ok so hear me out isn't this request john lennon x fangirl reader, not in a creepy way but still screaming at the barricades and collecting all the bands merch 👀👀
xoxo thangyaaa ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
I'm so sorry my brain fizzled, you mean like a mega fangirl that comes to all their concerts and John finally notices her?
Or something more specific...? (´Д｀)?
Uhmmmm....
Sorry sorry oh gosh I'm sorry-
Cause of course I can do a Johnny fanfic, sure, but do you have any nit picky things? Like era, theme, or more of a prompt?
I think I get it, just a crazy fangirl that loves John but I wanted to double check (-ω-;)
EDIT: GUYS I FIGURED IT OUT GASPPPAPPAPA YAYYAYAYYAYAYYAYAY
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tags: sugar daddy/sugar baby themes, post helen, post john wick 2
words: 2.4k
note: wrote this 10 million years ago on the old blog and am just reuploading for archive purposes. 1) pic in header is sunmi just cause she's hot 2) may return to this one day...idk yet
⏤ Having lost virtually everything related to Helen, he found himself back at the Continental, back to listening to Addy sympathetically give her condolences and five seconds later, introducing him to Seeking Arrangements.
Sometimes, John doesn’t really know how he gets himself into awkward situations.
The first few occasions, he figured it was merely a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. While, actually, this always worked out in his favour, John began to notice that it was more frequent that he ended up at a bar with some people he didn’t really know, or being invited to a baby shower as the date of a woman he had never even met before.
Granted, John enjoyed company whenever he could get it, and whenever it avoided conflict; however social skills have never been his strongest asset.
No, he simply prefers silent gestures or glances across rooms, ‘eye conversations’ where he says hello and nothing else for the remainder of the evening.
“You just need to loosen up a bit,” is what Addy had told him, whilst slipping him a glass of straight bourbon.
It had been a relatively quiet evening in the Continental, and just when John thought he could have five minutes of peace and quiet, Addy slipped in his line of sight.
“You know, go out. Make new friends.”
“You’re my friend,” John replied. He made no room to elaborate on that statement, swallowing the contents of the drink and pushing it back to her with a short nod.
She sighed and rolled her eyes, doing her job.
“No, you know what you really need?”
He didn’t answer, glancing at her through his hair as she filled his drink and rested her weight on her elbows.
Instantly, John didn’t like the feeling in his stomach when Addy raised her eyebrows suggestively, tugging on her bottom lip with newfound excitement: “I think you need to get laid.”
And when John scoffed with humour, she tried again, “and not like, laid as in you have a one night stand. No — hear me out, John! You should invest in a sugar baby. You know, someone you can spend time with when you’re not doing the dirty work for everybody else. It’s fun, and frisky, and also means you can start spending some of the millions you have stashed somewhere not being used.”
Addy then smiled, “Maybe instead of retirement, what you really need is something to help you unwind.”
John scoffed, gulping back the bourbon. “I’m married.”
At that, she tossed her head back with a laugh and leant forward. “And since when are sugar babies a relationship status?”
That’s really all the thinking he had done on the subject of John — John fucking Wick — investing in a sugar baby.
He simply took it in stride, almost complimented by the assumption that he was attractive and rich enough to have someone leaning on him for money and sex, and stored it away for future thought when he was lost and drunk.
John never actually considered the possibility of “putting his bills to good use” until fucking Santino D’Antonio decided to light a bonfire inside his house.
Having lost virtually everything related to Helen, he found himself back at the Continental, back to listening to Addy sympathetically give her condolences and five seconds later, introducing him to Seeking Arrangements.
John doesn’t know why he’s doing this, staring at the laptop screen that smiles at him.
For circumstances, Addy had loaned him her laptop for the evening he spends at the Continental, and he’s too busy browsing the elaborately made profiles that he barely registers the fact that he is still wearing his suit.
He pulls at the cuffs of his blazer and is midway through taking it off when he stumbles across one profile that shamefully catches his eye.
“A sugar baby suggests that I sleep with them, and as I said,” John had mentioned back in the bar, “I’m married.”
