#Ketch Oneshot

[5sospenguinqueen]

Sam: Why is Dean crying on the floor?

Y/N: He took one of those 'which Supernatural character are you?' quizzes.

Sam: And?

Y/N: He got Ketch.

(Dean sobs harder)

[castielscaplan]

Reasons to Stay (ketch/reader)

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.

You were just tired.

But you were here. And so was he.

And that… that was enough to begin with.

--

//PLEASE REBLOG\\

[monsieuroverlord]

April 2025 Solicits are UP!

source here

Storm #7

Written by Murewa Ayodele, art by Luciano Vecchio, main cover by Mateus Manhanini

"• Fifty years ago, ORORO MUNROE – the iconic STORM – made her debut in GIANT-SIZE X-MEN #1 – thundering her way into our hearts!

• On this day, in her very own solo series, she will host a mix of debuts, reinventions and guest appearances of FIVE legendary thunder gods: THOR, CHAAC, SANGO, MAMARAGAN and SUSANOO!

• But first, a mission to BRAZIL goes horribly wrong. How much more can our hero endure?"

Hellverine #5

Written by Bejamin Percy, art by Raffaele Ienco, main cover by Kendrick "kunkka" Lim

Variant by Sumit Kumar, and variant by David Yardin to be revealed

"MEPHISTO VS. HELLVERINE!

MEPHISTO created the Demon BAGRA-GHUL for his entertainment – and now the demonic lord is not amused by DAKEN turning HELLVERINE against Hell! It’s time for Hellverine to pay…and this devil isn’t making any deals!"

Psylocke #6

written by Alyssa Wong, art by Vincenzo Carratù, main cover by Mahmud Asrar

"• Psylocke is one of the X-Men’s most dangerous and skillful telepaths.

• So why is her own mind the one thing she can’t seem to control?

• Kwannon has begun to accept her past, but are some things better left buried?"

Laura Kinney: Wolverine #5

written by Erica Schultz, art by Giada Belviso, main cover by Elena Casagrande

"HYDRA ATTACK!

• A deranged HYDRA scientist has unleashed his deadly robots, but LAURA KINNEY, THE WOLVERINE, and BUCKY BARNES, THE REVOLUTION, fight metal with metal as the claws, cybernetics and tentacles fly!

• Our heroes have traveled a great distance to stop this threat, but will everyone make it out of this road trip alive?"

Spirits of Violence #2 (of 5)

(turns out it's a mini series, not a oneshot like I thought!!!)

written by Sabir Pirzada, art by Paul Davidson, main cover by Kendrick "kunkka" Lim

"Johnny Blaze and Danny Ketch have learned of the existence of a new and dangerous Spirit! An entity called THE SPIRIT OF VIOLENCE – but as the entity targets the Ghost Riders and those closest to them, will anyone be able to stand in its path? AND WILL THEY SURVIVE?!"

Deadpool #13

written by Cody Ziglar, art by Rogê Antônio, main cover by Taurin Clarke

"THE ROAD TO REVENGE!

• DEATH GRIP killed DEADPOOL – and now that he’s better, WADE is out to return the favor! Armed with a DEADLY NEW WEAPON, his first stop is SOLEM, the mutant who armed Mr. Grip with the MURAMASA BLADE that did him in. Karma time!

• PLUS: A short but crucial guest appearance from WOLVERINE!"

[velvourne]

you found me.

stories live here—some whispered, some sharp.

this is the thread through the chaos.

read at your own risk.

— 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖘𝖙 —

《thus far...》

𝖘𝖚𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖆𝖑

▸ dean winchester

▸ sam winchester

▸ castiel

▸ arthur ketch

▸ amara

▸ ruby

𝖉𝖈

▸ dick grayson

▸ jason todd

𝖛𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘

▸ damon salvatore

𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑

▸ moira burton

𝖌𝖎𝖑𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑𝖘

▸ dean forester

— 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙 —

▸ velvourne on tiktok, instagram, ao3

▸ curious? my spotify

▸ this is an 18+ blog. i am not responsible for what you choose to consume. tread carefully.

▸ i no longer support ai in any shape or form. i will be focusing on expanding my future stories into oneshots instead of wasting them on bot greetings.

▸ requests: closed.

— 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘 —

#venus writes

#venus posts

#venus' fic recs

leave the light on.

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xoxo,

– Venus

[skylarmoon71]

Mick Davies (Supernatural) - Oneshot

Word Count: 5k+. The ending for Mick made me sad, so I made this little fic to feel better. Enjoy!

They’ve made some questionable choices, so at this point, you really shouldn’t be surprised. 

“YOU WHAT!!” 

Dean winced. 

“Listen, I’m not crazy about them either. Especially after they tried to gank us.” 

“Then why the hell are you working with them!!” 

“Because we can help.” 

Mick walked into the room, and your entire posture changed. Instinctively you reached for your gun, and Sam stepped in front of you to deescalate the situation. 

Standing in the bunker, you wanted to understand why the boys were even contemplating this. It wasn’t just the fact that their operative had tried to kill the boys, but they’d managed to get Mary on their side. You would have understood if you weren’t a naturally cautious person. 

“All we’d like to do is help. This partnership would be beneficial on both sides.” 

You still weren’t convinced, but from the looks the boys were giving you, it’s clear that they’d made up their minds. You didn’t like it, but at the moment, you don’t have a choice. Lowering your gun, you glare at Mick. 

“If anything happens to any of them, you’re the first one I’m killing. Then I’ll gut that guard dog of yours.” 

Mick didn’t look very ecstatic at the threat, but nodded. 

“Understood.” 

That was the way it started. 

Mick would join on cases. There was still the search for Kelly, while Cas was working his angle, you were doing yours, so there were days you would be gone from the bunker days at a time. You were grateful that they’d offered you a place to stay a few years ago. It was nice to have a home, even if it was an apocalyptic structured safe house. 

“Back in the books again.” 

The sound of Mick’s voice diverts your attention. The frown on your face deepens, because the boys are making a food run. So you’re left babysitting. You just turn back to your book, and he wears a tight smile, sliding his hands into his pocket. 

“I understand that our partnership isn’t to your liking, but I assure you that our only intentions are the same. We all want to eradicate monsters.” 

“Is that what your little loose canon was doing when she tortured Sam?” 

He’s not impressed by the statement, and you finally stand. 

“Sam and Dean aren’t idiots, they know as well as I do how this all works. It’s smooth sailing right now, but what happens when we disagree with the way you handle a situation, are you going to kill us like you did those soldiers, or that girl?”

He seems surprised. 

You know he didn’t expect you to find out, but you’re frugal. You haven’t survived so long being careless. Before you met the boys, you were on your own. Looking out for yourself is second nature. Now with them, you feel obligated to do the same. 

Mick’s jaw is clenched tightly. 

“Everything we do is to protect this country.” 

“Is that what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night? It must have been like any other run when you lost your people.” 

Your taunt seems to trigger a response. He steps forward and you falter for a second, because he looks pissed. 

“You have no right to speak so lightly of their deaths. Those were my people!!” 

