Its a stormy night and hes cold. You can warm him up!
Smut, blowjob (the reader gives), praise kink, no swallowing (sorry to those who are into that).
John isnt picky with sex. He can go to the extremes and to the most vanila that would make even a virgin say 'oh come on!'.
Its a ground he has to carefully feel up in every new relationship. See exactly what his partner is comfortable with, be careful not to push the boundaries.
He still hasn't exactly figured it out yet with you. All he knows is that you definitely have some sort of oral fixation from the absolute constant nibbling you do on his skin.
Biting his neck, fingers, shoulder, cheek, literally anything you can get your hands on. Hell once you bit his bloody knee.
Safe to say hes walking around with quite a lot of hickeys.
Still, that little habit of yours is mighty helpful during days when hes stressed or just dead tired. You're a eager thing, ready to jump his bones the moment he says 'yes'.
The rain drops hit the glass window, another storm brewing in the city of London. It's dark out, his cigarette glowing in the dim lights of the candles.
The power went out in your flat. You can survive, considering you still have your winter clothes on you while he came over in his usual. White Button up, black tie, pants and the iconic beige coat.
"Im from Liverpool. We scousers dont get cold from shitty London weather.".
Ofcourse thats a lie.
You could see it by the way shivers would spread on his skin, how he fidgeted with his lighter, warming his palms with it.
At the mention of warming him up he scoffs, telling you to ignore it. He didn't quite catch the innuendo of your tone.
Suddenly you're on your knees Infront of him, a cheeky look on your face. Your hands rub his thighs, silently asking permission.
He stares down at you in amusement before chuckling, lighting up a cigarette "Alright. Do what ya want with me luv. Im yers.".
Your hands unbuckle the stubborn belt, taking it out from the loops and throwing it somewhere to the side. Then your fingers work his pants, slowly tugging the waistband down.
John takes a deep drag of his cigarette, spreading his legs, making it easier for you to indulge in him. Soon enough you've got his boxers down, revealing the cock that often makes you very happy.
Your lips trail his thighs, over the scars and imperfections, not letting even a small bit be left out. Your tongue sometimes peaks out teasingly, unexpectedly.
He sighs as you work on him, releasing the smoke from his mouth. You're always so delicate towards him.
He tastes like sweat and hard work. A taste you learned to enjoy very quickly.
You can see how he grows and twitches, trying to stay calm as you tease him, only getting close and never touching what he wants the most.
He watches you, the dim light somehow making it more erotic. It highlights all of his favorite features.
Suddenly you lean in and take him in. He gasps, gripping your head and choking on the smoke. You laugh, glancing up at him, his reaction the exact one you wanted to achieve.
"Yer supposed to be warmin' me up, not makin my heart go out.".
Hes groans, rubbing his forehead. You're just kneeling there with nearly his whole length in your mouth like its nothing. Hell you're not even doing anything, just...
"Im warmin you aren't i?" when those words leave your mouth he scoffs, staring down at you in disbelief.
You pull off, beginning to press small kisses against his member. Your hands move to his hips, squeezing gently.
John has to hold back a moan, his face growing a little red. You can be a teasing little brat when you want to be. He takes another drag of his cigarette, trying to ignore the way your touch send tingles against his spine.
Slowly you finally touch his tip, his eyes fluttering at the sensetion. Your lips wrap around his member properly this time, slowly lowering your head. He can feel the tight warmth of your throat, his cock only twitching at the feeling.
"Ghrm" he groans, his hand gripping your scalp "thats good luv.". His body heats up as you start to move up and down, your eyes closing as you focus.
Afterall you know exactly how he likes it.
He spreads his legs further, leaning back in the seat. His head is on his palm that's holding the nearly finished cigarette.
Hes not too big nor small, just right. Fits perfectly into your mouth. You manage to stifle the gag reflex that threatens to burst out whenever you take him in again.
Your fingers trace over his inner thigh before slowly moving to the most sensitive spot they can find, trailing right behind his member to touch the sack.
"Ah-" he coughs, letting out a whimper. John has to take another shaky drag of the cigarette.
You reduce the speed of your movements, focusing on touching the delicate skin, trying not to be too rough.
Hes breathing heavily, staring down at you in desperation. Hes getting closer but as always, you make him wait for it. Take in the moment.
Like its bloody meditation.
"Oh fuck- aw-" he swallows tightly when you press a little harder, your tongue touching his tip. He feels himself begin to sweat, his chest growing tighter.
Hes stiff in your mouth, the tip touching the back of your throat. You speed up gradually, now gently cupping the balls instead. Its enough to make him moan, his hips bucking, trying to gain more.
He grips the cigarette, not caring that the ash is now dropping onto the floor.
You move your head up and down, gliding along his member like its the most natural thing in the world. He twitches, clearly getting near the finish. The taste of his precum slowly stains your tongue, salty.
John moans, gritting his jaw and letting his head fall back. He begins to guide your mouth, his hips bucking, not able to resist you anymore.
"Fuck luv, mh, that's good, god your mouth is heavenly, aw bloody hell-"
He often turns to praise in moments like this, knowing how much it fuels you.
You move faster, precise, the way he guides you too.
He grips the cigarette in his hand, crumpling it in his palm. A loud moan leaves him, saying your name before finishing right into your mouth.
You choke, pulling away to spit the remains of his satisfaction on the floor. Its salty and thick, not really your taste.
"Ah... Ah..." he breathes heavily, letting go of your head. He rubs his eyes, slowly growing to his senses "sorry luv, you were..." he can't describe it. He wont.
You wipe your mouth, a small smile on your face.
"You feel warm now? Or do we need to continue?".
He chuckles, taking a few seconds to register what you actually said.
Mucous Membrane! John Constantine x Witch!gn!reader
w/c: 9.1K
!!!Spoilers for the Hellblazer issue #11!!!
tags: the John Constantine usual of smoking, drinking, inducing: vomiting, witchcraft, occult magic, John is a dick and can't handle feelings, slow burn, fluff, don't get along to lovers, drug use, mention of arson, mention of sex magick(sorry no smut today freaks), intimacy through magic, slight hypnotism but really not, making out, blood, angsty ending cause I like pain :)
A/N: this took me way too long but its just mucous membrane!john brainrot but I love this little bastard and I want more of him! Especially with more magic and occult involved. I know John canonically knows other occult people in the comics, I just wanted to have him meet his first magic user who isn't Alex Logue.
Enjoy!
The night was nearly pitch black when John stepped out into the streets, the cold wind nearly burned him as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Skin bruised and hot from being tussled and tossed around in the mosh pit before his stomach gave up holding in what food he had eaten.
He was at least thankful none of his mates noticed his sudden absence as he emptied his guts onto the street, groaning as he caught his breath, dizzy and lightheaded.
Their laughter at his sorry state would only make his skull rattle.
He needed a smoke and a walk to come down from the familiar rush that steals away your hearing to the point you can't hear your own voice over the impact of the music still slamming around in your senses like a thunderous echo.
But earplugs were for posers in his opinion, he liked earning his tinnitus naturally as he hauled himself up, ignoring the feeling of how light he felt as he reached into his pocket for a fag.
Nothing.
"Wha-? Oh fuck me, Les you bastard!" He cursed into the empty street, the echo finally dawning on him how quiet it had become.
He couldn't tell the time, but he was sure London was never this quiet.
He blamed it on his muddled senses as he spat the last remnants of his dinner with a curse, the only noise being the soft pulse of the beat coming from the downstairs gig still going hard.
John groaned as he turned in the direction of the nearest cornerstone; at least he hoped it was.
But a relaxing walk wasn't relaxing without a cigarette to burn away the acidic taste on his teeth.
The streetlamps seemed darker than usual, but it's not like he noticed as he trudged forward, the heat slowly slipping from him the farther he walked, shivers crawling up his spine.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he kept going forward, it wouldn't do him any good to stop and try to assess where the hell he was.
───────── ❀ ★ ❀ ─────────
Something caught his gaze as he walked past the park, a soft light far brighter than the streetlamps, as it seemed to be moving, walking along where the roads all connected into the small island of an imitated display of nature meant for families and rowdy kids doing what they shouldn't. The light flickered as it disappeared between the trees.
He stopped in his tracks.
That sensation, something alive and humming with a need to fill the entire space.
Familiarity began to weigh on him.
Feeling it so clearly, even through the haze of his intoxicated state, hair on the back of his neck standing on end.
He knew that feeling, he knew it well, for he'd chased its knowledge.
Magic.
His feet already decided before his head even caught up, going to investigate without so much as a plan, possessiveness of territory you could call it.
Or just his arrogance at the fact that someone else was pulling tricks on his side of the city.
He needed to see it.
Show whoever this new practitioner on the block is who was in charge around this side of London.
No petty casters are gonna be spewing spells if he could help it, being the hypocrite he was.
The leaves crunched beneath his boots as he followed it, preparing for the worst of what could be occurring.
A sacrifice, a summoning, raising the dead? How could he know what he was up against when he couldn't even see it as he kept his gaze locked on the small flame as he grew closer.
Waiting for the burst of flames, the screaming of souls, any indication of some dark art being harnessed.
But the rush for a challenge, coupled with the last sparks of adrenaline, fed his curiosity.
He nearly tripped over a tree root when he finally came to the scene.
No hellfire or blood.
No virgin sacrifice.
Just you.
A burning piece of parchment at the base of a tree, orange flames lighting up your features as whatever text was written on it was swallowed and destroyed.
You looked around his age, maybe a bit younger.
Your right hand is holding a lighter inscribed with symbols you'd set the paper aflame with.
Holding it aloft so as not to have the fire claim the leaves.
He could feel the heat from here, watching as the paper was eaten away by fire, as it all clicked in his head what this was.
Witchcraft.
A craft that branched off from the occult.
This was some sort of ritual. And he'd walked right into the final act of it.
The heavy weight of being watched stuck him before your eyes met, both wide with surprise at the other.
In practice, John hadn't bothered to seek out others of his working, too confident in his powers to feel the need to seek others out unless he could gain something from them.
But standing here,
an occultist and a witch,
two beings so similar at their core, yet divided by the subtle changes of their practices and nature.
It was surreal as he couldn't read your features anymore, only the eyes.
Full of knowledge yet curiosity, strength & power.
It seemed you were the same as they softened, glinting in the flaming paper you held.
It would've lasted longer if the paper hadn't burnt your fingers, your cry of pain shattering the silence as the magic dispersed as if frightened by the scream.
The flames went up into ash, and the park was thrust into darkness as he felt something harsh hit him like a train.
'What the fuck just happened?'
John thought as he once again opened his eyes again he found himself standing at the edge of the park.
The briefest glimpses of stars through the dark clouds are now the only light above, besides the dull streetlamps.
His ears now ringing from your scream, his heart racing now for a different reason.
But he had no intention of letting you get off that easily, not after a display like that.
But first, an entire pack of cigarettes was needed after that.
───────── ❀ ★ ❀ ─────────
It'd been two days now, and he still hadn't found you, and he was beginning to let his temper get the better of him.
'What were you, a fucking hermit on top of being a witch? Or are you just hiding from me, silly witch?'
He couldn't get you off his mind even if he wanted to,
Seemed like every time he closed his eyes, he'd be met with that moment back in the park.
It pissed him off as he stomped down the street.
John hated losing, and cheating was practically his specialty above magic; he just had nothing to go off of in terms of finding you.
And even if he did, John didn't know much about witches other than most were known for their overprotective nature, with the chance of a curse at hand.
He wouldn't put it past you to put one on him, but nothing too horrible that wasn't already an average occurrence in his life had happened.
So he figured not.
In the end, his best bet on the table was to wait at the same park in broad fucking daylight.
Just hoping you'd appear, as stupid as it looked.
If his mates saw him now, they'd be teasing him for looking like he was waiting for a date to show.
If anything, it was for some damn answers. He could still feel the odd burn in his chest when the fire was snuffed out.
And that feeling didn't lessen when his gaze finally found you.
He scrambled to his feet in a hurry, not wanting you to get away like last time, his cigarette left in the grass as he glared at you.
"You," he said bitterly.
You blinked at his attitude, already somewhat recovering from the ritual you held that night.
Seeing him didn't ease your worry as you walked towards him.
"Y-you. Hello...again." you answered somewhat cautiously.
Voice soft yet clear as a bell to him.
He scowled at your cautious attitude. Why were you being careful? You were the one who messed him up somehow.
"Thought you could just skive right by me after ya little spell the night before huh? I thought you witches were suppos to be clever little cats?" He insults, in his eyes, you were the entire problem.
You don't budge under his attempt at intimidation, your steps stopping just a few feet of space between you two.
"I figured you wouldn't want to see me again after that night. I hit you pretty hard after all."