Addy had grabbed his hands and groaned, “Look — you might surprise yourself. And, I’m not suggesting that you throw your wife away for somebody new. I’m just saying you need to…make use of yourself. Honestly, you’re too sexy to be stored away like this. Most sugar babies are dumb and unobservant, they won’t even know who you are.”
John is hesitant to browse this user's profile. If he wanted to “make use of himself” by investing all of his personal time into somebody who in truth wanted him for his dick and his bank balance, then it needed to be somebody at least near to his wavelength. Somebody who was smart, but clueless at the same time, and somebody who was the complete opposite of Helen.
The last thing he needed on top of a handful of a baby was the guilt of moving on.
But still, even when he pinned her tab and returned to scrolling through the profiles, John realised that most sugar babies were simply trolls hidden behind pretty pictures, or girls who wanted money for pleasure and not for need.
He went back to the profile. Three times. Three times, before he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a quiet, “Oh, fuck it,” and favoriting her account, and pressing to send a message.
Even online, John was never great with words. He typed, and backspaced, and typed again, trying to come up with something interesting to make up for the bland profile he made around thirty minutes ago.
From: johnw
So. Do you like dogs?
If Addy were here, she would have slapped him.
Almost immediately after it sends, John lets out a frustrated noise and tears his gaze away from the screen.
Dating just wasn’t like how it was when he met Helen. Why did everything have to be so complicated, and mysterious, and why the hell does he even have to waste his money on somebody when he could be saving this money to eventually, whenever the day comes, retire?
John wrestles with the dilemma of deleting the whole account when a notification bell rings through the laptop speakers.
From: brooklynbaby
yes, I love dogs!!!
(typing)
do you have a dog?
John breathes a sigh of relief.
From: johnw
Yes. I do.
From: brooklynbaby
oh, great :)
(typing)
John’s leg begins to bounce quickly, the table wavering with the glass on top, like an earthquake. Suddenly, brooklynbaby stops typing and John stills.
Why did she stop? Did he do something wrong?
From: brooklynbaby
want to be my sugar daddy?
Never mind.
From: johnw
I would.
From: brooklynbaby
cool
Neither him or brooklynbaby says anything for a few moments, and John doesn’t notice. After all, he is still a working man, busy with life and revenge and trying to stay alive for more than three seconds.
When he goes back to the laptop and sees no reply, he frowns.
From: johnw
I'm sorry. I really don’t know what I’m doing.
What am I supposed to say?
He makes a mental reminder to have words with Addy later.
From: brooklynbaby
hahaha nw
we could make dinner reservations and talk over terms if you’d like!
i say reservations because they’re fancy and if anything goes wrong, we can pretend we’re… business partners? discussing business?
Without even really realising, John finds himself laughing shortly, settling back into the chair.
All of this feels weird, as in typing to a stranger he’s planning to spend his money on and occasionally fuck.
John quickly revisits her profile and spends four minutes analysing her profile picture. If this is her, then she’s really very beautiful. A steal.
From: johnw
When are you free for dinner?
From: brooklynbaby
hmm
well i’m dog sitting tomorrow, but i can be free for the day after
is that okay?
From: johnw That would be fine.
[Address] at 7pm, does that work for you?
brooklynbaby pauses.
From: brooklynbaby
am i gonna have to dress fancy?
From: johnw
Don’t feel pressured. I only own black.
From: brooklynbaby
well….guess i’ll bring out like one of my old party dresses
you have to promise not to judge me
John laughs again.
At some point during the evening, he ends up with a planned dinner reservation at one of the most expensive restaurants in Brooklyn, and he’s also one grand poorer thanks to the generous donation in brooklynbaby’s bank account for a nice evening outfit.
When John returns the laptop to Addy the following morning, he was admittedly expecting the rant that followed.
She had glared at the laptop being handed back over the bar and refused to serve him until he came up with a reasonably valid excuse as to why he wasn’t putting himself out there for a bit of company. John had blinked with an unimpressed look and drummed his fingers.
“I have dinner reservations with someone tomorrow at 7pm. Also — can I have a drink?”
But of course, with work being as tedious as ever and with his whole day being completely ruined by a blood stained shirt and poor room service for the first time in his many years of frequenting the Continental, John didn’t amuse himself with brooklynbaby until he logged onto the site on his phone, and saw that she had messaged thrice during the day.