He’s never yelled before, and when you hear the sound of feet walking in, Sam is quick to pull you both apart, 

“Alright, cool down kids.” 

Dean says creating a barrier. 

You back up, now feeling a bit guilty. It’s true you were trying to get a rise out of him, but you didn’t expect him to get so heated. Ketch was a lot less empathetic, so you assumed the same with him. Turning your head, you walk off. No use poking the bear further. You can admit when you’ve made a mistake. 

After the argument, you decided that you needed a few days away from anything connected to the British Men of Letters. So you took a hunt in Oklahoma while Sam, Dean and Mick were tracking a werewolf in Iowa. 

At least that’s what you thought. 

“Damn hunters!!” 

You grunted as your body was thrown across the room. The landing was harsh, you definitely cracked a rib, or two. 

Staggering to your feet, the woman just laughed. You were disoriented, and your weapon was now on the other side of the room. 

“You’re going to taste great.” 

You lifted your hands to defend, but the gun shots echoed, and then you saw the blade, right before the head of the ghoul rolled onto the floor. Holding your side, you stared as Dean sent you a smile with a blade in his hand and Mick lowered his gun. 

“Looked like you needed a hand dear.”

You weren’t sure what was more irritating, the fact that Mick seems to have greatly improved at hunting, or that he’s looking so stupidly smug. 

There wasn’t much conversation after that. 

After the encounter, all of you skipped town. You were in the backseat with Mick, glaring at the boys. 

“I had it handled.” 

“Yeah, cause it looked handled.”  Dean snarks. 

“I thought you guys were in Iowa?” 

“We were, but when we called to check in and you didn’t pick up, we figured we’d make the trip.” 

You frown, looking out the window. Truthfully you’re grateful for the help. 

“Did you have to bring the brit?” 

“The brit that saved your life, might I add.” Mick counters. 

“Hey, I was the one that chopped her head off.” Dean complains. 

“You want a prize?” You ask sarcastically. 

Dean just continued to grumble childishly, and Sam laughs, shaking his head. 

Regardless of the outcome, the ghoul was dead and you’d escaped with minimum damage. With your pride in your hand, you went bounding through the door, straight to your room. Mick looked about ready to follow you to have a discussion, but Dean grabbed his arm. 

“Give her space. It’s gonna take a while for her to adjust to all of this.” 

Mick didn’t like leaving those matters unresolved, but Sam seemed to be in agreement, so he folded. 

He hoped that with each case that the four of you worked, the closer you would become. Sam and Dean were opening up, but you were still keeping him at arm's length. He knew he couldn’t force it. He’d gained similar resistance when he first tried to recruit hunters. 

It’s clear that this would just be another uphill battle. 

“Are you sure this is the right address?” 

“I believe I am capable of reading an address.” 

His sarcastic response just made you roll your eyes as you both exited the abandoned building. There seemed to be nothing out of place, but your eyes caught the markings on the wall and you froze. Dean and Sam had asked you to follow up on a lead that you had with finding Kelly, and somehow Mick had volunteered to be your partner on the trip. You thought it was another dead end, but the scuff marks in the design of angel wings were easy to spot. 

“Is that-” 

“An angel.” 

The new voice made you both turn around. 

“Are you the ones responsible for smiting my brother?” 

The man standing before you looked pissed, and you moved in front of Mick protectively. 

“We just got here. We’re fighting the same war here, stopping the birth of the literal spawn of you know who. How about we all play nice?” 

“And if I refuse?” 

You dropped the angel blade from your sleeve, gripping the hilt. 

“It wasn’t a request. Back off or you’ll be joining wings over there.” 

He gritted his teeth, but did nothing. After a beat, he stepped back, walking away. You knew with how many angels had already been killed, they couldn’t afford to lose anymore.

Your shoulders relaxed, and when you turned, Mick offered a small smile. 

“I appreciate you standing in to protect my honor.” 

He jokes. 

“Don’t read too much into it. It would just be too much work carrying a body. “ 

You said nothing else, walking away, and Mick just followed behind. 

More than anything, you wanted to hate him, if nothing but to ensure that when those British douchebags went rogue, you wouldn’t feel anything. Yet, with every case, Mick seemed to prove you wrong. He might not have been the best hunter, but he wasn’t like the others. 

Certainly not like Ketch who probably would have left you to bleed out the moment he saw you as a liability. 

That’s why you were a bit surprised that Mick was managing your weight as he rushed you back to the motel. Thes second you both got into the door, he was moving to the bed. You winced. You knew he was trying to be careful, his soft apologies enough proof. 

“I suppose Wendigos are more tricky than we assumed.” 

You’d managed to stop the cannibalistic monster, not without injury. The claw marks on your stomach were prominent. You laid back, trying to catch your breath as Mick rushed into the bathroom, probably to grab a towel. He came back out with one, moving to your side. All of his movements were careful, and when he lifted your shirt, the amount of blood was worrying. 

You were sweating profusely, and Mick cursed under his breath, moving to grab his bag. You were a bit out of it, but you could still make out a bit of his movements. 

“Cas and Dean are closer, but with the rate you’re bleeding, you won’t last longer than an hour, we must stop the bleeding now. “ 

It took you a moment to realize he was mixing something into a bowl. You weren’t sure exactly what it was, but then he pulled out a knife and slit his palm, leaking his blood into the bowl. In seconds he was back at your side, raising his palm as he chanted something you couldn’t make out. You did however feel the flash of pain in your torso. 

You screamed and Mick lowered his head, closing his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to cause you pain. The spell was excruciating, he knew that, but if it was between a few moments of pain and watching you bleed out, he knew which option he would take. When your screams died out, your head lulled to the side, eyes closed. 

You were unconscious. 

Given the severity of your wound, he wasn’t surprised. He lowered to bowl unto the dresser, sighing in relief when the wound was no longer gushing out blood. This spell was a temporary fix. 

Many British hunters had used it as an aid in the more detrimental cases, mostly as a delay until they could seek proper medical care when injured in the field. 

He was back at your side, running his hand over your hair as he prayed that they would get here fast. 

As faith would have it, twenty minutes later Dean and Cas were practically bursting through the door. 

When they saw the wound, and your state, Cas was clearly confused, but he made quick work at healing you. Once it was clear you were out of danger, Mick explained the situation and advised that with all the screaming you had done, it was probably better that they left before someone came looking. 

Dean didn’t need any more convincing. 

By the time they made it back to the bunker, you were regaining consciousness. A bit groggy, but fine. 

Sam had practically crushed you in a hug and Dean, as well as Cas looked relieved. 

When you were out of your bloody clothes and ready to grab a drink for your crappy night, you didn’t expect Mick to still be there. He was in the main room, at the table, a glass in his hand. 

His gaze seemed distant, and when he noticed your presence, he stood. 

“Well, it seems my worry was a waste. You are practically a Winchester at this point. Indestructible. “ 

His playful words lacked the usual lightness to it, and you weren’t sure what to say, how to respond. From what Dean told you, the only reason you were still breathing was because of Mick. His spell had clotted your blood long enough to hold out for Cas. You’re appreciative, of course you are, but in your mind, there’s conflict. Maybe he could read it, because he placed down the glass, keeping his distance. 