He scoffed as he slumped back down onto the bench, leaning back as he looked you up and down.
Dressed warmly in a black crew neck, long flowing skirt over it that just barely brushed the concrete, with a black trench coat. Concealing most of your figure, but you still looked the same as that night he met you.
"Then fix it, ya broke it, ya buy it as they say."
Your gaze sharpened instantly with a look of confusion.
"Fix it? It wasn't my fault you interrupted my ritual. You're clearly also one of the arts, you fix it." You scolded his audacity to fix his own mistake; you already knew what he'd be like seeing his punk attire.
But this was just stupidity.
Being met with the same level of snark, a part of him was almost impressed that you were standing up to him.
At least you had backbone.
"Now you've lost the plot. I'm not the one doing a ritual out in the middle of the night in a public park, can't blame a bloke for getting curious."
You two went back and forth arguing like an old married couple in the middle of a park before he stood up to insult you.
"Well, unlike you slippery little witches, I prefer to do my spells in..."
Then his vision got blurry, and the burn in his chest came back at full force.
Felt like he was drunk and hungover at the same time before he lost his balance.
You caught him by the shoulders before he could fall, those eyes that had been branded into his memory were now full of worry.
What the fuck was happening to him?
"You fucking moron, you didn't cleanse yourself?!" You berate, realizing the severity of his state as you press your hand to his forehead.
Oh, right.....cleansing.
A supposed 'need' when practicing any sort of magic.
John had skimmed over that section when it came to his personal study of the occult. Figured it was only needed if you went face-to-face with something in a demonic or otherworldly zone.
Apparently fucking not.
In your panic, you helped him up, leaning his body against yours as you began dragging him along. You had to get rid of whatever he was hit with from your spell before the effects got worse.
"C'mon, we're going to my place."
"At least....buy me a pint first putz."
Well, at least he found you.
───────── ❀ ★ ❀ ─────────
Waking up in a bathtub still clothed was not on John's bucket list for the week. Head still somewhat pounding, but the pain in his chest was gone.
The smell of incense burns his nose as he sits up in the shallow warm water, a thin layer of what looked to be salt sat on the bottom of the large tub beneath him.
What were you trying to mummify him as well?
He had been stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt at least as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings.
Clean yet cluttered with ingredients & trinkets.
Even the clothes that hadn't been submerged in water sat beside neatly folded dry ones for him.
Certain bottles of various oils and soaps littered the cabinets and shelves, all humming that same note of magical energy.
"Steweth...what's a witch like that gotta do for a place like this?" He mutters to himself.
The bathroom door opened, revealing you looking very frazzled as your hands seemed to be holding a plate of food. Trench coat discarded, leaving you in your long-sleeved crewneck and long flower-patterned skirt.
"Oh, you're awake," you sigh in relief, pulling up a stool to sit beside the tub as you hold out the plate of food to him.
Eggs in a basket, along with a good portion of grilled honey ham.
The real fucking meal for what felt like days.
"Here, it'll help with-"
Swiftly swiping the plate from you, he's already scarfing it down before you can finish.
"Mmm~ Food's fuckin' amazing," he mumbles between mouthfuls, licking his fingers without any manners.
Guess you were smart to put him in the tub and not on the couch.
Once he was done eating, he felt much better than before, less angry as well, now that his problem was fixed.
"Good to know, wanna mind telling me why you didn't fucking cleanse yourself after running into me that night?" You asked, trying not to sound too angry at such a basic need throughout spell work.
John shrugged as he cleared his plate, not even a crumb left on it once he was finished.
He somewhat respected you, but he was still willing to be a brat about it.
"Why should I have bothered? never encountered a witch before, you weren't anything special." He answered with a condescending smirk your way as he handed back the plate.
Apparently, saving his arse from his own stupidity hadn't earned you his manners.
If he had any manners to begin with.
"You're in deep need of a damn teacher if you're this daft." Is all you say before grabbing the plate and leaving to allow him to change.
It was impressive how they squeezed three insults in the time it took for you to leave, though, closing the door behind you to give him some privacy.
But you were being serious about the teaching part as you grabbed one of your early grimoires, not exactly something for a beginner, but definitely something past the basics.
Before stopping yourself at this odd rush of generosity, you didn't trust him, let alone with a grimoire of all things.
You didn't even know his name, doubt he'd give it for free.
Witches could be paranoid, but you'd never run into an occultist, and it's not like you both got off on the right foot.
"Don't think I caught your name yet doll face," John interrupts your thoughts as he leans against the doorframe, dressed in one of your t-shirts with his still dry pants and shaking the water from his hair as he takes in your living space.
Your flat was cramped but cozy in a way, shelves of books and bottles of components, sprinkles of salt and cinnamon laid on the windowsill, along with a bowl filled with water, herbs, and salt.
He'd never seen so much magic at play all within one room.
Not even in those tacky spiritual shops he'd pass on the street looking for books on the occult. But your place...It seemed to envelope the entire flat like a bubble.
"Yet by the looks of it, you're the real deal then, aren't you?"
You set down the grimoire on your desk before turning to him.
If you wanted to get anywhere with this, you had to answer some questions. And at least try to be as mannered as you were capable.
"(Y/N)...my name is (Y/N), been practicing for about three years now."
He gave an impressed whistle at that.
"Blimey, ain't you a right and proper witch." his smirk widened as he stepped closer, the air still thick with energy, but it wasn't stifling.
"Name's John, been in this game far longer than you for one." He bragged.
"Hm, it's a wonder you've survived this long." You retorted, crossing your arms unimpressed.
And then bickering started up again.
"Oi! Watch it, I've been in the craft since I was twelve, ya nitwit!"
───────── ❀ ★ ❀ ─────────
It was the start to some sort of odd relationship, or well, he kept showing up at your apartment randomly, having no respect for your organization, as he asked about anything and everything, and he flopped onto your couch like he owned the place.
"Fucking Les won't pay back my damn fags as if he didn't bloody nab 'em off me!" He complained as he flopped onto your much more comfortable couch, immediately rifling through the side table for a joint.
"Maybe I'll hide his Bass here, get a good rager out of him."
"First of all, you're not hiding anybody's bass here cause you wanna cause havoc, and two, quit rifling for my damn stash!"
Also, never gave you your clothes back and didn't seem adamant to do so.
"Call it leverage, can't have ya getting too cheeky to curse me now, can I?" He'd laughed when asked about it.
It was at least the first step to teaching him some of the more necessary topics of spellcasting he clearly neglected.
But he wasn't gonna do it easily.
Just like tonight.
"You need to fucking cleanse, quit the kerfuffle." You scold, trying to hold his chin while rubbing an egg against his forehead as he sat on your couch.
Having run into a nasty wraith you both found to be haunting under a bridge, and in typical John wanted to bind it to use for later.
What a stupid idea that was, as you'd at least swept in last minute to banish it.
"Come off it, I'm bloody fine! The fucks an egg gonna do for me anyways?"
He tries batting your hands off him, though you're both being equally stubborn.
"It'll help with deciding what kinda curse this thing put on you so we can send it back. Gotta crack it into a glass of water to read the yolk properly."
"Now ya just wastin' good eggs ya knobhead! I've survived worse." He barked, pushing your face away as you two fought like a couple of kids.
"Enough!" You demand. Your hands pinning down his wrists to the couch as you tried to de-escalate the situation you two found yourselves in, panting like a dog.
Glaring down at him with those captivating eyes, his stormy blue ones glaring back as the world seemed to melt away to just you, too.
Skin felt too hot, and the hum of magic grew stronger like electricity crackling.
A shiver rolled up your spine before you pulled your hands off him with a sigh and offered a solution to not cause any damage to your flat.
"If you're that adamant, we can try something else, quit wasting time...and eggs." You give in as you turn to grab a decanter from your kitchen counter.
In the end, you both finally agreed to purify through the old-fashioned method that John enjoyed, alcohol.
Since many believed it held the ability to cleanse and rid spirits.
Guess it was just another way John got as far as he did.
Moon rum, you'd called it. John figured he'd ask about it later as he took his fill.
He watched you from the table, giving each other a rest after the eventful night, as you went and made a small protection pouch to place under the couch where John slept.
"Just in case it tries to give you nightmares." You'd explained before heading off to sleep.
He was confused; even after all the fighting, you still wanted him to be safe.
That stupid feeling in his chest came back, only this time it didn't hurt.
"Cheers, luv." He called out to you before he saw your bedroom door close.
John was a stubborn dick who didn't pull punches, good thing you knew how to be one right back at him.
Always able to toss back exactly what he dished out and trying to get him in minuscule ways to teach him your kind of magic.
John honestly found it quite attractive the way you'd snapped back, towering over him with the magic of the room thickening like molasses with the bottles rattling with your anger.
But he didn't wanna delve into the thought of melting into your gaze with your hands on him. His face heated up remembering that blaze from the fire still caught in your pupils set a different kinda heat through him. He forced those thoughts away as he rolled over on your couch with a warm blanket and a full stomach.
───────── ❀ ★ ❀ ─────────
But he was learning some stuff from you, making sigils was a breeze, he'd definitely use to his advantage due to it being a basic tool of the occult.
Things like wards that needed to take up space weren't his favorite.
He didn't even have a place outside of his mate's flat, and they needed to be renewed every once in a while, which he hated.
You couldn't really blame him for that. It could be a pain when your wards get hit and need resetting.
"How the fuck many more flavors of spells are ya gonna hammer into my skull? What's this difference ya keep waffling on about anyway?"
John groaned as he kicked off his boots before setting his feet on your coffee table. Absolutely knackered after practice for a new gig coming up.
"The difference is, all witchcraft is considered occultism, but not all occultists practice can be considered witchcraft.
There are a lot of components at play, but it's mainly what you're shooting for that's the most important to define them. Most commonly considered old or ancient magic for the occult, newly developed methods of today are considered witchcraft."
You tried to explain while mixing the odd concoction of ingredients and needed components sat at your desk right beside the couch.
Some burnt rosemary, sea salt, and agrimony it looked like.
"In simple terms, at least."
"So I'm the original deal, and you're just choosing the easy new crap? Good to know I'm at least not cheatin in magic." Was all you got in return.
He couldn't fight the chortle at your scrunched brow and upturned expression.
"Easy? What do you need, a grocery list or something for what magic is easy?"
No magic method was 'easy', every kind took practice and study, some magic was sacred and inherited.
You let it go, seeing he was just trying to get under your skin, and you had better things to do as you sprinkled the mixture on the windowsill.
"Well, what's your favorite? C'mon, you've gotta have some preferred type of witchy shit ya dabble in being in it for three years." He prodded, trying to learn a bit more about you.
"I don't have a favorite," You shut down, striking a match to light a candle.
"Too many options."
"Boo! You're no fun. Everyone's got a favorite something. Gotta hand it to planetary, makes my spell hit all the harder if ya wondered, which I'm sure you do." He rolled his eyes, watching in mild fascination once the candle had been lit, your gaze fixed on the match between your fingers.
"And you said witchcraft was 'easy', must be fun just scheduling what day you gotta cast this spell to cause this effect, so on and so forth." You sassed as the flame fizzled out under your gaze.
"Well, if what I've seen is anything to go off of you certainly fancy the more fiery magic, don't you? More than enough matchboxes n lighters on you to make an arsonist of ya."
He smirked, resting his chin in his palm.
He wasn't getting anywhere with his usual insults today.
You seemed especially crabby as you had to reset the protection on your flat, having to clean and salt the windows along with cleansing and locking every reflective surface to avoid peeping toms.
Or John trying to scry on you.
...If he even knew how to do that.
Guess he'd switch up his question as he placed a joint between his lips, grabbing one of your lighters from between the couch cushions to spark it.
"How bout what magic you have tried then, hmm? Will ya answer that?"
"Uhh, just a good few, fun part of being a witch is you get to be quite eclectic with what to study and practice. No need to just focus on one form. Curses, protection, abundance, money bowls, cord cuttings, glamour magic,"
You began to list, trying to think of the wide variety of witchcraft had to offer.
John was impressed, but he wasn't really getting what he wanted from you.
"A bit of kitchen magic, divination, sex magick from time to time &-"
John wasn't expecting that, sitting up suddenly, nearly choking on the smoke.
"Wa- wait, you can put magic into shagging?" He asked expectingly, the thought of you, of all people, participating in that kind of magic...or what it would even look like.
He guessed it didn't seem too far out of a concept, but still...
"Yeah, it's kinda a mix of manifestation or glamour magic. You don't need a partner to do it with either. Why do you ask?"
You blinked in confusion. It wasn't taboo magic by any means and was widely known by other spellcasters.
But the damage had already been done, and his interest was piqued.
He couldn't stop that slimy smirk of his from forming, or the words that came from him.