He almost felt guilty, until he saw a string of numbers at the end of the last message. He deemed it less necessary to read her above messages and instead went right to texting.
brooklynbaby
ok
so should i just ask for mr john wick when i get to this restaurant?
sorry for so many texts im just kinda nervous
johnw
Yes.
I booked under my name and I will be waiting for you when you arrive.
Why are you nervous?
brooklynbaby
well just pre date nerves
send a picture so i know you're real?
John sank into bed.
johnw
Maybe I like the element of surprise.
brooklynbaby
seems unfair that you get to see me but i dont get to see you
ive seen your dog before you
johnw
You could have used any photo.
If we’re going to be technical, I don’t even know your name, or if that is really you.
John really hadn’t been expecting a full blown half-naked image at 4:15pm in the afternoon, but he will admit that it was nevertheless what he needed to break some steam.
He had arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes earlier than expected, but that’s okay, Mr Wick. Right this way!
Now that he was sitting here, at an empty table overlooking Brooklyn and the lights, with an already ordered bottle of wine, John could understand and relate to the first date nerves. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Not since —
brooklynbaby
uhhh im kind of here like ten minutes early
should i wait outside for you?
He laughs, mostly to himself.
johnw
I’m already up here.
I ordered a rosé, is that alright?
brooklynbaby
PERFECT
And, surprising himself also, John had clammed up and reached for his glass.
Thankfully, the owner of this restaurant knew John by face and order, because, after-all, this had been his go-to with Helen.
These days, he doesn’t have time to go out to new places and eat new things, and so had panicked, and picked a place with sentimental value, and a history of good food.
He gulped back his glass of bourbon and waited until the door at the other side of the room opened meekly, and he tried to appear vacant as the waiter led a woman across the room and towards him.
“Your date, Mr Wick.”
He left curtly and brooklynbaby followed his body as he left, her feet firmly glued to the floor as her head looked back over her shoulder.
John took this as an opportunity to look at her body, covered in a beautiful dress he felt proud of paying for.
Finally, brooklynbaby looked towards him and paused, observing him and his clearly surprising appearance.
John then remembered the gash on his cheekbone and the way he probably looked very off-putting with an unshaven face and long hair, but brooklynbaby smiled softly and raised her brows, beating him to helping her in her chair as she quickly sat down and looked at his glass.
“How did you know I liked beards?”
John didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t.”
brooklynbaby rolled her eyes with a grin. “Of course you didn’t.”
She looked up, then, properly taking in his face. John did the same, looking at every feature present and coming to the quick conclusion that yes, she was definitely the woman in the pictures, and yes, she was one of the most gorgeous humans he had ever seen on planet Earth since Helen herself.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said honestly. “But, more than my expectations, if that makes sense. I didn't really introduce myself — I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N.”
“John,” he replied and she sniggered and rested her chin in her palms.
“You’re seriously so handsome, I find it hard to believe you haven’t been snatched up online yet,” she complimented. “Are you sure you’re not married, or something?”
Her gaze panned to his hands where she noticed the wedding band, and for a moment, she hesitated. John wasn’t ashamed of the ring, nor embarrassed to be seen wearing it.
He toyed with it on his finger, looking at her from across the table. “It’s complicated.”
Y/N nodded meekly. “I see.” She cleared her throat, “divorce? Planned divorce? Affair?”
“No, I’m widowed,” he tried out a joke, but she only looked more uncomfortable.
Her mouth gaped and she fumbled for words.
“Oh, John, I’m really sorry — no, really, I’m so sorry,” she stumbled, and John watched her carefully across the table. “God, how fucking insensitive. Sorry, I guess that just — wow, that never really crossed my mind. That's horrible, I’m sorry.”
“It’s in the past,” John said, finding finality in that sentence. “I’m trying to move on from it.”
Y/N nodded sympathetically. “No, yeah, wow, I get it. Completely. I…hope I live up to great expectations, then?”
John smiled and looked past her, noticing the waiter rounding the corner with the bottle of rose. “You’re getting there, Miss L/N.”