“I know you don’t trust me, and there isn’t much I can say to change that, but I do want to help.” 

You could see how earnest he was, and he had saved your life, so maybe you could extend just a small olive branch. 

“Okay.” 

It was all you could get yourself to say. 

He wasn’t sure what it meant, but there seemed to be a mutual understanding of what this was. So he gave a nod, lifting his glass with a dip of his head. 

After that, there was a little more ease in your exchanges. You had his back, the same way he had yours. The more time you spent, the more he learnt and the less you felt like you had to keep a constant eye on him. 

On one of your more casual hunts, there was less injury. Aside from the door Mick had gotten thrown through, it all turned out okay. 

“I suppose a popped shoulder is a win in the eyes of most hunters.” 

Seated in his spare room at the bunker, you kept lecturing him to stay still so you could reset his shoulder. He finally obeyed and with one quick move, the crack echoed and he groaned as you removed your hands. He did a few rolls, testing it, before he turned to offer his thanks. 

“Good as new. Cheers love.” 

He commended. 

You lifted your head to respond, but the lack of distance became very noticeable and you swallowed at the way his eyes were now watching you so carefully, as if taking it all in. 

“Thank you, truly.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

You muttered. 

You couldn’t maintain eye contact, looking down at your feet. 

You weren’t sure why you were now acting so bashful. This was Mick after all. You wish your heart would obey and stop hammering. Nothing good would come of this. 

“I’m going to check in with Dean. “ 

It was a lame excuse, and the only one you could give as you exited the room. 

The longer he was around, the harder it became to deny that your once mistrustful view of the man was changing. With each case you seemed to observe more, like how dependable he was, or intelligent, especially when it came to lore. 

He might not be the best fighter, but he held the wisdom of a dozen encyclopedias. Then there was the way your name would just roll off his tongue when he was imparting knowledge on a case, or informing you of some monster you lacked insight on. 

“(Y/N).” 

For a moment you paused, because he’d been using your name more and more, and each time it left a little flutter in your stomach. When you realized all the eyes in the room were trained on you, you were quick to school your features. 

“What is it?” 

You tried your best to keep your tone neutral as you took a seat, waiting for them to update you on the most recent case with a witch. 

Once the tasks were dished out, you were all splitting up to work every angle. Mick stopped you before you could enter the car, sending you a subtle look of worry. 

“Are you alright?” 

You nodded, a bit distracted by the way his eyes emitted so much, just for you. 

“I might not be your biggest fan at the moment, but I am here for you.”

That felt like another part you couldn’t shake, his worry for you. There was nothing truly wrong, but he was here offering to be a shoulder for you to lean on. 

“I’m fine.” 

Nothing else was said. Just like that, the three of you were back on the road as Mick headed to his headquarters to catch up on reports. 

The case was easy enough, had you not been distracted the entire time. Hence the reason you were now passed out on the couch in the bunker. After the initial ganking of the witch, you hadn’t managed to evade the last attack. The second they realized you’d been struck, Dean was hitting the books and Sam was dialing up Rowena for advice or help. 

When you passed out, their worry increased. 

The second Sam was off the phone, Dean was ready for a miracle. 

“Good news, this spell isn’t fatal. It’s more of a truth serum. Rowena says it should wear off in a few hours. Turns out the witch gave it to some kid at the high school, she was hoping to take out an entire class, but he messed up the spell. He ended up making a mistake, so it wasn’t as potent. All the kids just got madly honest.” Sam reports. 

“That’s why she went after the girl. When it wasn't working in her favor, she figured she’d do things the old fashion way.” 

“Exactly.” 

Sam concludes. 

Dean just shrugged. 

“Glad we ganked her ass. How long until (Y/N) wakes up?” 

Sam looked a bit worried. 

“Rowena didn’t say. All the other kids went back to normal after a day, so we might just have to wait it out.”

Dean nods, then eyes you a bit suspiciously. 

“Hey, the spell was made for teenagers right?”

Sam’s brows furrowed. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Well, wouldn’t the effects be different? Teenagers are all hormones but she’s an adult. What exactly are we preparing for?” 

Sam seemed a bit curious now.

“Not sure. I was just happy there was a no death slip attached to it.” 

Dean couldn’t help but agree. Cases, especially with witches tend to be a lot more detrimental.

When they heard you begin to stir against the couch, they both moved to your side. Dean kneeled and Sam took a seat. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” 

You were rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“I..I don’t know.” 

You started to straighten against the cushions. 

“Well we’re glad you're okay. When that witch came at you we got scared. I made sure and put a half dozen bullets in her, just on principle.” Dean states. 

Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean continued to grin, relieved that you were for the most part, okay.

“You..you saved me from the witch?” 

“Sure did.” Dean boasted. 

He expected you to make some snarky response, but when you looked at him, your lips quivered. He was about to question it, but you leaned forward, wrapping your hands around his neck as you hugged him tightly. 

He fell back on his butt in surprise, you landing right into his lap. 

“You’re the best Dean, thank you!” 

He was a bit confused, and Sam raised a brow as Dean made a face, patting your back awkwardly. 

“You’re welcome…?” 

Sam shrugged, and you pulled away with a smile, turning your gaze to Dean.

“You helped too didn’t you Sam?” 

“Uhh..y-yeah I guess.” 

You just gave a tearful smile as you stood, moving over to hug him too. Given the adjusted position, your chest was basically pressed into his face. He froze, arms extended awkwardly as you held him there. Dean was doing his best not to burst into laughter at his brother’s predicament. 

“You guys are the best friends I’ve ever had. I love you.” 

“L-Love you too..” 

Sam muttered, hoping that you would pull away. You did after a few seconds and he wore an awkward smile as you beamed at him. 

“Well, umm since you’re okay, let’s just stay in for the time being. Just to make sure there aren’t any lingering effects.” Sam advised. 

“Sounds good to me! You’re so smart Sam, and your hair is so cute and fluffy.” 

You reached for it, patting his hair like a child and this time Dean let out his laugh. You weren’t sure why he was laughing, but you joined in. 

For the next few hours, they just did research and stayed updated with Cas and Mary. You would go back and forth making sweet comments and asking innocent questions like..

“What’s a treesome?” 

Sam almost choked on his beer and Dean was quick to swipe his laptop from its spot on the table before you. He closed it, clearing his throat. 

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” 

Sam sent Dean an unimpressed look. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault she’s got a teenage brain right now.”

“Maybe if you watched something other than porn it would help.” 

“What’s porn?” 

“NOTHING!” 

They both replied. 

You simply shrugged, and Dean took a seat next to you to get back to the books. You were bouncing in your seat in a childish manner and Sam couldn’t help but appreciate how carefree you seemed like this. 

“I guess with adults it makes them innocent and honest.” He observed. 

“I guess so.” 

You watched Dean who seemed curious. 

“What?” 

“You have pretty eyes. You’re really handsome Dean.” 