"Can we learn about that next?" He asked half jokingly with a raise of his pierced eyebrow.
The sudden intensity in the air was the only answer he got.
All he saw before he got a pillow thrown at his face was your flustered glare at what he insinuated.
So much for trying to flirt with you.
"No, I'm not teaching you that, you perv! Go read a book about it!"
He could only laugh in return.
"Still luv, what's the harm in it? No doubt our magics together could give us quite the reaction."
God help you, why did he have to be such a prick?
"You don't need sex to do that; connection and magick can be a delicate process to succeed."
"Good thing I'm anything but delicate, huh?"
"It's a good thing neither of us are delicate, John."
He ignored his shiver at the way you said his name with a bitter note. You could call him any name in the book, and he'd probably let you if you said it like that.
"Connection in magic can be just as fragile as intimacy and trust, one wrong step or doubt, and it's like throwing a set of fine china down a stairwell."
He'd keep that in mind for later as he reached down to pick up the joint to not burn the carpet.
"Speaking from experience?"
"Wouldn't you like to know, nosy brat." You couldn't help but smirk seeing him try and fail to get some answers out of you.
'Worth a shot, I guess?' he thought as he continued watching you work.
You didn't even know why you kept him around; it wasn't responsibility.
You'd already cleaned up the effects of the spell. There was nothing else between you two other than the fact that you got on each other's nerves and were kindred spirits of the craft.
Guess it was more of a question of why he kept coming back.
Or why you kept letting him in. No, you already knew that answer.
Didn't mean you had to like it.
───────── ❀ ★ ❀ ─────────
The constant butting heads and bickering had slowly mellowed out to simple teasing and pokes at the other.
And it finally seemed you two were growing into a friendship you could call it.
John was especially hyped when he offered you to come to one of his shows, and for some reason, you said yes.
You needed to get out more often, or that was more what John said as he tossed you one of his jackets so you could at least try to fit in.
He gave you the address of the show and how much the entrance fee would cost you before leaving in a hurry, fighting the urge to fucking skip down the street.
He wanted to peacock his magic to you, in his own chaotic fashion of punk rock and angry screaming teenagers all being at each other's throats.
No other reason...definitely no other reason.
Other than the fact Mucous Membrane would be one of the bands playing that night.
It wasn't til the band started setting up that John began doubting his decision.
Something he rarely ever experienced.
He didn't doubt himself when he cast his first spell all those years ago, locking his innocence away in a box.
He didn't doubt his decision to leave his father's house and run away to London.
'Why the fuck would I start doubting bloody now?!'
He didn't want to admit that he wanted you to like him the same way he was beginning to like you.
He was amazed by you, he just wanted to amaze you the same.
Those nights spent on your couch as you prattled on about magical stuff while he fell asleep against your shoulder, waking up with a protection sigil drawn on his hand.
Showing him all the good resource stores to avoid getting ripped off.
You two had become a part of each other's lives, and John just wanted it to go further.
And those damn eyes of yours! He swore he could fucking drown in them if he looked too long.
That was far too hopeful a thought for his liking.
'Feelings are stupid. Stupid and useless, never did me any good.'
He kept repeating in his head, thinking of Katie back in Liverpool, how that relationship got left at a dead end thanks to that bloody teacher.
He tried not to set down the equipment too harshly, doubt beginning to set in at the idea you wouldn't like the show.
For fucks sake he'd invited you to a punk show of all things?!
As a means to impress you, of course.
But you liked Fleetwood Mac mainly cause of Stevie Nicks, and The Police, sure rock and punk fit together like a glove, didn't mean you couldn't not like the other.
What did a crush on you do for him anyway?
Let alone a witch like you.
Could probably just wave your arms, write your dream man or woman on a petition, cast your spell, and probably find yourself a perfect partner within the next month.
If that ever happened, he wouldn't hesitate to scare them off.
With magic or his fists.
"John, you alright? Your handling that mic like it owes you a tenner." Chas's voice snapped him out of his frustrated thoughts.
"S'nothin mate, just need a fag before this shit show starts." He shook his head, trudging off stage to light one up.
He shouldn't be surprised that Chas followed him.
As if he could hide anything from him.
"Nah, nah, you're not getting out of this one easy, mate you're bursting at the seams and not in your usual sense before a gig. What's got you so wound up?"
John groaned as he ran his hand through his messy hair, still a slight magenta tint from when he'd dyed the ends a dark red.
"Someone's coming to the show tonight, they own the place I've been runnin' off to for the past month. Helpin me sharpen my skills in the occult and magic, you could say."
It didn't take a genius to figure out John's distress.
Chas was honestly appalled at the realization, much to John's dismay.
"Bloody hell, you fancy them don't you?"
John only groaned in response. If Chas could see it, no doubt his mates would be at him like a pack of dogs fishing for details on you.
"If I say yes, will you fuck off and not tell a soul?"
Chas chuckled as he could clearly see how tense John was.
"Oh, you're not getting off that easy, you wouldn't make it easy for me if you knew I fancied someone."
John cursed at the fact Chas had him pinned.
In the end, Chas walked away with a bit of cash, and John was one step closer to lung cancer as he burned through the pack, lighting each one with your lighter.
Seeing it didn't help his thoughts.
Thinking of you still walking through his mind like you damn owned it.
Wanting that feeling of your hands on him, pinning him down.
'God fucking damn it!'
He growled, kicking the nearest trash can in the alley with a huff.
He was fucking twenty-two, not some hormonally frustrated teenager having his first boner.
He just wanted to dissolve under your gaze and melt under your touch.
He groaned, leaning against the wall as he looked up at the sky, seeing the sun begin its slow descent into the afternoon.
Tonight would go fine, but that would be hard to expect from a punk show of all places?
‘The hell did a ‘fine’ punk show even look like?’ John thought as he lit the next cigarette with a deep sigh.
Figured he could give it back to you after the show...
If you even stuck around after the show.
───────── ❀ ★ ❀ ─────────
The bands were just starting when you arrived. You didn't have any high expectations for the set, so you weren't surprised to find it in someone's garage. People of all varieties are getting shit faced and picking fights before the chaos could even begin.
It didn't take a magic user to tell the air was tense and waiting for an outlet to cause beautiful chaos as the first band was just starting to play.
Harsh bang of the drums shaking the floor, followed by the intense bass.
It was like willingly walking into a cave in the middle of an earthquake.
You came as prepared as someone could be for their first punk show.
Well hydrated, earplugs, ate dinner an hour before, extra cash for the bands, the usual.
John's jacket sat snuggly on your frame as you looked around for the scrawny punk.
You weren't surprised to not see him, but before you could think of your plan to find him, you stepped back to the wall as the mosh pit began to form and the music came a meter away from deafening.
People screaming along to the music as they rammed and danced wildly, it was fascinating as well as overwhelming, as you couldn't be more thankful for planning.
You weren't scared, you'd fought off a nest of imps with more bite than these teenagers, but it was overwhelming in all aspects, so you focused on the bass of the music as you watched from a distance.
The rest of it was a blur.
You drank a bit too loosen up, but the beer tasted like shit, and the muggy atmosphere was getting harder to stand in such a claustrophobic space.
Though the flooding colors and people were entertaining, the music shook the entire venue as you noted some of the songs you did enjoy.
Your eyes were still looking around for John, but through all the leather, spikes, bare skin, and band shirts, you weren't brave enough to step away from the wall to go find him.
The creeping thought that this was some way for him to get back at you for all the teasing, but you knew John enough to know he wouldn't invite you to something he held an honest interest in just to humiliate you.
But being alone, in a corner, in a scene you didn't fit into, surrounded by people you didn't know...
Til the music started up again.
You didn't even catch the name of the band, but that feeling as it began to drip down the concrete walls,
over the crowd, and fill the room, bleeding into anything it touches like water.
It began to pulse to the beat of the drum and bass, and your eyes widened with shock and realization.
This was a ritual.
One you gave John a while ago when he kept bugging you about magic to get more money at gigs.
And you'd thrown together something strong for him, mainly to get him off your back while you worked.
But the ritual was made from a strong force known for its hypnotic effects.
Siren magick was a strange thing to harness,
Drawn from the depths of allure and entrancement, it wasn't easy to pull off.
Yet it fit him gorgeously.
You didn't need to ask whose magic this was, the sheer presence of it could have swept you off your feet if you hadn't designed it yourself.
Your eyes looked up from the crowd, watching the sea of people swirl and crash, John at the front of it all, practically screamed his frustration and anger into the poor mic as the band played like their lives depended on it.
You'd never felt his presence like this.
His magic was hungry.
Urgent, desperate.
Sweeping across everything and everyone in its path without mercy to draw their attention to him.
You were standing in the middle of the beach, about to be sucked under by the tide.
Yet you couldn't find it in yourself to be worried about the intensity.
You were proud.
He used your teachings in his own way, took the ritual you'd made just for him, and had the privilege of seeing it all.
And seeing all of him.
A starving envy too proud to die out, instead willing to take whatever it could to elongate its power and survive no matter what.
Sweat-covered skin, that old t-shirt you gave him, now cropped short and patterned to his punk fashion.
Teeth bared as he screamed to his heart's content, voice shrill as he raged through the lyrics like the lines themselves were the cause of such rage.
And those angry blue eyes only seemed to look brighter with the dark makeup painted on around them.
The eye of a storm. That's what he was.
And that's what he'd always be.
And then they met yours.
Intense and accusing, they didn't even blink, as if this state of his was your doing.
As he waited for you to join.
Join whatever this was between you both in the middle of the ritual, abandon formality, and be creatures of need and desire without boundary.
Hop the fence and meet him halfway, angry and alive.
You'd written the incantation, you knew this process as well as you knew him. The steps needed to come to fruition.
It wasn't the music that had you stepping forward, or the Siren magick being cast.
The connection was far stronger than that, it pushed you both together, waiting for acknowledgment and reaction.
Just like all the times before.
And he wanted you to join.
The swirling tide threw you for a loop, but you couldn't fight the smile you found yourself holding as you swung and yelled along to the incantation.
You'd observed the people in the pit long enough to know how to operate in such a dance.
Magic crackling through the waves of sound as you joined the ritual you'd written for him.
Both your powers mixed with some otherworldly force of nature, the connection you'd proclaimed to be 'delicate' wasn't needed.
Neither of you two wished to be delicate.
Feeding its power with all the magic you held as you found rhythm in the dancing you'd perform in these kinds of rituals.
He only caught glimpses of you through the pit, but what he did catch was the barking laughter and tales of the incantation, your smile so bright he nearly forgot what he was doing.
Watching you dive straight into chaos as he'd desired you to, as the magic reached its full potential.
───────── ❀ ★ ❀ ─────────
Your legs felt like jelly as you nearly collapsed against the wall of the garage outside. Tugging out your earplugs. Your face was numb from where you'd been hit in the nose, dried blood flaking off your chin as you took a much-needed drink of water to wash it out.
The set was done, and the afterglow was setting in as you went outside to catch some fresh air.
Your heart is still pounding, your ears somewhat ringing, every muscle in your body awake and screaming.
You felt drained, but the good kind of drained.
That satisfaction after putting all the effort you could into something, knowing that the seeds now sown would prosper well for tonight.
Especially after a ritual like that.
That took a lot out of you both spiritually and physically, your hands somewhat shaking as you lit up a cigarette.
You'd definitely have bruises tomorrow, but you could worry about that later, as you heard the small garage door open.
You didn't need to look up to know who it was.
But you were still riding the high of everything and simply handed John the fag when you felt him sit beside you on the pavement of the driveway.
The sound of his heavy breaths was an odd comfort, knowing this was a lot for him, too.
Both just sat still after something so intense, it was hard to stay tethered to consciousness as your breath finally evened out.
As much as you'd love to see the mess he was too, sitting down wasn't the best option, as already your body decided to make the rest of your muscles jello.
Going limp as a ragdoll as you leaned against him.
Focusing on how his heart still raced like it was trying to escape his chest.
You smiled, he enjoyed this just as much as you did.
Leaning your head back against the wall, you let your head tilt to the side, finally getting a good look at him now in the dim light near the porch.
God, he looked handsome in that rugged, trashy, messy way.
The pink of his cheeks suited his sweaty dyed hair still stuck to his face.
Laughter shook your chest.
"Heh...using my own written ritual as a means to get me to participate in the punk scene huh? You are far more clever than I-"
His rough palm found the side of your face before you could finish,
half-lidded eyes flickering from your lips to meet your gaze pleadingly.
All the power simmered down to raw desires, he'd been wanting this for far too long.
His dilated pupils make his blue iris become a single band of blue around black holes.
His breath was still harsh, yet his eyes had softened with what magic he'd used.
But it was more than that.