Tucker had been talking about Saturday's hockey game for weeks. Every practice, every team meeting, every late-night FaceTime call somehow circled back to it. It was an important game. A huge one. So huge, in fact, that you hadn't even bothered mentioning your own.
You were sitting in the living room with Allie one afternoon, when Tucker walked in carrying a protein shake. "Are you excited for your big game?" Allie asked. Tucker looks at you confused. "Game?"
"Uh..." He narrowed his eyes. Allie took no time to leave the living room. "What game?" You tried to play it off. "Nothing." You say softly. "Sunshine?."You sighed. "It's just soccer." you say. "Just soccer?" Tucker repeated. "Since when is soccer 'just soccer' to you ?" You bit your lip.
"When's your game?" You fidget with your fingers. "Tomorrow." His eyebrows shot up. "Tomorrow?" You nodded. "And you didn't tell me?" The disappointment on his face made your stomach twist. "It's not a big deal" you shrug. "Not a big deal?" You groaned. "Tucker."
"No, seriously. Why didn't you tell me?" You looked down at your hands. "Because you have your hockey game." The room went quiet. Tucker stared at you. "What does that have to do with anything?" You gave him a look. "A lot?" He frowned.
"Explain." You laughed softly. "Tucker, you've been talking about this game for weeks. I already knew you couldn't come." Instead of arguing, Tucker just put his hands over his face. "You just assumed I wouldn't be there." You reached for his hand. "I assumed hockey came first."
His jaw tightened, suddenly you wished you could take it back. Garrett shook his head. "No. You should've told me."
—————
The next morning, you woke up to a text from him.
Tucker: Good luck today, Sunshine. You're gonna kill it.
You smiled immediately.
You: Good luck too, Tucker. I’ll stop by after my game:)
You figured that was it. You figured he'd be at the rink while you were on the field.You figured you'd celebrate separately afterward. So when you walked onto the soccer field later that afternoon, you weren't looking for him. Which is why your entire body froze when you spotted a familiar hockey player sitting in the bleachers.
Holding flowers, smiling at you.
Tucker.
Your jaw dropped. No way. No freaking way. He lifted a hand and waved. " You couldn't stop smiling. He stayed the entire game, every time you glanced toward the stands, he was there. At one point you scored and heard him yell so loudly from the bleachers that half the field turned to look. By the end of the game your cheeks hurt from smiling. And when the final whistle blew and your team won?
You were gone, sprinting across the field. Tucker barely had time to stand before you launched yourself at him. He caught you instantly. Arms wrapping around your waist. Your legs around his hips. "You came." You say softly "Obviously." Tucker says placing a soft kiss on your cheek. "Your game!" Tucker shrugged. "Missed it." You stared at him. "What?"
"I missed it." You couldn't believe it. Tucker never missed hockey. Ever, not for anyone. Yet here he was. At your game. "Why?" His smile softened. "Because I was sitting there thinking about how you didn't tell me." You opened your mouth, but he continued "And then I realized you'd already decided I wouldn't come." Your heart sank. “Tucker"
"So I figured I should probably fix that." You stared at him, completely speechless. His hand slid into your hair. "You matter to me more than some silly game sunshine." Your eyes immediately burned. He tilted your chin up, and kissed you. You melted against him. His hand resting on your cheek. Yours tangled in the back of his hair.
When he pulled away, he barely made it an inch before kissing you again, and again, and again. Little kisses, everywhere. "Don't forget, we have a date tomorrow." He says softly, you smile and nod your head.
You knew, you had fallen so deep for Tucker, and you wish your heart would stop trying to deny it.
—————
"Hey, sunshine.” Tucker grinned the second you opened the door. You stared at him, completely unimpressed. “It’s eight in the morning. On a Saturday,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. Tucker just laughed and stepped inside “We have a date, remember?” He held out a bouquet of sunflowers, you sighed as you took them. “No, yeah, I remember. But you forgot to mention it was at eight in the fucking morning.”
“Stop being so grumpy, sunshine.” Tucker whispered, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “The day’s already half wasted.” You look at him like he’s crazy “The day literally just started.” he laughs. “Exactly.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile threatening to pull at your lips gave you away. “There it is,” Tucker said proudly. “Knew I could get one.” Before you could say anyhting, he cupped your cheek and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
It was sweet and warm, you wrapped your arms around his neck and his grin widened against your mouth. He kissed you again, slower this time. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “Better?” he mumbles “Maybe.” he furries his eyebrows. “Maybe?”