His cheeks flushed at the compliment. It’s not like he’d heard anything new. It was just different coming from you. 

“Well I mean, I guess.” 

Sam was laughing at the suddenly bashful Dean who was usually able to talk up a storm with any woman. 

“Shut up Sammy!!” 

You giggled, placing your cheek in your palm. 

“You’re handsome too Sam. Really handsome. I’m so lucky.” 

Sam gave a smile. 

“Thank you (Y/N).” 

You were smiling right back at him as the door to the bunker opened. The idea of more company made you happy, Sam could tell by the excitement in your eyes. When they saw who it was, the nodded to the man. 

“Mick, what’s up?” 

Sam spoke casually. 

He was about to inform on any new updates, but you jumped out of your seat and they all turned to you. Your cheeks were flushed and you were stumbling over your words, just staring at Mick. Your behavior had all of them lost. When you were finally able to speak, it was all hurried. 

“I-I’m going to my room!!” 

You were bolting off without so much as a goodbye, and silence stretched in the space for a good few seconds. 

They were all a bit puzzled, trying to figure out your weird behavior. Then, just like that, Dean looked like a lightbulb went off over his head, and he shuffled over to Sam whispering something in his ear. Mick looked on curiously. 

“You’re kidding.” Sam stated. 

“It makes sense.” Dean reasoned. 

“Something I should be informed of gentlemen?” 

Dean pursed his lips, then grinned. 

“Actually, how about you do a little errand. (Y/N) left these books. You should take it to her. You know, a show of good faith.” 

Mick didn’t really see the angle Dean was working, but he had to admit that any way to get on your good side seemed beneficial. 

“Very well.” 

He moved to the table, taking the books. 

As he walked over, he tried to analyze why you’d practically sprinted to your room without an explanation. He stopped when he got to his desired destination. 

With a soft knock, he stood waiting to be invited in. 

“Come in!” 

Your voice sounded chipper, a  complete contrast to the way you were when you bolted earlier. 

He opened the door, greeted by a bright smile. Yet, the moment you saw it was him, that expression changed. 

“M-Mick!” 

He closed the door, fully expecting you to maybe yell at him. Maybe he’d done something you disliked. It wouldn’t be the first time. He held your books, about to present his case, but he was a bit thrown off by your flustered expression. 

“D-Did Dean send you because he knows I have a crush on you!” 

Your tone was accusing, and suddenly your nervousness made sense. 

Mick stammered, a bit lost, clearly surprised. 

“I..I..pardon?” 

He must have heard wrong, you could not have said a crush.

You were now pacing. 

“We got back from a hunt with a witch and I got zapped. So they said we’d stay in. They are so nice. We’ve been hanging out in the bunker all day. Dean is so funny and Sam is so sweet. I’m so happy. They took care of me. They even let me help with research. B-But then you came and he must have noticed. I’m so stupid why didn’t I hide it better.” 

You dropped onto the bed, eyes lowered to your lap. 

“I’m sorry Mick, I really didn’t want to make things awkward.” 

He was still trying to figure out what was happening. You were acting completely out of character. Then the story of witch hunt ran back over in his head, and the pouty expression on your face started to make sense.

“Those wankers.” 

They knew full well that you’d been spelled. It’s clear they’d sent him in for their own amusement. He wasn't really sure how to handle the situation. Mainly because this was out of his element. He was used to your combative nature. Now you were almost meek, and apologetic. Sighing, he placed down the books on your dresser next to the door. 

“I get it if you don’t want to be friends anymore Mick.” 

You sounded hurt at the thought, and he let out another heavy sigh, moving over to you. 

“There is no need for an apology. It’s clear that all of this is out of your control.” 

Truthfully, these feelings you’re now expressing might just be effects of the spell. He was hesitant, but he finally took a seat next to you on the bed. You lifted your head, and the adoration in your eyes made him swallow. 

“So we can still be friends, even if you know about my crush?” 

He let out a soft laugh despite himself. 

“You don’t truly have such feelings. This witch that you spoke about, it’s clear that you are under some influence.” 

You shook your head defiantly. 

“That’s not true! I’ve liked you for weeks!” 

The confession was humbling. He should have left well enough alone. Heaven knows when you were back to your old self you would have his head, but he couldn’t help it. He’s been intrigued by you for some time now, but you’ve made a habit of keeping your distance due to your mistrust of him and his organization. Now here you sit, looking at him so cutely, confessing feelings he was not even aware of. 

“Do you truly have feelings for me?” 

He was more curious than anything else. 

“I do! You have really pretty eyes, and you’re super smart. Just like Sam. You’re also really nice sometimes, even when I’m mean to you.” 

A small smile made its way on his lips. 

“Is that all?” 

He urged. 

“Y-You’re accent is really hot  and you smell so nice all the time. It used to drive me crazy, especially when we’re on cases and I ended up covered in monster guts. You always seem to be glowing. It’s like magic.” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle. He supposed he could get used to this. It’s obvious you were struck with some kind of truth spell. 

When you looked down and started to fidget, he leaned in a bit closer. 

“Is something wrong?” 

You nibbled on your lower lip. 

“Do you…do you like me too..” 

It was just above a whisper. He almost didn’t hear it. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how to answer the question. The both of you had gotten a bit closer, at the very least you hadn’t threatened him in a while, but that was as far as your relationship had gone. You weren’t his biggest fan, even if he desperately wanted that space to be gone. 

He’s afraid that regardless of whatever feelings he holds, it would not make much of a difference. You and him are acquaintances at best. You’ve made that quite clear. 

“You like someone else, don’t you?” 

You seemed a bit crushed at the idea, and when you lifted your head, he could see the fresh tears. He wanted to remove them, even though he knew he was the cause. It made no sense. To feel so strongly even though he knew the minute this spell wore off, the both of you would go back to being enemies working towards a common goal. 

He would say anything in that moment to change your expression. 

Cursing under his breath, he cupped your cheek. When he pressed his lips to your own, he swore he’d never felt more alive. His heart was racing in his chest, and a part of his brain expected you to pull away, or punch him in the gut, but you did the opposite. Your hands gripped into his suit, pulling him as close as your bodies would allow and his expression evened out as he melted into the kiss. 

Consequences be damned, this was the best feeling in the world. 

~Extra~

“They’ve been in there a while, you think we should check on them? Maybe she’s killing him.” 

Dean stated. 

“With what? Cookies. She’s like a care bear now.” Sam reasoned. 

“I’m a bit concerned that you know what a care bear is Sam.” 

He just gave Dean an exasperated look.

They were about to go into a verbal battle when he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. You broke the corner with a bright smile. 

“Mick and I kissed!” 

You looked ecstatic, and Mick stumbled into view, looking awkward. 

“Really dude, when she’s spelled?” 

Dean really was the last one who should be judging. 

“I’ll assure you that it never went past a kiss.” Mick spoke, fixing his clothes. 

“There’s more than kissing?” 

You seemed generally lost and Mick’s brows furrowed as he turned back to the boys. 

“Care Bear.” 

Dean stated as if it would explain everything. 

Sam just pressed his palm to his face. 