He was still hungry, but success for the ritual had already been found and conquered.
He'd never felt a connection like that before, not even between the cheap flings and thrills he sought out.
This was deeper than that.
You two were intertwined, the rawest powers of you both mixed for what felt like hours was only twelve minutes.
But he wanted it to be hours.
"Please..." He rasped like an incantation, the word heavy on his straining voice, eyes looking for reciprocation.
The pad of his thumb wipes away the blood from your lips.
Asking permission for more, as it slid down to hold your chin, as his arms began to snake around your waist lazily.
He already got the answer when you leaned forward to seal your lips to his.
That burst of pent-up feelings, buzzing energy, and exhaustion felt like heaven to you both, clumsily kissing outside the show in the middle of someone's driveway.
Hands messily reaching for the other as you two had to use the wall and each other to not topple over onto the ground.
The cold air of the night did little to calm the fire you two had set.
"Mm' fuckin need you..." he gasped between messy kisses as he tugged you onto his lap.
"Fuckin need you so bad...(Y/N)."
You gripped the front of the shirt you gave him, noses smashed against the other.
"Shut up....you can fucking have me, John."
He didn't need to be told twice as he wove his fingers with yours to pin him against the wall. Losing the ability to tell where you ended and he began, caught in the tide of your combined magic seeping into each other.
It was honestly for the best Chas & Gary walked in on you two.
John was about a second away from finishing in his damn pants, and you were a second away from ripping that stupid shirt off him.
Both freezing up like raccoons suddenly found rifling through the trash.
"Take it, this is your friend you were talking bout?" Chas asked with a slightly sympathetic smile, seeing that John at least got over his nerves and made a move on you.
"Eeww never mind that! You two were just gonna shag in the middle of a fucking driveway, mate?!" Gary yelled, somewhat impressed and disgusted at the situation.
"Piss off Gary! S'if you had the guts to do it!" John yelled, flipping him off, his other hand still pinned to the wall by you.
"As if! You're not bringing that back onto my couch John! Get a real room, ya poser!"
Chas just sighed, but gave you and John a hesitant thumbs up at the more than awkward situation.
"Happy for ya, John, and nice to meet ya...but Gary's right."
You didn't even hesitate to shrug, offering that he'd just come crash on your bed instead.
"Ugh poser! Only posers fall in love John!" Gary gagged in disgust.
───────── ❀ ★ ❀ ─────────
It had been weeks now since that gig.
Since Mucous Membrane had gotten a generous tip thanks to the ritual.
And since you and John became inseparable, it would be a surprise to see John not smiling when coming back from your place.
Days spent doing magic together or just lying on your chest and feeling the flow of your magic connect each other in ways he still struggled to understand. But he let himself he as needy as he wanted, and you loved holding him in your arms, running your hand through his dirty hair.
Nights spent running down to the park to cast spells, both tipsy and wild with love.
And seeing you absolutely tear into his mates with your sharp tongue and wit with a winning smirk made him fall all the harder.
It was hard to deny that you and that night's ritual weren't an inspiration for their latest song 'Venus in the Hardsell.'
They planned a music video with the cash earned.
Muttering intentions as you did his makeup for the newest gig or writing your own brand of protection sigils across his back when holding one another.
Oh, John had it bad for you.
Being on the same wavelength as you was addictive, and he had no reason to quit.
He told you things he'd never told anyone, sat under the stars in that same park as you both looked down at the silver platter of candles and ingredients.
Just like when you met, he adored seeing the orange fire highlight your face against the darkness.
Though you hadn't really explained what the spell was for. Your eyes were full of sadness when he discussed his first spell.
Locking away his innocence and vulnerability, so nothing could hurt him.
"And just like that...crammed it in a box and hid it away forever. Never to see the light of day." He sighed, opting to look into the flames with a solemn look.
He'd pieced together that this connection you shared was mostly because of the magic and the fact that you could still make him feel vulnerable. It both terrified and excited him.
That he'd cheated his own spell just through loving you. It truly was wicked witchcraft as he looked up across at you.
"Do you think you'll ever release that spell?" You asked curiously.
He shook his head; you could see the fear in his eyes of what would come flooding out of that small box.
Probably lost in a landfill or still rotting away in that yard he'd buried it in back in Liverpool.
It'd be his personal Pandora's box.
He didn't hesitate when you reached a hand out to him. The heat from the candles lapped at your outstretched palm, yet not close enough to burn.
"It'll be alright, you were keeping yourself safe..." You assure, his hand slipping into yours like a lock and key.
"I know...just dosn' feel right right knowin'... knowin' I could've just been safe if I'd met you sooner."
Mirth twinkled in your eyes, soft and loving, your thumb tracing circles into his hand.
"It's funny the way the world works, doesn't it? Specially for us folk, but you still found me, didn't you?"
He sniffled and wiped away the tears he didn't even know he shed.
Nodding softly.
"Yeah...yeah, I still got ya luv."
"And you'll always have me, for forever and more motherfucker." You smirked as he blinked in realization.
"You didn't..."
"I think I just did John."
His entire face burst into a harsh shade of pink as it wasn't the fire making his face warm.
"You cheeky little tart, did you just-"
"Nothing serious, just figured I'd make it official. Can't have my boyfriend going around others, taking the hint." You wink.
And it was even more official than before, both in dating terms and magical. You two belonged with each other.
And had no plans to separate.
───────── ❀ ★ ❀ ─────────
At least til the latest show at Casanova, you could see some troubling John, could practically feel it too.
He told you about it, the so-called 'chapel' Alex Logue had tried to get him and his band to do 'magic' at.
It had sick written all over it in black paint.
You were glad he made it out unscathed, but telling you about Astra already made you cautious of the situation at hand, fearing for that poor girl, but you could already tell something nefarious was at play here.
Especially with a sex obsessed, corrupt magician in the mix, all that magic...sick and twisting in and out of itself. And involving a poor girl nonetheless made your jaw clench in rage.
It wasn't right.
Of course, John wanted to save Astra, having already gathered together a group of acquaintances to make the ride up to Newcastle, but throughout this plan, you didn't once hear him mention where you'd come in.
John knew you didn't do well with certain types of cases, demons of the upperclass weren't to be fucked with without heavy preparation, and neither was working with other spellcasters.
Too many things to go wrong at once.
Too many people to try and keep safe.
This plan was rushed, but heavily needed.
You weren't sure whether to be relieved or scared out of your mind for him.
But you knew better than to talk him out of it, hell, you would've done the same for some poor child caught up in her father's disgusting business.
It was odd how intuition and magic could affect your body so harshly; your stomach felt too heavy, and it was hard to ignore it. It was trying to anchor you down so you couldn't leave.
"I want to go with you." you lied, looking down at your tarot deck. You didn't need to pull cards to know the disaster you'd find in them.
John packed some of your magic supplies you'd lend him, petition paper you'd made yourself, a couple of candles and holders, and John's own grimoire he'd been making.
Even if you couldn't go, you were going to help in any way, shape or form.
"No ya don't, ya little liar," John shot down as he stopped packing up the equipment to look at you on the couch.
"You don't wanna walk within a five-mile radius of the place."
"Doesn't mean I can't do it. Doesn't mean I gotta sit here and let you go alone."
"Luv, I won't be alone, I've got-"
"You know I don't mean alone like that."
"Alright," John huffs as he sets the bag down, making his way over to you, clambering into your lap with both of his legs on either side of you. Leaning down so he was directly face-to-face with you.
"Listen here, you," he begins, hands softly on your neck, his thumb tracing your jaw.
"Do ya doubt me? Is that what ya goin on about?"
You sigh, taking a deep breath, the smell of cinnamon and cigarettes on him winding you down.
"No John, not that...just intuition, I don't even wanna touch my divination tools...I can already feel something wicked coming." You sigh shakily, hands slotting over his as you lean into his touch.
You were scared, John just didn't understand why.
"Aye, aye, don't start crying like I'm already gone. It'll be fine (Y/N), and if anything happens, I've learned more than enough from you to weasel my way out, ya here?" He presses a gentle kiss against your lips.
"And I've got tricks of my own, we will get Astra outta there, then burn the place down. I'll be back to you in no time."
You looked up at him with such worry, but you knew him. You'd taught him what you knew and had hammered enough knowledge in him to keep any spirit from reaching him.
You didn't doubt him. You just worried about how cruel the world would be to him.
You wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug.
"Alright...I want you cleansed and protected before you step out my door tomorrow, John Constantine, I'm not letting you go til then."
He smiled triumphantly.
"Alright, you win."
You wished him luck all the same, even if you were scared, you picked your ingredients with great care as you sealed your protection magic over him with a kiss. But of course, he wanted more than just a goodbye kiss, sliding his hands up your waist as you both laughed.
That night, you held him as close as physically possible, your hands against his bare skin with his head tucked under your chin.
The humming of your magic intertwining to a warm layer across you both like a cocoon.
And in the early hours of the morning, you awoke to his squeezing you tight, kissing your shoulder before getting out of bed to leave.
No words were exchanged as the door closed and locked behind you.
He never came back to you.
But he was honestly happy you didn't come with him.
Warnings: smut, eating out (John loves pussy), shaving?, hes soft.
Spending time with her boyfriend, John Constantine, is usually a very fulfilling expirience for Y/N. Especially since when it gets to it, he can get very focused on pleasuring her.
"Stay still luv" he mutters, his brows furrowed as he glides the razor over hee leg. One hand has a tight grip on the ankle, keeping her leg still, hunched as he tries to get the small spots.
Shes sitting on the counter, half naked. Wearing only a shirt and panties.
John is by far the most level headed boyfriend she's had regarding the question of her body. Hes said numerous times how he couldn't care less. Afterall, hes the type to go down in the bushes and trenches, a fighter... Atleast in that sense.
"Feels weird" she mutters, her head tilting as he glides the razor over another part of her calf.
Still, she asked him to do it. Its how shes used to. Not to mention it's awfully intimate.
"Hm" he hums, squeezing the muscle before tapping the razor against the sink "ya asked for it. I feel like a bloody monkey.".
She laughs, nudging him gently "hey, ts just me testin' what yer willin' to do for me.". Her eyes move carefully, observing the way he presses the razor against the front of her leg.
"I wont break. Its one of those fancy razors. No scabs." Y/N giggles.
He sighs, doing one final pull, making the leg smooth.
"No scabs aye?".
Its the middle of the night, a small part of aftercare after their fun. He took a shower, shes still a little sweaty. His eyes are a little lidded, tired from all the strain. Her body aches, small little marks littered on her skin.
Her eyes close, relishing in the soft touch. Even if the calluses are fresh there's a distinct charm that comes with it.
Suddenly his hand moves forwards, the women opening her eyes. There's a cheeky grin on his face, leaning in closer, gently kissing her knee.
"Aren't you tired?" she mutters, her hand moving to his hair "i dont think i can even finish again.". Her fingers move over the front of his hair, revealing his eyes. There's so much hidden behind them, a desperate tragic mystery.
"I think i can go atleast one more time luv. This once." he whispers, beginning to place kisses over your thighs, trailing upwards. His hand drops the razor, now gripping her hips, pulling her a bit closer.
"Mh" a small hum leaves her when his nose presses against her clit, brushing against it softly. Y/N continues to stroke his hair, her breathing growing heavier with every small tingle that passes her.
She leans back, opening her legs a hit wider as he slowly pulls her panties down, revealing her aching core to him once more.
"There" he mutters, pressing a soft kiss right on the center "beautiful.". His stubble tickles her skin, a small giggle leaving her.
"You're always so soft towards me" she whispers "so gentle.". A heavy breath leaves her when his tongue begins to work, slowly trailing over her folds.
"You deserve it. Least i can do for bein' a bastard.".
"I dont think thats exactly a definition of a healthy relationship.".
His hands move to stroke the sides of her thighs instead, now guiding them to drape over his shoulders. He burried his face beetwen them, lapping like a man that's been drowning.
"Ah-" she groans, gripping his hair tightly "oh god- oh-". Her stomach twists, the tingle only growing. Her chest grows tight, the excitement threatening to burst out of her. Its as if every time they do it he finds some new way, button, nerve to push to lead her towards the edge.
His tongue moves, the muscle tracing beetwen each part. Its delicate, dedicated, determined. His eyes open, looking up at her, keeping eye contact.
"Oh youre- you're so-" she laughs, sweat beginning to trickle down her skin "oh you look amazing like that. So good- fuck you're perfect.".
He chuckles, his lips continuing to move. Her legs tense, gently pushing against his head.
"Ah you're perfect. You really are.".
A part of her knows he gets off on praise, even if he doesn't admit it. That he most definitely enjoys being touched softly and told pretty words. Even if hes incredibly tough hes still only human.