You lean up and kiss him again. “Better.” Tucker looked way too pleased with himself. “Good. Now get dressed sunshine. We’ve got a date.”
—————
Tucker was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other tangled with yours. You hadn't bothered asking where he was taking you. You figured he'd tell you eventually. Your confusion only grew when he pulled into the parking lot of your soccer field.
You looked over at him. “Tucker.” he looks at you. “Yeah?” “Why are we at my soccer field? Is this you telling me you're still upset for not telling you about my game?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “ No, we are here because that's where our date is.” You blinked. “What?”
He just smiled and got out of the truck. He went to your side and opened the door, you followed him across the grass. And then you saw it. A blanket spread out near midfield. A picnic basket. Your favorite snacks. Your favorite drinks. Even a small speaker quietly plays music in the background. For a second, you just stared. “Tucker...” you breathed. “You like it?” he asks nervously. “You did all this?” you say, turning to him smiling big. “Of course I did sunshine.”
You looked back at the setup, your chest tightening. “Why here?” Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets. “Because soccer is your thing.” He shrugged. “You spend half your life on this field. Figured if I was gonna do something important, it should be somewhere important to you too.”
Your heart practically melted. For the next hour, you sat together on the blanket, talking and laughing while Tucker stole bites of your food every chance he got. At one point, you caught him staring.
“What?” you ask for a mouth full of strawberries. “I just think you're so pretty.” You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “That's so cheesy.” As the morning passed, the conversation eventually drifted to the two of you. To how ridiculous this whole thing was. Because six dates ago, you had been absolutely determined not to let Tucker get close.
"You remember what you told me after our first date?" Tucker asked. You immediately groaned. "No." Tucker laughs. Gosh everything about him is so beautiful. "You do." you shake your head no "I really don't." A lie. Tucker laughed again. "You looked me dead in the eye and said, 'One date, Tucker, and this was it. Don't expect another one.'"
You buried your face in your hands. "And now look at us." You peeked through your fingers. " Tucker's smile slowly faded into something more serious. And suddenly your stomach flipped. "Tucker?" He took a deep breath.
" You matter so much to me." The honesty in his voice made your heart pound. "I can't imagine not calling you when something good happens. I can't imagine not seeing you after practice. I can't imagine my day without you in it."
“You’re my sunshine.”
He scooted closer, taking both of your hands in his.
"I know I'm not perfect. I know I can be hardheaded, I know I still have to work on myself. But I've never been more sure about anything the way I am about you." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "You make me happier than I've been in a long time." Your heart was pounding now. "So... would you be my girlfriend?"
You stared at him for all of two seconds before throwing your arms around his neck. "Yes." The word came out broken by a laugh. The relief on Tucker's face was immediate. "Yeah?" You pulled back just enough to look at him. "Yeah." His smile was huge. The kind that made his eyes crinkle. Then he kissed you. His hands settled on your waist as yours tangled in his hair.
john price was a face bartenders were tired of seeing.
already tired people pulled exhausted as they watched him butter up the newest pretty girl at the counter. forced to crafting up a drink on his will to slide it over to whatever woman it was he had the drive to persue and claim. only for the night of course, never longer.
it was nice watching the older man be shoved back into his age bracket once and a while. preppy things in heels like you, snapping at him to blow off. wet his dick at someone elses overpriced apartment.
standing your ground over a glass of cheap wine, scoffing at his desperate attempt for what might be a smirk? you couldnt guess, he was hotter the less you focused on him.