[ao3feed-wandamaximoff]

Magda and the Chaos of Magic

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/edO7qZH by Ophelia_Yvette Wanda was a lost soul, haunting the roads like a specter. The only thing tethering her to reality any longer was the presence of her sons. That was until Billy sensed something… he’d sensed a girl… a girl that was like her. Little did Wanda know that her life was about to change, once again, for the better. Words: 3494, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Wanda Maximoff, Billy Maximoff, Tommy Maximoff, Magda Peterson Relationships: Billy Maximoff & Tommy Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Magda Peterson Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s12e04 American Nightmare (Supernatural), Post-Episode: s01e09 The Series Finale (WandaVision), Not WandaVision (TV) Compliant, Magda Peterson Lives, Chaos Magic User Magda Peterson, Oneshot, Arthur Ketch Being an Asshole read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/edO7qZH

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Christmas Interruption

Pairing: Ketch x reader

Word Count: 215

Your phone rung during dinner prep. "It's Sam."

Ketch groaned softly, leaving the potatoes half mashed as he crossed the kitchen towards you. Your thumb hovered over the answer button, but Ketch's hand gently wrapped around yours.

"They can do without you, at least this once."

"It could be him wishing us a merry Christmas."

"I highly doubt that." Ketch kissed your cheek. You nodded sadly, declining the call.

The second ring earned an eye roll. The third received an aggravated groan. "I'm sure whatever threat is out there can wait until after Christmas dinner."

Your phone beeped, and you played the voicemail. "Hey, Y/N, it's Sam. I'm sorry this is awful timing, but we're in Iowa tracking Michael. We could use some extra hands. Call when you can. Uh, Merry Christmas to you and Ketch."

Ketch raised a brow. "You know I despise being right." You bit your lip, eyes darting left in thought. When you said nothing Ketch continued. "It isn't fair that he manipulates you like that..."

"It's not fair that Micheal's using Dean."

You frowned, feeling all cheer evaporate from the room.

"I'll get our coats." Ketch kissed your forehead as he passed. 

(Want to be here? Ask me.)

Infinite: @mycuddlycorner @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @andtheraincamefalling  @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 @thewhiterabbit42 @carowinsthings 

Ketch: @heliosparadox @spencercollective  @alangel1895  @sherlockedtash88 @nobodys-baby-now @laurajw14 @blueberrykushlovexoxo-blog  @death-by-teacup  @yeahbecauseimbatman

[winchester-sisters-imagines]

Imagine Hooking Up With Arthur Ketch

Author’s Note: So, Ketch isn’t my favorite, but since seeing how him and Mary got together, I had to write this. I know this isn’t that long, but Ketch doesn’t get anything better since I don’t like him. - Haley xx 

“Well, that was better than expected,” Ketch mumbled, running a hand through your hair.

You chuckled, “Thanks.”

You and your mother Mary have been working with the British Men of Letters, even though your brothers Dean and Sam thought you were stabbing them in the back. You worked tirelessly along with the British Men of Letters before being moved to work personally with Ketch. Ketch was annoying and Dean was right when he called him a “low-grade Christian Bale,” but you could not help being attracted to him.

The hunt you two just finished including wiping out an entire vampire nest in North Dakota. You still had some energy left in you when you got back to the hotel, so you proposed a… little arrangement between yourself and Ketch.

Ketch didn’t seem taken back by it, so here you two were, laying in his hotel bed. Ketch had his arms wrapped around you while you laid your head on his chest. You nestled your head above his heart and hummed.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Ketch asked.

“I didn’t think you had a heart,” you said.

“You don’t need a heart in this business,” Ketch commented. “You just need brains. Something I’m grateful you have. You’re not like your brothers, ya know?”

“How?” you asked, rolling your head over to look up at him.

“You’re smart; you’re working with us. Plus, you’re beautiful,” Ketch smirked.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re just trying to be a sweet talker,” you whispered, pushing yourself up to hover over Ketch.

“Is it working?” Ketch asked you.

“I’m not sure,” you muttered, bringing him into a kiss.

[diabolimeservavit666]

BMoL Oneshot Ideas (Part 1)

(Can't promise that it will come quick but I appreciate the responses.)

[emily-the-fae]

Every Day is a Lullaby

A oneshot. This honestly came to my mind yesterday night, I do not know how well the idea turned out to be.

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x OC

Warnings:probably language, blood, injury, background character death, brief mentions of sex, angst mith mix of fluff

Rated: T

Mr Ketch has many sides, likable and repulsing - but which one of his faces is truly his is sometimes an uncertainty even for him.

Harper reflects on the changes on their relationship as they get out of a hunt gone wrong. While Ketch reconsiders some of his past choices... And reasons why he is still alive.

If he's a serial killer

Then what's the worst

That can happen to a girl

Who's already hurt

I'm already hurt

The first time Harper met him was a coincidence. It was long before the whole nephilim thing, long before she found out what kind of man he was, what kind of hunter he was. Yet even back then in the span of their first couple of meetings  she felt he was no good.

A stupid hunting coincidence.

Harper was not used to hunting alone. She did that to herself - separated herself from the Winchesters. However much she loved Sam and Dean, she could not bear continuously being around them, not after everything that happened. Not after Charlie. Because no matter what Dean said or how Sam reassured her - it was her fault. Charlie was a great friend. Charlie had the brightest soul. Harper was late to help her and now Charlie was no more. It was all Harper's fault.

Driving away and going head first into hunting was the outmost Winchester way of dealing with the guilt and grief. Hunting alone while slowly coming out of her lowest phase - those were the circumstances under which Harper met Arthur Ketch.

The first time it happened it was a coincidence - two hunters choosing the same target is not uncommon. Harper was already on spot and all in the fight when he arrived. "Are you insane going into a whole vampire nest alone?" - those were the first words she ever heard from him. She might have been slightly insane, but he sure was a damn psycho. To be honest if not for him she would have probably ended up dead or turned in that vampire nest that night. Harper hates being honest about it.

The second coincidence happened just a few days after the first one - she would later on doubt if it was a coincidence at all. Perhaps it was. Harper would never really know - what she did know though was that he still had a small scar left above his left eyebrow - a mark of where she hit him with the grip of her gun, thinking it was the witch that was creeping up to her and absolutely not expecting to hear a male voice swearing after her blow. Arthur had not known her for 24 hours in sum and they were already making a scene after a hunt - Harper almost pitied she had not knocked him out straight away.

What happened on the next day? He caught her in the town and suggested to team up to avoid "future confusions". Rule number one how to become friends with Arthur Ketch: hit him in the face. Harper wasn't going to become friends with him - with any hunters for that matter - but fate seldom cared what Harper was going to do anyways.

Harper definitely lied to herself when she said that they were going to be only friends or that she was going to hate him after all the British Men of Letters invasion story. She didn't. Not with the way they met in the first place: him ripping her out of the claws of the angry remnants of the vampire pack - slightly concerned greyish blue eyes and a British accent was what greeted her at dawn that day, even though mid in fight she had accepted she would not see the sun again. It seemed symbolic how he saved her from giving up, from herself. And certainly not after the way their relationship went from mutual curiosity to blind semi-professional trust. Harper did not need a "friend" to console her: if she had wanted that she would have stayed around Sam - she needed someone unfeeling but understanding enough to see through her and consciously let it be.