He suddenly makes a sudden move, tilting his head and groaning, his lips closing around a specific part.
"Aw!"
She moans, her eyes fluttering as her back arches, reaching a gentle finish. It isnt explosive or overwhelming, afterall shes been getting those all night.
This is more of a... Have nice dreams finish.
John chuckles, pulling away, looking her in the eyes. His chin is a little damp, a smile on his face.
"You want to continue shaving or will ya finally let me go to bed?"
"Mh... Bed.".
A/n: i wrote this half asleep, possibly very bad, enjoy it for what it could have been. Short drabble, ill probably rewrite it tomorrow or another day.
John shoudlve known to keep you away from Rich while drunk.
The two of you have been dating for a year and a half now, the things pretty serious. You've defeated Johns seven evil demons.
Smoking.
Drinking.
Self loathing.
Complicated exes.
Complicated life.
Getting involved accidentally in a occult matter that left you scarred.
Him accidentally lighting your curtain on fire.
So pretty much you two are spoken for unless you, dunno, die maybe.
Still, there are things John wouldn't let you see. Like for a example, his ole mucous membrane photos.
Something Rich shows you gladly.
Painted nails, dyed hair, pierced ears and whatnot. Eyeliner.
That started a whole cataclysm.
First, you checking his ears, noticing some holes haven't healed up. Then beginning to talk about how it was cute, sexy, how you would've totally have fallen for him back then.
It transforms into obvious 'let me make you pretty please!' sessions.
He keeps it under closed doors tightly, not wanting to be seen like that again. Not because it threatens his masculinity but because itd feel pathethic. A 'what ya doin fellow kids' moment.
His punk days are long gone.
He thought you'd stop after a few weeks, lose interest and forget about it.
Then he finds a box of earrings on his bed. They're simple and small, ones that are clearly purchased for him.
John doesn't really have a choice after that.
He sits on the couch, his legs spread as you make yourself comfortable on your lap painting his nails. Hes got the earring on, a small silver clasp with a blue gem, elegant.
In his other hand is a cigarette, the nails on it dry. He would never admit it but having you pamper him like this...
Its enjoyable. Awfully so.
"Careful luv. Dont stain em." he teases, glancing at the black polish. Its been a while. His mind flashes back to when he had to learn to do it, knowing he always stained one particular finger.
"Have some faith in me." you giggle, carefully covering his pinky, finishing.
His brows raise when you take out a tube of lipstick, unveiling it to show a shade that compliments his skin tone.
"Oh? You're really goin all out..." he sighs as you cup his jaw, pressing his cheeks together as you drag the pigment across his skin, painting it into a different colour.
Your breath tickles his face, making him shiver.
Once you're done you wipe the small excess, the man grumbling. He takes a drag of his cigarette, staining the filter.
Then you pull out the eyeliner with a cheeky grin.
"Bollocks." he groans "isnt this enough? What, you get turned on by old men pretending they're young again?".
You just laugh as if its so bloody funny, gently tilting his head. Her eyes flutter, hating that you're aware of how much power you hold over him.
He stays still, trying not to flinch at the soft touch of the brush. He remembers how hed poke himself in the eye constantly with the half used crayon probably half of his friend group shared.
"Mh- dont move" he hears you mutter, tracing shapes. The cigarette burns, the ash dropping onto the floor piece by piece.
A small groan leaves him, opening his eyes once you pull away.
"There. All done." the hint of pride in your voice isnt shy, booming loudly. His hands find your hips, trying to steady you as you shift, making sure you dont accidentally turn and fall over.
It has happened before.
"What? You like me like this?" he teases "you livin' out yer teenage fantasies huh?".
"Let me enjoy what I have. You look absolutely-" you hum "amazing like this. Sexy man.".
He sighs when you peck his cheek, his hold growing firmer.
John seems to attract a certain type of people.
A small smirk grows on his face, suddenly flipping the two of you so you're the one half sitting on the couch.
"Hey!" you yell, laughing as he pushes you against the cushions.
"What? I thought you wanted to ne pampered." he leans in, peppering kisses across youe jaw, making sure to leave bright marks of lipstick that will be hard to get off.
A groan escapes you as he pushes his leg beetwen yours, shifting closer.
"Whas the matter luv? Can't handle your own game? I think ya look awfully pretty like this." he teases, pressing his lips against your firmly, smudging the colour.
A moan leaves you, shivers passing down your spine as his tongue pokes for a entrance, turning the kiss messy.
Your arms wrap around his neck, holding on. He nips at your bottom lip, gently kissing the bite before using it as a opportunity to claim what's behind it.
You try to fight for dominance yet he's persistent, a bit of drool escaping your mouth as usual.
He smirks, pulling away only a little so he could take a few deep breaths, his shoulders heaving. His fingers move, pinching your hips with a cocky grin. The lipstick is smudged, making him look a little messy.
Then he continues on down your throat, covering it in gentle bites and paint, making sure to spread it all ovee. Hes not letting you get away unscathed.
Its gentle and ticklish, the man moving in a pattern. He knows exactly what spot to bite and nibble on, sending small tingles down to your core.
"Mhm-"
"Ah look at you. Pretty."
He tilts your jaw up, noting the satisfied expression on your face.
Your neck is now covered in marks and colour, a sign of revenge.
"We're not done yet." he mutters, reaching out and taking the lipstick, applying it again skillfully.
"Have to make sure the marks dont look faint, aye?".
Everything seems to be going great in your newfound relationship, hes kind, sweet and cute. Then you learn about Kit Ryan.
Angst with comfort, jealousy, stupidity mostly.
John, even if others claim otherwise, is a very loyal man. He doesn't cheat on his partners, maybe accidentally leads them to death or hurts them, but hes never unfaithful.
He really does love.
Y/N didn't question it for even a second. Hes charming, pretty and a funny bloke who is oh gods actually interested in her!
Its rare to find a bloke that makes you feel like you're a teenager at thirty seven. Even if he can be a mess hes awfully cute while being one.
Maybe its red tinted glasses but John Constantine? That's your man.
The heavy burden of rumors and whispers follow him, telling tales of horror and despair. As if its a long family curse passed trough generations, the ghosts of the dead screaming 'he will doom you!'.
She asked him once about it. He was reluctant to explain, not wanting to dig into his past, there being clearly something that could drive her away.
In all honesty, Y/N was satisfied with that.
Its not that she doesn't want him to open up and relieve his burdens but she wont force him to, especially if its something this vulnerable.
So she ignores it, only allowing herself to relax more and more into his spell. Those blue eyes, the pretty blonde hair, the accent?
Oh god you're so smitten it hurts.
So the mention of some Kit Ryan immediately breaks her focus.
One of his mates mentioned her at rhe pub, drunk and not thinking about the possible consequences. John was in the loo so she was left with the friend, curiously asking about who that Kit is.
"Oh the love of Johns life ya know? Pretty Irish lass, he was smitten. Couldn't get the bloke to focus for a second cause he was out there daydreamin' bout his pretty girl"
That?
That wasn't subtle.
It was harsh and nearly a insult, even if it wasn't meant to be.
Chas smacked the bloke over the head for saying it, giving him a look. Somehow hes the only one coherent enough to understand what kind of strain this just put on the newfound relationship of their friend.
Love of his life.
She isnt stupid. Hes had partners before, they're both adults with their fair share of expirience. Y/N can't be angry that he had a girlfriend that meant a lot to him before.
Still, hearing it from his friends? Irish beauty?
How can she measure up to that?
A few days passed of that thought lingering in her mind, pushing it down anytime he kisses her or holds her tightly the way he usually does.
She has nothing to be worried about.
Exes are exes for a reason afterall.
Shes laying on his bed, resting after a night of fun. Hes getting dressed, buckling his belt, putting his shirt on. John has something to deal with so he has to leave early.
"Why cant you stay a bit more? It's so cozy." she mutters, a small yawn leaving her lips. The sheets cover her bare body, a sleepy expression on her face.
Its early Saturday. She doesn't have to go to work.
"Ill be back in a jiffy luv, just have to get this done ight?" he taps his pockets, his brows furrowing as he looks around "ya see my wallet anywhere?".
Her brows furrow, looking around. Its possible that it fell out Yasterday. She reaches down, tapping the floor before feeling the leather underneath the bed.
"Here" she smiles, lifting it up.
He nods, moving over to take it.
Neither of them can anticipate what happens next.
A small picture falls out, landing on the sheets. She picks it up, her heart stopping. He pauses, his eyes growing wide, face pale.
The photo is of a black haired women with green eyes. Curly hair, nice features, pretty.
Suddenly the atmosphere changes drastically, before playful and dreamy turning to thick and downright terrifying.
She stares up at him, her expression growing tense and stern.
"Is this your sister?".
It better be.
John stares at her, frozen.
"I-" he knows how this looks like. His hands are raised almost defensively.
"Darlin, uh, I can explain.".
Everyone knows the best explanations start like that. I can explain. What kind of a start is that?
She sits up, the jealousy going trough the roof.
"Is this Kit?"
His eyes narrow, his mouth falling open "howd you know-"
"You stupid fuckin drunk mate told me. Yeah, told me all bout her. Love of yer life aye?".
He feels something stir inside of his chest when she says it, the dread only growing. Not only does she know about his ex but his mate seems to have gone off in great detail about it.
A great anger for his friend builds up in his chest, that fuckin idiot. Blabbing on about his past like its his to tell, creating a drift.
Its only broken by the realization that he isnt getting out of this easily.
The time spent thinking is cut short, only giving her the opportunity to yell some more.
"Why do you keep a bloody photo of your ex in your wallet John?!".
A wallet, the sacred space. Some men keep photos of their children in it, some keep their most valuable trinkets. Papers notes, depends.
Y/N doesn't care that she didn't earn the space yet, afterall they've been dating for what? Six, seven months?
"Cmon, i want to hear it. I wanna hear it. Cmon. Spill.".
He slowly sits down on the bed, his hands clasped tightly beetwen his legs. Sweat drips down his back, his heart thumping.
This mistake could cost him everything.
"I-" he clears his throat "I forgot it was there.".
Sadly its the truth. The painful stupid truth. He should've been more careful.
"Oh really? Forgot? How do you forget something like this?"
"I dont use my wallet all that much" he doesn't use it ever. Sure he keeps a few quid in there but really? He gets by in more mysterious ways.
That picture? Fuuuck....
She stares at him as if hes grown two heads, disbelief etched onto it.
"Are you kidding me?".
There's not only anger but also pain etched on her face.
He keeps a photo of the preclaimed love of his life in his wallet. The beautiful pretty women he once was with. Who his mate said that John would have given a lung for.
Is this insecurity?
It can't be. She has a reason to feel liks this doesn't she? Sure he... He loves her. He holds her, kisses her, comes by nearly everyday.
"I swear to- fuck to everythin', i forgot." he says, shifting closer, taking her hand. The way her eyes tear up uncontrollably makes his heart ache.
"Ts been a long time alright? Last time I was with someone... It was her. Three years ago alright? I forgot about the photo.".
Its rare that hes ever so sincere.
Not to mention panicked.
She sniffles, glancing down, feeling awful.
He swallows, looking her over, squeezing her hand tightly "It doesn't mean anything.". His eyes move to the photo, the memories of the pain and despair filling him. They come back, how much he loved Kit, how it all went to shit, a cruel reminder.
"Look at me." he says, taking the photo and folding it, hiding it away in his palm.
Her eyes flicker up, her lips trembling. His gaze is awfully sincere.
"You're telling the truth aren't you?".
John sighs, bringing her palm to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He cant say he didn't look at the picture at times but it wasn't anything recent.
"I loved her, that's the truth. I did love her." he whispers "but that's in the past. Even if she appeared at my door I wouldn't take her in. Not to mention she lives in Dublin now, far away." he sighs "Y/N... Im yours. Believe that.".
The words that leave his mouth are heavy, feeling a bit of fear as he says them. He knew Kit like a part of him, his other half. Now its a bittersweet memory. Something from the past that should be kept as it is and cherished for the good that it brought to him.
She stares at him, the tears sliding down her cheeks. Her face grows red, her nose snotty, a nearly childish cry leaving her.
Suddenly she feels stupid. How she reacted, how she attacked him. A part of her justifies it while the other hates for letting him see how insecure it makes her.
How is she supposed to compete with some pretty Irish lass? Someone he loved and cherished so much.
Could she be that person for him?
Can she even dare to think?
Realizing that she's spiraling John pulls her in, wrapping his arms around her bare body. He rubs her back, the other on the back of her head, keeping her close.
There isnt anything more he can say.
The truth is that Kit will always hold a special place in his heart. Maybe not necessarily romantic but the connection they had isn't one to be taken lightly.
Should you be worried? No.
Would he be? Yes.