"..so, vintage coach love. you like 'em worn?" god, men were far better when they only sat and looked pretty.
you took matters into your own hands, in your mind at least. offering to do the unfortunate woman hed run into later down the future, right. maybe even call it community service.
was the communities man anyways.
you slammed your hips down, surely bruising his pelvis with the unhalting force you brought. goosebumps across your spine that relushed in deep pleasured groans scratching from his throat.
kneading against him in ways to your pleasure, yanking his hair ( that actually smelled surprisingly nice, burbon and woody cedar — brownie points to him ) and pushing his neck up to your chest everytime he forced out a grumble in objection.
smearing your mark across his skin in places he had never been touched with without intent to be harmed. pale and sensitive chest flushing a vibrant pink with pretty purple spoches littering across.
deep whines strummed from vibrations deep in his throat, shoving your lacey underwear in his mouth to finally make him shut the hell up.
slipping out the door in the same gleamy heels that caught his eye. the only trace you were ever there was the sultry perfume that wafted across his tainted sheets and glitter particles that caught the new suns light as it poured into his room.
never even giving him your name. like a pretty siren that sucked his soul and recalibrated him just to slip back into murky waters.
good thing he snagged your name from your ID at the bar, laswell would do wonders.
John Egbert x GN!Reader— "I can't keep it together ever anyway."
Synopsis - It's hard to fall asleep sometimes. One thought leads to another.
Warnings - SFW, gender neutral reader, existentialism, news and political anxiety, implied death anxiety, panic attacks & anxiety spirals, I'm serious please do not fuck around the first part of this is my best attempt at the most accurate description of a panic attack (as I experience them) possible, hurt/comfort, hair pulling & other harmful coping mechanisms
AN: I'm planning on getting some rq's done this weekend, but I wrote this last night and figured ya'll might enjoy :3
Music - 13 AM - Deltarune
You are very familiar with how the bedroom you share with your boyfriend looks in the dark.
It is filled with splotches of midnight blue, blurry forms that morph into one another, becoming objects of momentary intrigue in the otherwise mind-numbing stillness of 2 AM in the morning.
You are alone in this not-quite dark, eyes having long grown tired of their inability to rest, blankets askew and completely absent from your boyfriend's side of the bed from how many times you've shifted around.
Idle thought soon becomes an insufficient distraction in this purgatory, your mind seeking escape from the nothingness.
It starts with remembering.
It's little things, really. A headline, a name, a place. They settle into your stomach, dropping into the pit of it like a weight in water.
The remembering leads to more remembering. Of lives, of history. And it adds. It adds. and adds. and adds. Until the things you remember are more abstract. Concepts, years, lifetimes.
Somewhere along the way, the facts turn into fiction, into plans. They turn into inescapable questions, then back to pure simple truth.
The thoughts repeat, growing stronger despite protest, and you follow them, if only to escape the boredom.
You begin to hyperventilate.
You cannot take in enough air. You are gasping, clawing at your scalp as it becomes too much. Incoherent noise leaves your mouth, the world blurring in consequence to tears springing up in your eyes. The dread spirals in your stomach, dipping into something heavier. Your hands move from your scalp to your arm, nails biting into the flesh you find there-
He is a sobering breath of air.
Arms go around your torso, encircling you and holding you close. A face hovers near your own, messy black hair tickling your ear. Glasses bite into your neck, a consequence of the odd angle.
The wind doesn't speak, it doesn't have a presence beyond the rawness of existence.
Breath though.
It requires the continuance of life.
The arms- the arms of your boyfriend, tighten around you.
"you alright?"
You barely shake your head, but he gets the message.
You've become aware of your arm, deep scratches stinging as you pull a clawed hand away from it. you don't know what to do with your hands.
John takes one, guiding it in front of you and tracing the ridges and divots with his finger.
"do you want to talk about it?"
You shake your head again.
"alright."
He reaches behind him, returning with a plushie that he guides your arms around. You run a finger over it's button eyes before hugging it tightly.
"try to focus on my breathing. that always helped me whenever i couldn't sleep."
You nod, curling further in his embrace.
Matching your breath to John's, you slowly, finally, drift into sleep.
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pairing - John Constantine x villian!reader getting handcuffed to john might be the best and worst thing to happen to you.
Original ask got deleted by accident, but it was asking for and antihero x villain being handcuffed together
The rain over Gotham City was relentless, turning the alleys into rivers of oily water and neon reflections. The kind of night where every shadow looked alive and every bad decision felt inevitable. For John Constantine, bad decisions were practically a lifestyle. Unfortunately for him, tonight’s worst decision was standing three feet away from you.