She remembered it clearly - three hunts into their relationship - a month after their first encounter - they were sharing a hotel room. Two beds, late night after a hunt, she lied on her side and quietly cried. It was a demon hunt. The memories were too much. Arthur came into view and stared at her for a couple of moments before walking to his own bed.

- I'd say you can talk about it when you want to, but I doubt you will ever feel the necessity, - a brief caress of his hand against her shoulder. He did not try to relieve her, he allowed her to get to her own way of coping. For that Harper was grateful more than ever. - We all have skeletons in our closets, it's the downturn of the job.

Oh, dear Arthur, we are both now  aware you knew far too well what you were talking about. Harper doubted any hunter had a closet cemetery as large as Ketch's.

Yet... Even after that - the awkward reuniting with the Winchesters, being pulled away from him as she came back to her old friends and witnessing, luckily from a safe distance, how the man she grew to trust without actually knowing him, uncovered darker and darker sides of his personality. What was worst - after she refused to join the BMoL, he would continue to sometimes keep her hunting company, going on like nothing happened. Like nothing changed. Why worst? It let the image of the heartless killer that she should have seen before her now connect and combine with the image of the man who would patch her up on her darkest nights and put a firm hand on her shoulder when Harper was too deep in memory to restrain herself. His presence around her became a reassurance in itself - because he did not have to know to understand. And because he simply had not been there - looking into his eyes Harper wouldn't get reminded of the times when everything was still right, wouldn't get reminded of that one time everything went very wrong. Probably those were the main qualities that helped him win a spot in her heart. Those and his unending casual flirting.

And now? After everything was over, after his very dark side was revealed, the confessions were made and the redemption was played, what did she think of him? The hunter, turned out just a very well trained assassin - he had served the British Men of Letters, he had served Asmodeus - now here he was separated from any commanding he ever had, living a hunting life of his own and sometimes collaborating with the Winchesters. Therewere many dark moments forgotten for the sake of peace. Many more had yet to come up - judging by how Ketch treated his own history and interests of others.

" - I wonder where Mick went, he was always so nice... Nicer than you, anyways. Pity he went away all of a sudden, - Harper mentioned once after a hunt.

- He did not go anywhere. I shot him in the head just like Hess ordered, - Ketch seemed calm and cold as steel. " Sometimes Harper thought that leaving BMoL would change him, but moments like that she realized how slowly the changes - if any - would have to occur. That night she simply walked away, not saying another word.

If anyone ever asked Harper how Arthur's spot in her heart had shifted after all the mess he had caused? She would say that he never even had one... And think that truth to be told there was no flame hot enough to burn him out of her chest - his name carved on her ribs would have been easier to get rid of than the bittersweet affection she harboured for the moral wreck of a man named Arthur Ketch.

If he's as bad as they say

Then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes

I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

Despite that Harper never dared pursue a relationship. Why? She was very sure with people like Ketch the only right strategy was not to expect them to be capable of attachment. The flirting, the sweet promising looks he would give her after a well-accomplished hunt... Harper would dream of believing them to be genuine. She was very well aware thinking him in any way genuine was a risk she was not ready to take. She knew Ketch would not mind letting that affair happen - he made that quite clear. She also knew it would mean absolutely nothing to him apart from some company and a warm body in his bed. Arthur Ketch was cold, unemotional and taught himself well not to get attached to anyone - and even if that was not true, he tried his damn best to make it seem so.

Harper sometimes hoped she saw it in his eyes: a silent "please keep safe" when they would part after a hunt, a sparking "I missed you" when they would meet once again. Arthur sometimes hoped she would see it too - very deep in his soul, deeper than he would ever be able to admit even to himself.

In other words, the outcome of the new hunt would have presented itself sooner or later anyways. They were actually quite lucky to have it present itself the way it did.

The werewolf did not seem such a hard target - away from bigger packs, alone terrorizing the neighborhood - just because he could. Problem and solution crystal clear - a hunt where one clearly sees the root of evil is a blessing for a hunter that's used to all the versions of heartbreaking stories. What Harper did not so clearly see was the gun in their opponent's hands. To be more precise: she did see it, but a little too late.

Two gunshots rang at the same time: her silver bullet hitting right into the monster's heart and his normal one - ... Ketch fell against the wall, sliding down to the floor: his left shoulder bled, the bulletproof vest, even though being pierced in the thinner area, had preserved him from being too deeply injured - but not kept completely safe from wounding.

Several seconds of silence - making sure the werewolf is not a threat anymore - realisation and fear finally hitting Harper.

- Ketch?... Ketch?!... Arthur! - the hunter was too disoriented to answer and his silence was taken as a bad sign. - Oh Lord, Arthur, no! - gone are the self-restraint and professional coldness: the moment she sees blood on his chest, she rushes to his side, forgetting about everything else in the world. She needs to make sure he will be fine. He has to be. - Arthur, please, don't die on me! Arthur! - she calls for his attention, the hunter slowly regaining his senses.

For a moment there he believes he hears Tony. This reminds him of some of his unlucky hunts from the years before, though back then he had certainly had it worse. Besides this definitely was not Tony.

Tony would have said "Ketch's down" and carry on with the hunt, eyes on the target, and when the deed was done she would pass him with a short "How is it?" - more out of politeness than genuine caring. That was exactly what she did the only two times he had been seriously injured infront of her.

- Ketch, answer me right this instant, don't you dare fading out! - panic in her voice, genuine. The idea of someone caring as much as to panic at the thought of his death seems too good to be true - for him at least. Arthur feels hands investigating his chest, checking for the wound: cold thin fingers running over his blood-covered skin. Not Tony - Harper.

- I'll live, darling, it's nothing too serious, - attempting to sound confident, but his voice is rasp. It's nothing serious, but it hurt nonetheless: the blow on the shoulder was much harder than anticipated and the bleeding needed to be stopped.

Harper looks into the light blue, borderline grey eyes - he is staring up at her, his gaze unguarded only for a moment that lets her see the uncommon softness and hope in his expression - just for a moment - she believes the things she guessed about him were true, she believes the pain visible in his eyes is true, only by accident revealed to her. The state lasts only a couple of moments - but even that is more than enough for his visible emotions to imprint into her mind.

Arthur Ketch was able to feel. Arthur Ketch could be in pain. Arthur Ketch was capable of needing help.

I said "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi"

Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat ooh-ooh

I just wanna dance with you

Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley

I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue ooh

I just wanna dance with you

It was a wonder that the hotel clerk did not stop them on their way - Ketch looked positively dying - Harper was quite sure there was no legal thing that could have happened to him that would have explained this appearance. This was the reason normal hunters chose motels: less suspicion. Harper briefly wondered where he got the money to maintain his former lifestyle, since he was stripped of the BMoL funding, but she guessed there were other sources on his side and he was just too stubborn to change his ways.

