses a few pats. Ketch took her hand and they both headed inside.
"Well this was an amazing night Ketch," Y/N told him.
"The night isn't over yet darling," he said leading his love into the kitchen. When they walked into the room ketch pulled out a table chair for and she sat down.
"Now what is a birthday without something sweet?" he said as he opened the freezer door and pulled an already made bowl of her favorite ice cream. It even had all her favorite toppings on it. He then reached into the refrigerator and pulled a slice of her favorite cake out. There is even a pretty candle in it. He places them in front of her and lit the candle.
"You got cake and Ice cream for me?" she asked surprised.
"Of course," he said, "something sweet for the sweetest birthday girl,".
"You are too sweet to me Mr. Ketch," She said as he handed her a spoon and kissed her nose.
"I will be right back," he said before leaving her to enjoy the birthday treat. She was almost done with her cake and ice cream when Ketch came back in.
"Thank you, Ketch, you truly have spoiled me today," she informed him.
"You deserve it and again not over just yet," he said as he walked over to her and held out his hand. She took it as he lead her up the steps to the bathroom. When they walked into the room the scene before her was beautiful. There was a bubble bath drawn and candles lit around it. There were rose petals on the floor. A tray with a bottle of wine and two short stem glasses sat by the tub.
"I thought we could relax in a nice bath together," he said, "unless you want the bath to yourself,".
"Of course not," she said, "nothing sounds better than snuggling in the bathtub with the love of my life,". Soon the two of them were in the tub. Y/N rested against Ketch's chest as they both enjoyed the wine.
"This is nice," she told him.
"It is," he said, "can you hand me the soap from the box?". Y/N reached up and opened the soap holder. But instead of finding soap, she found a little velvet box. She looked at Ketch who just smiled. She opened it and gasped at the gorgeous ring inside.
"What's this?" she asked. He leaned over and kissed your cheek.
"I love you so much Y/N," he told you, "and I promise to spoil you forever if you do me the honor of being my wife,". Y/N smiled as she teared up.
"We'll spoil each other," she said as she softly kissed his lips.