You leaned against the grimy brick wall of the alley, arms folded as much as the metal cuffs allowed. The cold steel chain between your wrist and his clinked softly whenever either of you moved. The enchanted cuffs glowed faintly, etched with runes neither of you could break without the other.
Which meant you were stuck together.
“Just my bloody luck,” Constantine muttered, lighting a cigarette despite the rain. The flame flickered before settling, smoke curling lazily between you both. “Of all the lunatics in this city, it had to be you.”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You say that like you’re a prize.” He scoffed, glancing sideways at you. “I’m a charming bloke with a heart of gold.” you cocked an eyebrow “You tried to banish me to another dimension three hours ago.”
“Well you did summon a minor demon in the middle of a museum.” You shrugged. “It was decorative.”
Constantine dragged his hand down his face, looking like a man reconsidering every life choice he’d ever made. The chain between your cuffs rattled when he shifted his weight. “You’re a menace,” he said.
“And yet,” you replied sweetly, lifting your wrist so the chain pulled slightly on his, “you’re magically attached to me.”
He glared at the glowing runes. The spell had triggered when both of you reached for the same cursed artifact. Typical magical booby trap, bind enemies together until they learned cooperation.
Constantine snorted. “Learn cooperation, it says. Whoever wrote this spell clearly never met either of us.”
You tilted your head toward the street where distant sirens wailed. “Well unless you’ve got a spell hidden somewhere in that trench coat, we’re stuck.” He patted his pockets theatrically. Lighter. Cigarettes. A crumpled note. A half-empty flask.
“Nope,” he said. “Just the essentials.” You stared. “You’re the world’s most irresponsible occultist.” “Oi,” he pointed the cigarette at you, “I’m a professional irresponsible occultist.” The chain tugged again when you pushed off the wall and started walking down the alley. Constantine stumbled forward with a grunt.
“Where d’you think you’re going?”
“You said the artifact bound us until we cooperate,” you replied casually. “So let’s cooperate.”
“With what?” You glanced back over your shoulder, a small smirk forming. “Getting the artifact back.” Constantine froze, eyes staring at you. “Hold on, back? You’re the one who stole it!”
“Borrowed.” you corrected
He threw his hand up “From a cursed vault!”
“Details.” He groaned loudly as you pulled him along toward the street. “I swear,” he muttered, “next time I fight a villain I’m bringing a priest, a shotgun, and a bloody lawyer.”
You looked at him sideways, amused. “Relax, Constantine,” you said. “Think of it as an adventure.” He sighed, taking another drag of his cigarette, a cloud of smoke releasing when he exhaled “Yeah,” he said dryly. “An adventure where I’m handcuffed to a psychopath.”
You smiled. The chain rattled between you as you both stepped into the rain-soaked street of Gotham, already arguing about which direction to go. But despite himself, Constantine couldn’t help noticing something deeply troubling.
A Supernatural Story
~John offers to help soothe your aching muscles after a long hunt, and his touch turns out to be just what you needed~
John Winchester x Reader
1022 Words
NSFW, Fingering and kissing. Massage turns sexy
Taken from an old TMA ask... see? i keep all asks even if you dont see it right away ;)
Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon
“God, my shoulders are killing me.”
A week of running around New Mexico on a hunt with little sleep had your body absolutely aching. Bouncing down uneven, gravel roads in John's old truck hadn't helped either. Everything hurt.
Fresh from a hot shower, you sat on the foot of your bed and rubbed your neck, seeking a bit of relief. The towel around your chest slipped a bit, but you were too tired to care.
“Shower didn't help?” John asked from across the motel room. His voice was deep; his words slowed by the whiskey he was sipping. “You were in there a while.”
You rolled your head back and to the side, stretching. “Nope. Water pressure is shit.” When you righted yourself and looked over at your hunting partner, his eyes were glued to you. He stared hard, but it wasn't embarrassing; it was arousing. His gaze was intense and it felt as if he was eating you alive. You smiled shyly as he swallowed the last of his drink.
“Let me help.”
“Oh, no. I'm OK…”
He was on his feet in a second, padding over to you in his bare feet. The sweat pants he wore were tight, and even the big, loose t-shirt couldn't hide the length of his cock against his left thigh. It was rude to stare, but you couldn't help it.