When they stumbled into his hotel room, Arthur made a move to drop himself on the bed, but Harper grabbed him by the collar swiftly, dragging him away in the other direction.

- Ketch don't you dare stain the sheets, they'll report us, - she mumbled, pushing him to enter the bathroom and dropping him to sit on the edge of the tub.

He would have laughed if the sudden movement had not caused sharp pain to shoot through his damaged shoulder, making him wince. Alexandra. He had wondered for so long whom Harper reminded him of and out of all moments they shared it was this that made him realise. The memory reappeared in his mind so vividly now.

"Artie, no! Don't go to your room, you'll stain your carpet! Mum will kill us!" - and the older girl held him under his arms, guiding him to the kitchen.

He still remembered it: the years before school, before Kendricks, him and his sister mostly alone in the house with parents constantly away. Alexandra had brought him up before Kendricks had. Alexandra had a lovely voice, she would read him bedtime stories, she would sing to him, she was kind and caring - probably the only human being in his life that ever seemed to care. When he went to Kendricks was the last time he had ever seen her... Well, alive. Alexandra was kind and caring - and that was probably the reason why she had not made it through the training. In fact her death might have been the only reason why he survived and made it to the top - having no one care about you has a benefit: you don't have to care about anyone too.

After his sister's funeral life had never felt the same and Arthur had been quite certain before that it was for the better. Now, watching Harper rush about, trying to find the medical kit to help him, he thought that he had been terribly wrong all the damn time.

How long has she known him? A couple of years, not more, but the relationship between them reached beyond the borders of friendship or companionship. That little american hunter - the first time he saw her he thought she was suicidal, the second one - bold and full of sass. The following months proved her well capable of combining both while turning out to be so much more, one of which being: to be able to love Arthur Ketch. Of course he knew she loved him - this was among those traits in her that he openly treated with polite contempt and deep down envied more than anything.

He watched Harper come to his side, sliding his hunting gear off his shoulders - her movements so gentle, her eyes filled with worry and guilt.

- I'm so sorry Arthur, I should have... - you're always sorry. You always think it is your fault and none else's. This was most probably the main reason why it was so easy for him to openly reject her feeling: they both knew she loved him, they both knew he saw it, he toyed with her so many times, being suggestive, flirting. "As long as I enjoy the physical aspects of having an affair, the emotional attachment that other people believe necessary to form is rather pathetic" - he told her once. He actually said that, those were his words. I would like to fuck you as long as you shut your disgustingly human little heart. She stared at him for a moment, her beautiful face almost successfully hiding the hurt - then turned away silently, shrugging her shoulders. He was being a jerk. Harper never stopped him from that, Harper seemed to take it all in and believe he was right, believe that her feeling for him was utterly pathetic. That it was her fault.

- It was no one's mistake, love, it was an unlucky accident. Besides it didn't turn out that awful, - he trailed off. She was cleaning his skin over the wound now, preparing to apply stitches. Arthur could sense a little shudder in her at the word "love". He was so used to saying it that he forgot about all the connotations it held. Lord, was he bad at this.

Harper continued her work silently. She felt him studying her face and prayed to be finished as quick as possible - she did not need another heartbreaking hope and she had already made the mistake of looking into his eyes that night. When the last stitch was done, she turned away to put the materials aside and sensed him straighten up behind her back - Harper felt he wanted to say something else, but she could not give him that opportunity. She almost thought he would die that night - seeing him on the floor made her blood run cold - she did not need any more pain to add to the aftermath of the shock.

- I'm going to my room, but please call me if you feel worse during the night, - she spoke, not turning to face him, ready to walk out of the bathroom. Harper felt his hand grab her wrist in a rushed movement and turned abruptly only to see him staring back at her with unguarded softness in his eyes. The only time she remembered Arthur look at her like that was when she twisted an ankle during the hunt all due to his mistake. It scared her a little to see that expression on him.

- Why won't you just stay to keep an eye on me? - his voice low, with an undertone she so often heard when he flirted with her.

- You're a big boy, Ketch, we both know that even stitching you up was superfluous, you can perfectly well tend to yourself, - a smile. Harper tried to brush it off jokingly, ready to make her leave, but his grasp on her wrist only grew stronger.

- Stay.  At least for this night. Please, - the smile disappeared from her face. He sounded wounded, he sounded like he really pleaded. Harper broke away from his grasp, taking a step back.

- You don't need a... - she shook her head.

- But I do, - he stood up, taking a step towards her, not letting her increase the distance between them. His fingers came up to caress her cheek gently. - Harper, stay, - she shut her eyes, standing still and quiet for a couple of seconds, seemingly fighting back emotions.

- You don't mean this, - she said, looking up at him sharply and confidently, but in a moment, failing to restrain herself, she continues more quietly and softly. - Why do you have to be so cruel to me? - he could see tears brimming in her eyes.

They stood frozen in front of each other, her face so close to his, her eyes watering - not because of this particular evening, but because of all those times before he had behaved in similar nature. It was the first time she had so directly addressed the issue of her feelings for him. "Why do you have to be so cruel to me?" She seemed to be waiting for an actual answer. Why was she always so kind to him? Like he was normal, like he didn't hurt her? Arthur leaned down, his hand still cupping her cheek, his lips touching hers gently and firmly.

Harper closed her eyes - not as a girl would do in a pretty romantic movie - she shut her eyes, pressing her eyelids together, holding her breath, shuddering. A single tear ran down her cheek.

When they parted, though his face still stayed just a few centimeters away from hers, Harper opened her eyes again, her breath shaking.

- Arthur...

His free hand circled her waist, pulling her closer to him, as his fingers slid away from her cheek,  moving behind her head, running through her hair. Arthur leaned close to her ear, his breath ghosting over her neck.

- Because I hate how you make me feel like I can still have a life, like not everything is lost. I hate how you make me feel worth being cared about and able to care. I hate how you make me feel, - he said that rushed and quiet. Pressing his front to the side of her head, breathing deeply.

- And what if you are lying? What if this all is for the sake of one night? I'm tired of guessing if you have a soul or not, Arthur, I'm too worn out, - she wispered after some time, leaning her forehead into his uninjured shoulder.

- Then trust me this one time. I promise. Please.

- Why?

- Because I need you. I need you to feel alive.

Arthur felt her let out a deep breath, her petite form pressing itself to his, her arms sliding behind his back to hold him close. She raised her head, freezing for a moment before their eyes met, then leaning up - their lips meeting now less gingerly than the first time.

- Does that mean you'll stay?

- You're such an asshole, Ketch...

- I know.

Harper hid her face in his chest, sobbing quietly, her form shacking, worn out both physically and emotionally. Arthur kissed her temple softly, caressing her back, for once feeling like he did everything right. For once feeling like they had a chance.

Happiness is a butterfly

Try to catch it like every night

It's escaping from me into moonlight

[waiting-for-motivation]

darkness

summary: The Castiel from the apocalypse world tortures (Y/n), who is his girlfriend in the her world. She is afraid of the real Castiel afterwards.

pairings: Castiel x Reader

warnings: apocalypse!Castiel from 13x22, torture, pain, fluff in the end

words: 910

a/n: another obsession. another imagine..