"I love you." he whispers, pressing his nose against your hair "so much. Believe me. Please." he doesn't want to lose her too.
He's warm, the familiar smell of his cigarettes flowing her sensetions. She feels calmer when he holds her like this, safe. His arms fit against her perfectly. Somehow giving her a safe space where she feels protected.
He really does love her.
"Im sorry for freaking out" she mutters, burrying her face in his shoulder.
He chuckles lightly, sighing "don't worry bout it luv. I would too.".
Slowly he moves, bringing her down onto the bed, laying next to her now. His fingers trace her face, gently touching her nose, a act hes weirdly grown fond of doing.
A small chuckle leaves her, a smile growing on her face now.
Some would say shes being stupid but she isn't really. Maybe he hadn't said much but he said enough. She can feel the love in his gaze, in his actions. Afterall, he never gave her a actual reason to doubt him.
The photo? A accident.
Shes had people she cared about, the photos hidden in some boxes, locked away. But she could never throw them out. She loved one of her partners to such a uncontrollable degree aswell.
It takes time.
Her brows furrow, realizing something.
"Shouldn't you be on your way out?".
John pauses, his finger stilling. He thinks for a few seconds before shaking his head.
John is drunk and desperate. His past regrets keep haunting him. Ofcourse he turns to you when it gets too much.
Angst, drinking, taking care of him! OG hellblazer and swamp thing references.
John has many self destructive habits.
Most of stories about him start that way dont they? He smokes, drinks, uses unusual methods at times to deal with the pain of the years behind him.
Luckily its England. Drinking and smoking is a mandatory practice.
Probably why he got hooked on it.
Its been a few rough weeks. Having to deal with old demons coming back, asking for payback. Dreaming of Astra, of Emma, Judith, Zed, Marj, Mercury- hell when will it stop?
They say he has no conscious.
Well, they're dead wrong. Because unlike normal people all of his regrets quite literally haunt him. Talking to him, saying how he has to pay.
Drinking numbs it.
Ofcourse he shouldn't be doing it so much considering he has you now.
A person who he can rely on.
He shouldn't be dumping all of this on you. Showing up at your door late at night, barely being able to stand, desperate to cling onto something, someone, you.
" 'Ello luv" he mutters, trying to smile. He can see the look on your face as the bitter smell of cheap beer and a hint of whiskey overflow your senses. His arms are on the doorframe, in one hand a cigarette.
"John? You alright?".
Its stupid to even ask, he obviously isnt.
He shrugs, taking a drag of the smoke before releasing it to the other side, not wanting to disgust you even further.
"Can I come in? Yer place is closer than mine.".
He tries to focus on your eyes, your lips. His other hand gripping into a fist as he attempts to stay awake, not wanting to disappoint you further.
You nod Ofcourse, nodding him in and closing the door. He stumbles, rubbing his forehead as the empty feeling sets in. No thoughts at all.
Your hands move over his shoulders, taking off the signature beige coat and leaving him in only his blue suit. The thing stands out in a crowd like a sore thumb.
"Mh thanks luv" he nods, tugging off his shoes before walking over to drop onto your couch "ya still have that nice bottle of bourbon dont ya?".
Hes digging himself into a bigger hole.
He shouldn't be asking for more, not when hes getting comfortable on your couch while holding down vomit that will soon enough come out.
"I dont and you shouldn't drink more. You're drunk off your horses." you say, moving to the kitchen. A groan erupts from him, rubbing his eyes "please?".
"No.".
You bring him a glass of water, noticing the way hes looking up at you. His blue eyes gaze at your face, full of pain and regret. They nearly water, the self loathing thick in the air.
He doesn't move or attempt to take the glass. The cigarette in his hand burns to the point the ash drips into the floor, making a mess.
"John..." your expression softens, forgetting about the lost sleep. Slowly you reach out to cup his jaw, stroking it before bringing the water to his lips.
He drinks eagerly, his hand suddenly gripping your wrist. John realizes he's thirsty, that the hours of drinking booze did nothing to properly hydrate him.
When he drinks it all you put the glass down, sitting next to his legs. He feels your hand on his knee, gently rubbing it, trying to soothe him.
"Do you feel sick?"
He nods, sniffling quietly. His pale face is flushed.
He watches as you suddenly leave the room only to bring him a bucket from the loo. You set it down next to the couch, the purpose clear.
"You want some tea?"
There are small bags under your eyes, showing you hadn't slept in days. Working constantly, trying to get trough the busy part of the month. He crashed on a weekend, probably the only night you had to fully rest.
He thinks about your offer. He likes tea but currently he feels like he's going to lurch if he even smells mint or nana.
"No, no thanks.".
A sigh leaves you as you sit next to him again, continuing to rub his knee.
The two sit in silence for a while, your eyes barely keeping open while he stares at the clock you have on the wall, mind empty.
Its white with simple numbers. Nothing special, probably something you got when you were moving it. Homes are supposed to have clocks right? So you can... Look at it. See the time. See how it passes.
His eyes follow the smallest handle, nearly admiring the seconds. How even if it ticks the darkness outside doesn't change.
Its the only constant moment of a day. It doesn't seem to change at all. Once its dark, its dark.
Before the light comes.
Suddenly he gags, turning over and vomiting into the bucket. He gasps as the hot mush scratches his throat, forcing him to coil, his stomach aching from the pressure. He feels your hand on his back, grounding him, telling him its okay. That it'll pass.
A rough cough erupts from him, sweat dripping down his face, breathing heavily, gasping for air. He hisses, laying on the couch facedown with a tight grip on the cushions, the cigarette long out.
"Cmon, its not your first time." you attempt to joke, rubbing his back. Hes growing wet from the sweat, his body nontheless cold.
He whines, closing his eyes tightly.
Like everyone, John vows to never drink again. Something that no one ever fulfills unless they're hospitalized.
A few minutes of eerie silence passes, the anticipation growing. He knows hes going to do it again.
Your eyes glance at the puke, noticing how there aren't any solid contents contents in it.
You remember how John once took care of you in a similar way. You were sick, a stomach bug and couldn't stop throwing up with a fever. The agonizing feeling of heat, cramps and tasteless food made you think you're going to die.
You can get quite dramatic.
Still, he was there. Coming over, bringing you food, sitting next to you at the doctor's knowing that if you go alone you'll get scared.
John Constantine was there.
In your cards, he isnt a heartless bastard.
Suddenly hes throwing up again, letting out a loud cry.
That is... New.
"John-?"
"Get away from me!".
Suddenly you're pushed away by his leg, landing on the floor. The shock you feel is bigger than what could be described, holding your breath, looking at him.
His eyes are wide, his jaw tight. Hes breathing heavily, gripping the couch. Its clear he isn't aware of what's happening.
There's drool seeping out of his lips, his eyes watering.
Youve never seen him like this.
Its obvious you have to do something.
"John, John, look at me." you suddenly speak after gathering the courage, reaching out to cup his jaw. He protests, shifting, saying something incoherent.
You pull his head to face you, gripping his skin tightly as you stare into those desperate eyes of his.
"No- no, no-"
"John its me. Ive got no idea what's going trough your mind but its me.".
He whimpers, reaching out to grip your wrists.
"I'm here."
Your thumb starts to gently rub his cheek, right under his eye.
For a few seconds you dont say or do anything else. He continues to stare and look, shifting, gripping your wrists tightly as he looks around. The tears in his eyes begin to trail down his cheeks, his lips shaking.
John gasps, trying to avoid the voices that got trough in the moment of weakness. The faces, the memories.
Afterall, how do you cope seeing your friend turn into a bird?
The lifeless bodies, the treatment in Ravenscar. Astra. The numerous attempts from people trying to take something that isnt theirs from him.
The knowledge he will undoubtedly doom anyone he gets close to.
Then he feels your nails against his skin. You tightened your grip, something that makes him snap his eyes to yours.
Suddenly he sees you.
One of the only people he hasn't damned yet.
"Y/N..." he mutters, his breath stammering. He grips your jaw, as if hes checking if its you.
His skin is rough, full of calluses. Nearly scratching your face as he touches it gently. He could never forget how the skin curves or the shape of your nose.
He slowly calms down, his breathing growing slower with each second as he gazes into your so familiar Y/EC eyes.
A small sigh leaves him, slowly wrapping his arms around you without question, bringing you close. His left arm is looped around your waist, his right against the back of your head, his nose pressing against your hair.
Should he be bringing you into this?
Is it fair to you?
Still, he finds a way out.
You're a adult. You make your own decisions. Despite the rumors and the truth you know about him, you stayed.
One thing people dont get wrong is that he, in his core, like everyone, is a very selfish bastard.
John can't resist a gentle touch; fluff, angst with comfort, John is a dick
A/n: So this randomly turned into a songfic while writing? Disclaimer, i dont particularly like this song but i do like how it fits into the story atleast
John isnt the touchy feely type. Hes a brat, he runs around causing mischief. Hes a bastard really, a classic guy with a sharp tongue and a attitude that he can do anything he wants.
Which to be fair he can. He ran away, stayed at his mates and now they have a shitty punk band. Delightful.
So when you first approached him his first reaction was to be a little shit. A pretty thing like you complimenting him on his hair during a small gig in a venue that's literally his mates flat?
Howd you even get in?
You were dressed like you were dressing to fit in. Battle jacket, black jeans, martens. Standard 'thats a punk' look. Not that hed bat a eye at anyone else for doing it but you?
You looked like a small little poser trying to fit in so damn hard it was painful.
"Ya sure yer supposed to be here? Aye Gary, who invited this fuckin' putz here?"
It ended with everybody laughing their asses off, calling you names. Maybe they had something to prove, maybe they just wanted to have fun. Considering how awkward and tense you were it was easy.
Ofcourse nobody expected you to actually keep appearing in the scene. Usually alone, in some corner, fidgeting and looking nearly terrified with a small notepad in your hand.
Maybe they contributed some to it. A little.
... Lots.
After a few sightings it got boring. You were clearly here to stay and if anything that showed character. Even if you didn't seem to exactly be accepted you continued coming, even if every little inconvenience seemed to send you over the rails internally.
Soon enough everyone started leaving you alone, being known as the 'oh yeah, they exist.'. The scene isnt exactly unwelcoming but still, its a bunch of angry teenagers being angry together. Then a kid who looks like a poser comes and they gather like flies.
Johns attention never actually wavered off you, even if he stopped teasing and bothering you. He watched closely, a bit of intrigue in his chest.
What are you doing here?
Whats your deal?
Who are you?
Its a long late night, the music still loud and unforgiving. The gig is held in someone's basement, the stage non-existent. He pants, pulling away from the mosh pit, rubbing his jaw. He almost got a teeth knocked out of his nog.
A small trickle of blood passed down his lip from his nose, shaking his head lightly. He feels a little nauseas. Hes not a small guy but he is light and considering he hasn't eaten for a day or two, maybe the pit was a bad idea...
He spots you hanging around in the corner like usual, staring at the band, focused. As if you're analyzing their every move. Then he notices a bloke next to you, trying to get your attention, snapping his fingers.
You're backing away, ignoring him, practically holding up a sign that says 'not interested'. He recognizes the bloke, one he never actually liked. A tall annoying fella that is too confident in his dick to the point its unhealthy.
"Let me give you the lowdown Frank" he suddenly speaks, walking over and shoving him away from you "The poor thing just wants to stand in the corner, doesn't need yer smelly arse around.".
The man stumbles, caught by surprise.
John can see how your eyes grow wide at it, not expecting for anyone to actually step in and defend you. Especially not the bloke that seemed set on making you run away from the scene.
Frank gives him a hairy eyeball, his brows furrowing "ya think yer so fuckin tough huh?! Ya blonde twat, im gonna kick yer skull through the wall for that!".
In a way this is what John was looking for. A fight. Hes been having a terrible week and this is just something that might as well take the edge off.
"Come at me, cmon, let's settle this.".
He doesn't expect Frank to swing so hard.
He gasps, falling down, everything turning blurry before he collapses onto the floor.
Not his smartest moment.
═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════
He gasps when he feels someone pour cold water on him, immediately sitting up with a wince. His head aches, his jaw a little dislocated, the taste of the blood in his mouth strong.
"Ya idiot" he hears a voice, looking up to see Chas with a partially annoyed and partially worried look on his face. Next to him he sees... You.
"What the hell were ya thinking? Getting into a bloody tussle with Frank?"
"He was uh, its my fault." you say, looking at the two "he was helping me.".
Its the first time he actually heard you speak properly. Your voice is somehow soft, a certain charm to it.
"I dont care if he was helpin' kittens off trees, ts a stupid move!"
Considering how worried Chas seems to be it must have gotten serious. Usually he would've laughed his ass off and called him a dimwit. How bad could it have been?