He grinned down at you like a wolf ready to pounce. Your temperature soared.
“I insist.”
John sat beside you and rubbed his palms together to warm them as you turned to the side. The towel slid down a bit more and you felt his eyes trail down your naked spine.
The first touch was almost shocking. His fingers were rough but magic, kneading into your sore flesh. He rubbed down your neck and across, pushing at the tense muscles.
“You're a mess, girl,” he teased, grinding his knuckles into a hard spot between your shoulders. “All tight…”
The word, his voice, and the feel of his hands all had your pussy clenching. Arousal flooded your system and you let out a tiny moan that did not go unnoticed.
John shifted closer. “So tense…” He set a hand on each shoulder, letting his long fingers glide over your collarbone. His thumbs pressed deep into your skin. His breath warmed your neck. “You need to relax. All this tension ain't good for anyone.”
Another moan, louder this time. You swayed backward and gasped, not realizing how close he was. Your back hit his chest and he took advantage, sliding his fingers a little farther down your chest.
“Feels amazing,” you whispered.
His lips grazed your ear. “Just relax.”
You hummed and obeyed, melting against him and closing your eyes. He continued his work, kneading your muscles and caressing your skin. Every ache he soothed only enhanced another.
“Fuck…”
He grinned against your throat. “Feel better?”
“So much…”
Your head lolled back onto his shoulder and John pressed a kiss below your ear. The moment made you shiver and reach for his hands. He hesitated at first, not wanting to let go, but that wasn't your plan. When he gave in, you pulled his hands gently to your tits.
“You do feel good, babygirl.” He hummed lustfully and covered each breast, squeezing gently. “Love these tits.”
You arched into his hands and rolled your hips against the air. His cock was hard and pressed into your ass.
“Yeah?”
He growled. “Oh, yeah.”
You held your breath as he tugged on each nipple, squirmed as he rolled them hard between his calloused fingers. When he scratched his right hand down your body, you bit your lip hard and felt the wetness drip from your pussy.
“Please…”
John laughed softly. “Always so ready for me, aren’t you?”
You hummed. “Always.”
With a quick turn of his wrist, the towel around you was open, and you spread your knees in anticipation. You didn’t have to wait long.
“Fucking soaked. Good girl,” he praised while sliding his middle finger through your pussy folds. He flicked it against your clit and pleasure shot through you, hot and desperate.
“John…”
He hissed as his name fell from your parted lips and drove his finger into you. Your body responded, instantly tightening around the digit, but it wasn’t enough. You whimpered and he smirked. Another finger slid inside and you moaned.
“More…”
Never one to disappoint, John fit a third finger into you, easing it in with a gentle pump of his hand. He kissed your neck again and dragged his lips to your ear. “Naughty.”
“Fuck!”
You could hear every slick thrust, feel the pressure building. The heel of his palm rubbed on your clit and your thighs shook around his hand. Craning your neck, you reached for his lips and drove your tongue into the whiskey-tinged heat.
The kiss fueled him on and he moved faster, twisting your nipple hard while slamming his fingers deeper inside.
“Oh, fuck!”
“You gonna cum for me, baby girl?” He growled into a kiss, held your gaze as if he were casting a spell. “I want you to cum.”
Every muscle in your body tensed up harder than before. You ached for respite and bucked your hips into his hand.
“Come on. I want it.”
The demand in his voice, the scrape of teeth on your ear, made your vision spark and the pleasure crest.
“Come on, baby,” he whispered, “give it to me.”
The final push sent blissful relief to every inch of your body. Your muscles tightened, then relaxed, your skin flushed, your heart thudded hard. Panting, you fell back, collapsing into his warmth.
“Holy… shit…” It was as if the entire week of strenuous work chasing monsters was erased, leaving you floating.
“Feel better now?”
“So, so much. Thank you.”
He kissed you softly, letting his lips linger over yours. He smiled. “Anything else I can help with?”
Still drunk on the afterglow, you laughed. “You gonna need to give me a minute… Then I’m sure we can think of something…”
“Ma’am,” he teased with a grin, “I am at your service.”