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

„We‘ve been studying you. Pure steel. I haven‘t seen many like you. But you have to understand that everyone has a breaking point. A point of pain. Particular primitive fear, maybe. But it‘s a nerve so raw that your will, grit, they cease to be factors. And then all of your little secrets will flow from your mind to mine. Until your mind no longer exists.“ The dark clothed angel walks from the door to a captivated girl on a chair. He touches her almost unnecessarily. Every now and then his lips start twitching in a weird way. He stares at her with his cold blue eyes while he takes of his leather gloves.

Instead of being afraid of the dark angel, (Y/n) started smiling the moment he entered the little hut. She knows him, well, at least she knows the version of him from her world. This world is worse, darker. So he is darker.

A laugh stops the angel, Castiel, from touching the girls head. She‘s laughing at him although he is close to torturing her. Why would she do that?

„Oh god, Castiel. You look like a hardcore nazi. Where is your little mustache? Didn’t Hitler want to give it to you?“ One last laugh escapes (Y/n)s lips, then a bloodcurdling scream follows. Castiel managed to touch her head and tortures her, trying to get the information out of her head.

Pure pain fills (Y/n)s body. It feels as if fire is running though her veins. Her bones feel like they are breaking apart. But her head is the worst, it feels almost as if it will explode every moment.

Luckily, the angel gets interrupted. First the lights go out and then he can hear something from outside. So he takes his hands off the girl and walks out of the hut, followed by the loudly closing door.

(Y/n) is breathing heavily and can‘t keep her eyes open but she hears a fight. When she can open her eyes for a second she sees the two Winchester brothers saving her and Ketch. Sam frees her from the restraints and helps her up. A smile creeps on the girls lips.

The real Castiel, her Castiel, enters the hut but he doesn‘t get the reaction from (Y/n) he expected. Quickly, she hides behind Sams huge frame, hiding from the angel. She starts shaking and grabs Sams hand.

All people in the room stare with confusion at the girl. No one, except for Ketch, know what happened here.

Castiel starts walking to his girlfriend but she can hear his steps, that sound so familiar to the ones from the dark Castiel. The younger Winchester holds a hand up, stopping the angel. He understands that (Y/n) is afraid but not why.

„You tortured her. Well, not exactly you“, Ketch says and points at the angel.

„If that‘s true you need to keep away from her, Castiel. She probably can‘t tell the difference between you and him.“ Dean pads the angel on the shoulder and (Y/n) leaves the hut with Sams help, her hands holding onto his arm.

After they finally managed to get through the portal, Castiel can‘t find (Y/n). Sam tells him that she left without a word and probably hides in her room. So that‘s were Castiel is heading to.

He gets no answer when he knocks on her door, but he knows she is in there. Slowly, he opens the door and stares at an anxious (Y/n), curled in a fetal position on her bed. She looks so broken. What had the other him done to her?

„Hey“, Castiel whispers and stays in the door frame. (Y/n) stares at him with her tearful eyes. She is afraid. She is in pain. Pain, the angel unfortunately can‘t heal. „I‘m not him.“ Castiel lifts his hands, showing the girl he means no harm. „You have to see the difference. I‘m not here to bring you pain. I‘m here to ease the pain.“

(Y/n) closes her eyes for a moment.

„You don‘t look like you come straight out of Germany in 1945.“ A weak giggle leaves her lips and she looks at Castiel who takes a step further towards her. „You‘re voice is soft. His voice was so dark, like the world around him.“

One more step and Castiel is standing right in front of his girlfriend. He wont touch her until she says so.

(Y/n) gets up, sitting in front of him and looking into his blue eyes. They don‘t look empty like the ones from her torturer. They show her love.

„You can touch me, Cas.“ She rises her hand and touches his, they entangle themselves. The girl can feel how the angel tries to heal her but beside the cut on her forehead, it is no use. Castiel sits down next to (Y/n) and for a few seconds they just stare in each others eyes. (Y/n) tries to figure out if she can truly trust the angel in front of her. But then she remembers everything she went through with Castiel at her side. He would never hurt her, least of all torture her.

The kiss would have never happened if (Y/n) hadn’t taken the first step. Castiel doesn‘t expect her to want to kiss the face of her torturer. But she does kiss him. Because (Y/n) knows this Castiel wont hurt her. She knows that he loves her. And not even the darkest Castiel can change that.

[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.

[jenmishsbitch]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Arthur Ketch Additional Tags: British Men of Letters (Supernatural) Being Assholes, Arthur Ketch Being an Asshole, Evil Arthur Ketch, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Mentioned Sam Winchester, Spying, supernatural s12 e19, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Episode: s12e19 The Future - Mixtape Scene, Smut, Destiel Oneshot, Spy - Freeform Series: Part 1 of Supernatural Oneshots Summary:

Ketch hears Cas and Dean over his device and gets a little more than he bargained for.

[ourhappylies]

Cuddling With Arthur Ketch Would Include (Supernatural)

Author: Cherry🍒 Requested: Anonymous.

- He tries to act as if he’s not a cuddler but he secretly loves it.

- Ketch will pull your body tightly against his, your back to his chest and he’ll rest his head on your shoulder.

- His fingers draw patterns and words on your skin lightly as he cuddles with you.

- He’ll usually write the words “I love you”.

- When he’s spooning with you, he’ll gently kiss the back of your neck and any other bare skin that he can reach.

- Ketch also loves it when you lay on his chest.

- He always takes the time to tell you how much he cares about you.

- Ketch falls asleep quickly when he’s cuddling with you, he feels completely relaxed and at ease when he has you tucked up in his arms.

- Ketch is a heavy sleeper who holds onto you tightly. You can never escape his hold until he wakes up.

- When he wakes before you, he’ll litter your face and neck with kisses until you stir awake.

- Ketch refrains from hugging in front of people, but he does love to pull you into a quick, tight hug.

- When he hugs you goodbye, he’ll kiss your cheek too.

[im-no-jedi]

me: I need to go to bed early tonight cause I have to get up early tomorrow

also me: if I don’t finish this oneshot tonight, I’m going to simply pass away 😩

[ao3feed-wandamaximoff]

Magda and the Chaos of Magic

by Ophelia_Yvette Wanda was a lost soul, haunting the roads like a specter. The only thing tethering her to reality any longer was the presence of her sons. That was until Billy sensed something… he’d sensed a girl… a girl that was like her. Little did Wanda know that her life was about to change, once again, for the better. Words: 3494, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Wanda Maximoff, Billy Maximoff, Tommy Maximoff, Magda Peterson Relationships: Billy Maximoff & Tommy Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Magda Peterson Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s12e04 American Nightmare (Supernatural), Post-Episode: s01e09 The Series Finale (WandaVision), Not WandaVision (TV) Compliant, Magda Peterson Lives, Chaos Magic User Magda Peterson, Oneshot, Arthur Ketch Being an Asshole via https://ift.tt/edO7qZH