He reaches out, taking a small glass and... Oh.
Oh.
His whole face is swollen and pale, his eyes a little red and the bruises are obvious.
"Jesus fuck"
Hes laying on the floor of another room, its small and cramped, barely enough space for the three of them.
Chas rolls his eyes, tossing him a rug "ya get cleaned up, ill be out.".
John sighs, reaching for the rug. Suddenly you take it, folding it before looking at him with a nervous expression.
"I know im a stranger but id like to help.".
Suddenly you're cupping his chin and touching his face, wiping the blood with precision and softness hes never expirienced before. He feels his heart drop at the sensetion, freezing at the contact.
The rough fabric of the rug somehow doesn't feel as gnarly when you do it.
"M not a soddin baby let me-" he mutters, reaching to grip your wrist to stop you. His grip is weak and by the look on your face its obvious you can barely feel it.
"You need rest.".
Then you put his hand down, continuing to wipe the blood off.
He has no option but to lean back a little, his heart racing. The person he was trying to humiliate before is now tending to his wounds with tenderness he never expirienced fron his mother.
That was a weird thought to have.
═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════
He finds himself conflicted.
You never approached him after that night. Something that makes sense but makes him a little upset. Knowing how he and his mates treated you its normal that you wouldn't be keen on approaching him.
Plus, why would you?
You have nothing to ask of him.
The heavy feeling in his chest grows and he finds himself aching for your touch again. There was something so gentle about it that hes never actually expirienced.
He pushes those filthy thoughts away, focusing on the next con he'll pull off to get him and his mates some cash. Pick pocket? Something potentially bigger? Hm...
With those thoughts brewing in his mind he walks into the market store, looking to buy a box of fags. On the radio is some shitty song hes heard over a thousand times, something he can barely even listen to.
I am sailing, I am sailing
Suddenly his attention is drawn to no one other but you, kneeling on the floor and sorting out boxes of pasta in the stores uniform.
Home again 'cross the sea
John has to pause, standing in place like a dumbstruck fool. You're... There. Why?
"Oi" he calls out, walking over. Your eyes flutter up, a awkward expression covering your features when you realize its him.
"Hi, can I help you?" you stand up, your knees dirty from the floor.
I am sailing, stormy waters
He glances over you, somehow finding the situation pitiful.
"The hell are you doin' workin' at a shitty store like this?" he asks, fiddling with his lighter "didnt know the putz has a side gig.".
"Oh" you look over yourself, clearly embarrassed, something you find yourself to be lots of times "uh, i need the money? Concerts and rent isnt exactly free.".
"Rent?".
To be near you, to be free
His eyes narrow, looking over you. To be fair hes crashing over with about four of his mates, paying rent? That's not really a thing for him. Plus he has his ways of making it happen.
"Yes?" you seem even more confused "im... In a flat that needs to be rented.".
I am flying, I am flying
A spark of agitation ignites in his chest "yeah i fuckin know that genius." he shakes his head, pushing his hands into his pockets "aren't ya too young to be renting?".
"Im nineteen." your brows furrow "how old are you?".
"twenty two.".
Thats not a difference at all. Even if you look younger because you're not spent. You look soft.
Like a bird 'cross the sky
"Lets get out of here." he suddenly says, looking at the cashier whos currently reading a magazine, clearly not caring.
"No, im working-"
"Ya want to be a part of this or?" he asks, giving you a look "break a rule.".
"No.".
I am flying, passing high clouds
You're difficult. Why?
Ofcourse its obvious. You have something to lose. If you rent a place then losing a job could cost you a actual home.
He gives you a glare "fine.".
Then he walks away, walking by the cashier, reaching under the desk and taking the cigarettes for free before running immediately. The cashier lifts her eyes up, only sighing and looking back at the magazine.
You're left in the aisle, confused.
Should you have accepted his offer?
A sigh leaves you before you roll your eyes, continuing to sort the boxes without a care.
To be near you, to be free
═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════
"Aye give me a actual challenge" Gary says, a grin on his face as the group talks. They're all pissed off their horses from the whiskey that Rich managed to snag from some liqueur store, sitting on grass at a remote space by the river.
"Mh aye aye, let me think bout it..." Chas mutters, rubbing his chin, his brows furrowed as he tries to conjure something nasty.
The place itself is a very popular place in the scene. Most punk kids hang out here and if you need to find anyone then there's a big chance they'd be here.
John lays on the grass, a cigarette in his hand as he watches, feeling a little too buzzed. He drinks a lot but damn this brandy Rich took is kicking his ass and more.
"Oh i've got one-" he grins "get in the river, butt naked, bet ya cant swim to the other side.".
They all laugh before Gary stands up, looking frustrated "think i cant do it aye? Ya will see ya maggots.". He then begins to strip, all of them bursting into a even bigger fit of laughter, watching him begin to walk off.
Suddenly he realizes this might actually be a very bad idea.
"Aye mate i dont know-"
"Gary, ya twat come back-"
"Uhhh wha-"
Gary doesn't listen, only walking off and jumping into the river. They sit still for a second, watching as he begins to swim, everything seeming to freeze.
A minute doesn't even pass before he comes running back, cursing the sun and everything below it, shivering and wet.
They then burst into a fit, rolling on the grass, pointing to him.
"Coward!"
"Pussy!".
"Piss off! Ts cold as fuckin ugh-" he mutters, pulling his shirt on.
John snorts, a grin on his face "chicken.". He takes a drag of his cigarette, slapping the other bloke on his now wet thigh before sitting up. He exhales the smoke, his eyes fluttering.
"Is that putz?" Rich asks, pointing to the left. Johns blue eyes flicker up, noticing... You. Right there by the river, writing something in your notepad.
He grumbles, grabbing the bottle before beginning to sway over to you, the others only watching him.
"Aye" he calls out, standing above you. His head tilts, trying to gauge what exactly you're using the notepad for.
"Hi?" you look up, immediately being hit with the stench of the drink. He crouches down with a smirk, holding the bottle out, offering it silently.
His hair is messy, the makeup on his eyes smudged. The black polish on his nails is scratched and damaged, clearly needing another layer.
"Uh-" you glance down before taking the bottle having a small careful sip.
"Oh cmon take more" he nudges "cmon, ya wanna be a punk ight? Drink. Cmon." he ushers, sitting down and squeezing your shoulder.
He leans in, staring at your eyes, his breathing heavy.
"Im not sure-" you stutter before sighing and rolling your eyes, taking another deeper sip. There's cheering erupting from his mates, for some reason satisfied you're drinking.
"Good. Mh. Feels nice aye?" he mutters, wrapping a arm around your shoulder "so pretty. Yer so pretty.".
Your face begins to grow red, his brain genuinely stopping. He said that.
"Thank you?"
"Mh.".
He stares into your eyes, the weight growing in his chest. The memories of your touch keep coming back, overwhelming his mind. He needs that softness now, craves it.
"Touch me."
Your eyes widen, suddenly shifting away. He sits, confused, not realizing how perverted that actually sounded.
Suddenly you're packing your things and standing up, a sound of disapproval leaving him. He gets on his feet as well "hey hey, what- cmon- hm?".
John stands there, his shoulders slumped as he watches you leave with a fast step.
"Ya blew it.".
═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════
"I didnt mean to scare ya the other night.".
You look back, a bottle of a fizzy drink in your hand as you stack them in the fridge.
"I was drunk.".
He stands at a safe distance behind you, dark circles under his eyes. Hes wearing shorts and a black shirt, clearly having gotten out of bed atleast half a hour ago.
"Look at me.".
You continue stacking the bottles. Each of them fitting perfectly next to the other, trying to ignore him.
"Please?".
He sounds almost desperate.
That makes you turn, a frown on your face.
"John... Why are you so..." you swallow "you hate me. Whats with this now? Begging for my attention? Is this a redemption arc or something?".
He stares at you, his face a little red but also tired. A sigh leaves him, now rubbing his face, trying to think straight.
"I dont hate you. Im just a arsehole." he mutters "i really am sorry. That was... Weird.".
Your head tilts, noticing how flustered he looks.
"What I... What I meant by it was-" hes actually going to say it? Is he seriously that tired? He swallows the words down, deciding something is better left unsaid.
"... What did you mean by it?" you ask, your shoulders lowering "is it...".
You remember how you cleaned his wounds that night vividly. How he relaxed into your touch, how his eyes even got teary. It was clear that no one has touched him like that in a while.
He stares at you, the same vulnerable glint in those blue eyes of his. The sentences are left unfinished, the silence speaking more than words could.
The clock ticks in the background, the sound of mall music playing. Some sort of pop thing thats been hitting the charts lately.
Can you hear me, can you hear me
He stares at you, his hands on his neck, his lips pressed into a tight line.
Through the dark night far away?
You stare at him, gripping the bottle tightly. You've never seen someone look at you with so much pure need. Pure as in clean and clear minded. No overwhelming lust or hidden agenda.
I am dying, forever crying
He steps closer, not touching you. Hes tense, clearly afraid of how you'll react. This isnt how hes supposed to present to someone. Hes a man, he should be strong. Showing someone his weaknesses like this right off the bat is humiliating, especially to someone that shouldn't even look his way.
To be with you, who can say
You nod, putting the bottle down before taking his wrist. You then take your pen, writing down your address.
We are sailing, we are sailing
He shudders, taking his arm back when you finish, looking you over before turning away and leaving the store, leaving you.
Home again 'cross the sea
You wipe away the small tears in your eyes, taking a deep breath before returning back to the bottles with a heavy heart.
We are sailing stormy waters
To be near you, to be free
═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════
You sit on your mattress, writing in your notepad, focusing on it. There's music playing in the back off your cassette tape, indulged in the writing.
The flat is small and cramped. One room with the kitchen and bed being in the same place while the bathroom is obviously a seperate room to the side, still small with a barely working shower and zero hot water.
A dump really.
Suddenly you hear a knock, looking up. The idea of who it could be casts a bit of excitement in you.
"John?" you stand up, opening the door for him to enter. Hes a little bruised, his hair now pink.
"They stole our bloody microphones!" he exclaims "fuckin gits i swear to god the next time i see em ill rip their fuckin heads off!". He throws his leather jacket onto the floor, dropping onto your mattress like hes been here before.
He suddenly takes your notepad, skimming through it, visibly making you tense.
"Whas this?" he mutters, his brows furrowing "concert reports?".
You groan, moving over and swiping it from him "dont look trough that!".
He huffs, sitting up and swiping it back "no, no, no.". He looks trough it, glancing over each one.
"There's even one of us" he mutters, looking at the one about the mucous membrane.
Suddenly it clicks.
The way you stand in the corner, how you observe. You're not there just for fun, you're...
"I make zines." you mutter, sitting down "Alright? I make them.".
He glances at you "what're they called?". His curiosity is suddenly peaked.
"... I dont... Really release them. I just make em for myself." you mutter, sighing before reaching for a box.
John peeks at it, his eyes widening. Small flyers or leaflets, stacked upon each other. Different colours, different scraps, pictures, newspaper cutouts...
"Ya spend a lot of time on this huh?" he mutters "that's actually bad.".
He takes one, beginning to read it. The writing isn't off either.
You watch as he does it, a defeated expression on your face. Your chin is on your palm, your elbow on your knee.
"Didnt expect this from you, putz." he mutters, his brows furrowing "wait this is... Ts from the *insert where you live* (if you're from London then you just weren't in this part of the city) scene." he says, taking one of the older looking zines.
"Uh yeah... I lived there. I moved here only a few months ago.".
Thats why you were new and unfamiliar.
You're not from here.
"Huh.".
That only makes you more interesting.
═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════
Over the next few weeks he keeps coming over, looking trough the zines, getting to know you. Soon enough he learns everything he needs to about you, how you sleep, where you're from, your life story.
Its eerily relaxing and interesting to learn about. He finds himself dozing off at the sound of your voice, that's how he begins using your flat as a place of rest.
He lays in your arms, his head on your chest as you stroke his hair. You've learned that he enjoys the small subtle touches, that he seems to crave it. You never said anything about it, considering he seems too embarrassed to actually speak about it.
His eyes are half shut, his hand gripping your waist as he listens to the beating of your heart. Its even and rhythmic, the perfect drum for his mind.
Your nails continue to glide trough his dirty hair, scratching his scalp. The dandruff sprinkles from it now and then, the dry and damaged edges feeling like wheat. He reeks.
Your other hand is on his back, just holding there. Showing him you're here.
"I ran away because of my dad" he suddenly speaks up, taking a small deep breath "he... Was intense.".
Your eyes flicker down. Hes never opened up like this.
"I didnt want to be near him." he pauses "I have a older sister. Dont really know what she's up to.".
His fingers curl against your skin, shifting a little as he continues laying beetwen your legs.
