Just my Type
You're literally just my type
You have a pulse and you are breathing
Saint Motel, "Just my Type."
Warning 18 content
Minors do not interact
Violence and injury
sexually explicit scenes
Alcohol and drug references
Discussion of intimate partner abuse; verbal, emotional and physical
Discussion of pregnancy and termination
OC/Dean Winchester
OC/Arthur Ketch
Love triangle
Drama
Romance
Smut
Angst
Dark Themes
Cringe (extreme)
Song Lyrics
Archer References
Anti Monsanto
Summary: reclusive blood banker, Morgan, is focusing on paying off credit card debt and grappling with her life as a single and friendless thirty something. She did not expect to be pulled into a vampire hunt gone wrong, leading her into the world of supernatural monster hunting. The men of letters don't like loose ends so they offer Morgan a job to make sure she isn't a leak. At first the pay bump seems like it will wipe Morgan's slate clean, but slowly Morgan starts to realize the dark world she has found herself a part of. Intrigue and tension form when she finds herself torn between the affections of two men.
On the one hand, Dean Winchester offers her a fun loving compassionate partner. Is Dean ready to settle into a relationship and all the commitment and baggage that goes along with it?
Arthur is harder to win over. Morgan isn't sure if his interest is superficial or not. But when they create a bond as friends Morgan starts to wonder where the relationship could go.
Love triangle between Morgan with Arthur and Dean while another triangle centered on Arthur forms between him and Mary and Morgan.
Does Morgan have a crush on the guy who banged her FWB's mom?
Now That's what I call Drama 2024
Chapter One
The Sharpest Lives
Give me a shot to remember
And you can take all the pain away from me
Your kiss and I will surrender
The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead
A light to burn all the empires
So bright the sun is ashamed to rise and be
In love with all of these vampires
So you can leave like the sane abandoned me
My Chemical Romance, "The Sharpest Lives."
Morgan made sure not to forget her gun Friday morning. However, it would not do her any good that night. It had also not done her any good Tuesday evening, when it was sitting in her bedroom, and she was being forced at gunpoint into a van. Morgan had called the police and told them about the attack after she had been left, on the ground outside of work, drowsy and shivering cold.
And so for the third day in a row, Morgan slept with her home alarm on, her rifle ready by her bed, and she strapped her Glock .45 on as soon as she woke up.
The police had taken her report. She'd gone to the hospital. Of course they couldn't do much for her. Everyone was out of blood.
Blood
Blood
Morgan had never been in a county so dry of the stuff- no, so thirsty. And she had been traveling as a blood banker for five years. In that time she had worked in four other cities, in major blood banks and trauma centers. Penbroke county Kansas beat them all. Morgan had never heard of blood theft in her field, but it was a known and fairly common occurrence in Penbroke. Morgan got an uneasy feeling some labs might have inside help, but she couldn't fathom why they were so frequent. She never heard about refugees or organized crime, or well, anything that would explain it. And what happened Tuesday only left Morgan with questions and not answers.
Maybe that was why Morgan found herself circling the blood bank at seven thirty that night as pink lines shot across the sky. She clicked her headlights on and made another slow loop around the scene of her attack. She wanted answers.
As the sky turned a dusty lavender and small pinprick stars began to show, Morgan quit her loop and made a right turn instead, leading back to the highway and ultimately, home. However, upon turning down Lincoln street she felt her car suddenly stutter, and a light on her dash blinked on along with a ding from the vehicle: low tire pressure.
Morgan instantly sensed something was off. She pulled her Glock out first, and then her phone, unlocking it with her shaking left hand while she tried to keep her right on the gun as steady as possible. Good thing 911 is only three numbers.
"Police fire or medical?"
"Police," Morgan answered. She tried to remain calm, putting her phone on speaker so she could put both hands on her gun.
"Police, what is your emergency?"
The passenger side window exploded into the car. Morgan shrieked in surprise, instinctively backing out through the driver's door into the street. Across the top of the car she saw the man who had smashed the window in. Acting as quickly as she could, Morgan aimed and fired her gun straight at him.
She staggered back, adrenaline coursing through her as she turned and saw her attacker now standing fully on her other side, blocking her in by the car. It was definitely the same man, with a short blond ponytail and dark jacket over his plain white shirt. Shocked, Morgan still found herself squeezing the trigger and unloading another bullet at her attacker, but this time she used the moment it bought her to dive away from him, running as fast as she could.
She wasn't thinking so much as she was acting on impulse. When she got to the end of the block she stopped and turned to take a breath. Impossibly, he was there, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and moving her.
Somehow she was able to squirm free and found herself on the ground. She unloaded the rest of her shots into the attacker, but it wasn't enough. The next thing she knew she was being roughly lifted and slammed back into a hard brick wall.
She had a second to draw in a breath before the attacker was closing his hand around her throat, preventing more airflow. On instinct and adrenaline alone, Morgan's hand slammed up into her attacker's face, just in time for the butt of her gun to crash into his wide open mouth. His hand loosened around her neck and she gasped.
It only lasted a heartbeat before he had Morgan's hand by the wrist and had pinned her painfully to the bricks behind her. When he bared his teeth again Morgan could only close her eyes and brace herself for the bite that was coming.
Instead something warm splashed across her face. The hands on her neck and wrist went limp. Morgan blinked past the warm liquid to see his head sliding off his shoulders. His body fell over next, revealing a shadowy figure behind him.
Morgan was paralyzed with fear and shock. The figure moved a little closer and Morgan could see he was holding a long knife, a machete. He had dirty blond hair and light tan skin, pretty features but a masculine face.
He stood still, and his eyes met hers over the body he had just cleaved in two.
"Are you okay?" He asked her. His voice was deep and a little gruff.
Morgan couldn't speak, her throat paralyzed with shock. She finally tore her eyes from her rescuer and down to the corpse at her feet. His headless body was chest up and she could see five bullet holes in his shirt. She had struck her target with almost perfect aim but hadn't even slowed him down.
Looking down, Morgan suddenly became aware of her own blood soaked chest, and the realization of what was on her face curdled in her stomach. She swept the back of her sleeve over her face, leaning against the wall for support. She vomited. It mixed with the blood pooling out of the body and formed a vile puddle in the alleyway.
Morgan's body was alight with shock and remaining fear. Pins and needles invaded each of her cells, and she felt light and dizzy. She flexed her fingers and found them sticky with drying blood.
"Hey, are you hurt?" her rescuer asked again. The knife fell from his hand and he took Morgan by the shoulders very gently. Morgan didn't know if it was smart to trust this man, but at this point she didn't care anymore. Her body was spent, her gun was empty, and she could barely hold herself up. She swayed on her feet and his grip on her tightened.
"Woah, okay sweetheart, I've got you." He said softly. Morgan found her hands reaching for him, grasping the loose flannel on his chest. She was able to look up and meet his eyes, mossy emerald green, and then her legs completely gave out and black filled her vision.
Sam killed a third vamp and went to catch up to dean. Turning into the alley he saw his brother crouched over a woman's body. He felt apprehension turn in his stomach and he called out "Dean? Is she..."
"She's alive," Dean answered. He stood up, lifting the girl with him. Sam made his way to the back of the alley to eye the vampire corpse dean had left behind. "She's a little bruised up, but she'll live."
The faint sound of sirens in the distance made both hunters move more quickly. Sam and Dean had been drawn to the scene by the sounds of gunshots and a woman screaming so it was unsurprising to hear the police approach. However it left them with the issue of several beheaded vamp corpses.
"Take the girl, get her back to the motel." Sam said, eyes scanning the scene. "I'll clean up before the boys in blue get here."
"Be careful." Dean Agreed. "Meet back at the hotel."
Sam nodded. A quick look passed between the two, an acknowledgement of the weight of their respective tasks, before they parted ways.
Dean quickly disappeared around the corner, heading towards the impala and Sam turned his attention to the vamp corpse. Disposing of vampire bodies was an essential part of hunting them- not just because the more powerful blood suckers could reattach their severed heads to their shoulders and come back, but also because it stopped the locals from having the fright of their lives during the autopsy process. Sam stopped to admire the bullet grouping on the vamp's corpse. Five shots. All centered on the chest. She only missed once. He thought, impressed.
His eyes scanned around for Dean's machete, a tool he would be using to transport the body more easily. It was laying on the pavement next to the vamp's head. Sam pulled a trash bag from his pocket and bent to bag the first piece of the body, lifting the head by the hair. Before he bagged it, Sam's eye was caught by something on its face.
"Winchester," A cool voice behind him drawled. Sam turned to see Ketch sauntering into the dimly lit alleyway. Behind him Mick Davies trailed after him.
"Mick. Ketch." Sam acknowledged them curtly. "Looks like you guys are just in time to help clean up."
"There was a scream," Ketch said. "Any victims?"
"A survivor. Dean's taking care of her." Sam replied. "There are two more beheaded in the lot on the other side of this building," He added pointedly. Mick turned to head to the empty lot but Ketch kept approaching, a smirk on his face.
"How is it Dean always seems to be the one taking care of the damsels?" He asked.
"I don't know, how is it you guys only seem to get here after all the bad guys are already dead?" Sam shot back.
Arthur paused a moment before turning to follow Mick, his eyes drawn to the vamp head still in Sam's hands, evidently noticing the same thing he had.
"That's quite a shot," he remarked. Sam lifted the head, bringing it to eye level to examine the mark placed squarely between the vamps eyebrows.
"It sure is." Sam muttered.