"Grew up in Liverpool. Ran away to London when I was sixteen. My mum..." he trails off, swallowing tightly, closing his eyes. It's better left unsaid.
You feel how he moves, seeking the warmth. His arms wrap around you even tighter, burrying his face in your chest, a small and low whimper leaving him.
Before you know it hes crying.
"Hey-" you mutter, continuing to stroke his hair "its okay. Its alright.". You continue to stroke his hair, your other arm wrapping around him in a attempt to make him feel safe.
He let's out a sob, gripping onto you as if you're the only one keeping him alive. His voice breaks, anything he tries to say only ends up jumbled and incoherent. He's gasping for air, reaching up and gripping the back of your neck. It isnt tight or choking, just a attempt to feel the warmth.
To feel you.
Tears prick your eyes aswell. Oh how you wish you could make it all go away.
All you can do is hold him tighter, hoping something will ease the pain in his heart. That the anger and guilt will fade away, that somehow you can help him.
From the radio you hear a song, something small and barely audible from his tears.
tags: songfic, hurt/comfort, fluff, seasonal depression, mental health issues, anxiety, self esteem issues, self care struggle, fluffy ending
Seasonal depression seemed adamant on making you its bitch this season, too little sunlight, or worse, too much. Your emotional state felt like that queasy feeling when you haven't eaten all day, but the thought of eating makes your stomach tie up in knots.
Wanting to be better than this, but the idea of doing it made you curl up and hide from the world.
Adding insult to injury, Autumn used to be your favorite time of the year before you got older, that familiar sense of joy snuffed out under the monochrome weight of boredom and self-loathing of age.
Now leaving behind a rusted relic of what used to be something precious and shining.
John didn't have that problem…or, well knew it better, John felt mostly horrible all year round. But that didn't mean he was about to let you fall into that category with him when he found you sitting like a perfect parallel of some old widow looking out from your flat window at the sea of people.
They were probably suffering the season's effects too, but at least they had the strength to leave the house and try to make the most of it. You decided to hole yourself up in your flat til John arrived for an unscheduled rescue from your self-isolation. Thanks to the spare apartment key you lent him and forgot to give back.
He hadn't seen you in an entire week and grew more worried than he felt comfortable admitting when he'd come by your complex. Relieved to see you still somewhat intact, just...faded at the edges.
Still dressed in the same wrinkled clothes, your hair somewhat greasy.
"Alright, that's it. C'mon sunshine, let's get ya slothin self up to get some food, can't have ya sittin round doin nish with an empty fridge." He states, abruptly shaking you from the stillness you'd fallen into.
"Do we have to?" You complained as he tugged you away from your moping spot, tossing you your jacket and your messenger bag.
"Not if I can help it, can't have my personal 5-star crashing spot going out of business now, can I? Or its owner for that matter." He doesn't budge as he grabs the rest of the supplies needed to leave.
He needed to get you out of the house first. Some exposure therapy you could call it, experience normalcy to feel like it again, even if you claimed to abhor it at the moment.
He saw it in your eyes, you didn’t feel human, didn’t feel within the same category as what someone would deem human, disconnected and haunting. Something he was all too familiar with, and he’d be damned if he let someone he cared about feel the same.
“C’mon, ya need a lungs' worth a fresh air.” He had to practically drag you out of your flat, empty bags in hand and swaddled up against the cold, earmuffs over your head to fend off any noise too loud for your liking.
At least going downstairs felt easy enough as John hummed along to a song you didn't recognize.
I'm your only friend
You couldn't blame him, you knew he suffered more than most, you just wished at this moment he'd leave you alone, to rot in the dark.
I'm not your only friend
And he couldn’t blame you, it was all too easy to let himself fall back onto habits that only made him bitter and alone. Let the darkness and sadness fall over you like a sheet thrown over a corpse, never to be removed.
But I'm a little glowing friend
He wouldn’t let that happen to you, not on John’s watch.
But really I'm not actually your friend
You'd long accepted talking was pointless as John tugged open the door leading into the street, and you instinctively linked elbows.
But I am…
You were relieved he was doing most of the planning for you, giving you time to look around the streets and the people. Not having to worry about anything other than remembering how to feel normal and human once more, and not a ghost of yourself.
Feel the world while slowly melting back into place.
"We'll go get some food in ya, then we'll go shopping? Ya know what they yap on about not to shop on an empty stomach." His words didn’t really register, but you nodded at the sound of food. You hadn’t eaten all day.
The small diner was mainly empty mich to your relief, not having to worry about bumping into people or just them brushing by you.
Too close for comfort and rude as all hell, and the way the pressure lingered on your senses always rubbed you the wrong way.
"Usual as always?" John asked as he let go of your arm, the warm air felt warm and fuzzy against your face, familiar sounds of the little diner soothed you.
John had brought you here before, and even when he disappeared, you kept going both because the food was good and it reminded you of him.
Cracked at the edges, smelled of good food and cigarettes, but well-loved and mostly polite staff if you were a regular.
"You go spot us a table and I'll order for us, yeah?"
You nod before the silence in your head was filled with a song playing over the speakers, slightly muffled as you took to the booth in the corner you'd always enjoyed. Cramming yourself between the back of the booth and the wall as the music plays from the speakers, the hum of it echoes through the walls.
Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
John was relieved you didn't choose one with a window to numbly stare out of. Your hands are occupied with a crack in one of the vinyl seats or the advertisements up on the big bulletin board. Full of pamphlets or little kids' drawings in crayon.
Who watches over you?
Sitting down across from you, food in tow as he handed you your portion before beginning to babble on about his recent shenanigans.
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
You needed something to take your thoughts off the gloom and doom, as much of that filled John’s life, he still had good stories to tell.
Annoying Chas or what trouble he'd recently found himself thrown into, wanting to take your mind off whatever lonely corner it kept trying to drag you back to.
Not to put too fine a point on it:
"I take it Chas kicked you out for the fifth time then, after a catastrophe like that? What did his boss even think?" You asked, looking to him with a slight smile at the story of how John had accidentally led a pack of annoying imps to Chas's work.
"Fifth? If I'm lucky, it won't be the last. Gotta keep my friends on their toes, don't I?" He watched as you ate, trying not to let his worry get the best of him.
Asking outright would’ve gotten you both nowhere, and it didn’t take a genius to see you were drained. Hell, he’d told you to piss off about feelings the last time you asked.
Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
But it’s hard to ignore worry, fucking nags at you like a bratty child. Your looks weren’t helping; that blank, empty look was something he'd seen in himself far too much.
Your smile was tired, your frame seemed lighter, and your current position of trying to get as far away from people wasn’t easing his concern.
“All the same goes for you, sunshine, gotta make us a list so your arse isn’t starvin up in your princess tower.”
“I don’t think my flat counts as a tower, John.” You said into your sip of mediocre hot chocolate.
“Well, it’s close enough, and I can’t blame you, but people watching is a depressing hobby luv. Eat up, we’re goin grocery shoppin’ after you finish up your food.” He insisted.
Make a little birdhouse in your soul.
The food was warm enough not to burn your senses, and thankfully not greasy enough to make you wanna pout in disdain. It sat oddly in your stomach, but between some much-needed sips of water & John’s ramblings, it seemed to settle.
Getting to the grocery store required a longer walk, which meant more people to worry about bumping into. You were holding your breath almost in anticipation when someone walked too close, sighing in relief when nothing touched you.
John would’ve laughed if it had been under difficult circumstances. But making fun of you wouldn’t help your situation.
“Almost there, and ya can thank me for rifling through your cabinets to make a list.”
“Thank you, John.” You said through gritted teeth, trying to focus on anything else than how close people got.
“S’ no problem, ya can pay me back when you’re back up on ya feet. Bakin n cookin to your hearts content.” He smirked, trying to lighten the mood, steering clear of people as the store was just around the corner.
“That sounds exhausting…”
“Never said ya had to do it now, if anything, I’ll fix up somethin when we get back to your flat with some tea. Sound right to you?”
It wasn’t odd to have John be a guiding voice for you at the moment, if anything, it was a mirror of all the times you’d done this for him.
Always running by the pub to fish him out of the gutter and nurse him back to health in your own special way.
Drag him around like a raggedy doll, even if he complained the whole way through, getting some life back in those sunken eyes of his. Doing chores, running errands, even with his whining, you never let him rain on your parade. You knew he was struggling and wanted to be there regardless.
He was just returning the comfort.
Now, having him here do the same for you made your chest grow warmer. Even if your own method was now against you. You were too tired to complain.
“That sounds better.”
The fluorescent lights weren’t too harsh on your eyes if you kept your head down, at least John said so as you both looked over the list of stuff you needed.
“How do the cashiers deal with lighting like this?” You thought out loud as you more or so followed John around, pushing the cart and using it as a makeshift force field to keep others at a distance.
He smiled as he looked at a can of soup.
“They probly’ don’t, wouldn’t blame em if they’re smoking one out back on break, I know I would before taking a match to this place in the process.”
Your laugh would have made you feel better if you hadn’t caught someone’s gaze in your peripheral vision, giving you and John a look of disdain before quickly looking away upon being noticed.
You probably looked horrible, you hadn’t washed up in three days, and were still dressed in your wrinkled clothes. You nervously looked away, not wanting to be an object of ridicule simply cause you couldn’t function.
“C’mon then, let’s get you some chocolates too for the road.”
“I’m not really in the mood for chocolate...” You brush off, pushing the cart further down to hide between the aisles. Shoulders hunched forward to hide.
“Psh, maybe not now, there’s always time later,” He insisted as he caught up with you, setting what he’d gathered into the cart before tugging it along with you in tow, before feeling his hand softly brush the small of your back.
“N don’t mind them posh snobs looks luv, I’m looking worse for wear in comparison to you.”
That made you feel oddly better, you both looked like messes. But messes that could be fixed with a little effort and care.
“I think a warm bath could honestly do us both some good. Make it holy water while you’re at it. For the demons.” You offered, the thought of melting into a basin of warm bubble-filled water sounded divine.
“I think a bath’ll do us more good than a baptism.” He grinned in reply, at least you were out of feeling alone.
Relieved seeing you come back to life slowly but surely, like a flower coming to bloom after harsh rain.
The music playing over the store seemed to play that same upbeat tune as you both continued to buy some fruit, as well as that chocolate he mentioned.
There's a picture opposite me,
Getting to the cashier, you went to pull out your wallet from your bag, but John beat you to it, pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket.
Of my primitive ancestry, which stood on rocky shores
And kept the beaches shipwreck-free
“Oh no, you don’t!” You said, suddenly grabbing his wrist to push it away.
“Those are my groceries, John. You already bought me food.”
John was just glad you got your snark back as he tried to push against your hold. Smirking at your insistence.
“And s’ was my idea to buy groceries, you’re just gonna beat yourself up for spendin the money.”
Though I respect that a lot,
I'd be fired if that were my job
“I’m gonna feel bad having you spend it too, I’ll feel bad either way.” You argued somewhat playfully as John put the cash in his other hand, giving it to the bored-looking cashier.
“Nah, you're savin me luv, stead’ of spendin it on more cigs n pints.”
After killing Jason off
And countless screaming Argonauts
After a game of Tetris with arranging the groceries in the flimsy bags John had brought along, splitting them roughly evenly between you two. Finally, it was time to head back to your flat. The sky looked as gloomy as before as you stepped outside.
That depressing mix of grey and white stretched across the entire sky you’d been stuck staring at before John came by.
Only that lonely feeling was too far to reach you now.
It was fascinating how something as plain as the sky changing could send you into such a miserable state, but you didn’t feel miserable now.
Bluebird of friendliness
John knew that wasn’t the only thing; it was just plain old loneliness.
The classic basic human need for company, even the most introverted of people, couldn’t deny themselves after a certain point.
Like guardian angels, it's always near
Nobody ever talked about it. People tried to silently cure it under the guise of hanging out with old pals, visiting loved ones, catching up with long-lost acquaintances from times past.
It was a real treasure to have someone like you, who’d state what was wrong, then immediately give him that connection.
And he was more than happy to do the same in return as you both stood at the bottom of your complex’s stairs.
“Let’s hope your balance isn’t as bad as your running.” You joked as you began the delicate process of balancing the bags and climbing up the steps.
“Oh, now you’re just being cheeky.” He called after you, keeping his eyes on your footing just in case.
With a few clumsy stumbles and mucking up counting steps to keep balance, you two were nearly on the floor with laughing at the other as you set the groceries down on the floor of your flat.
“Goodness, you’d think they’d install a bloody elevator with such shitty stairs!” John huffed between laughs as he undid his shoes and coat.
“I think if they did that, I’d be kissing goodbye hot water John.” You replied as you set your bags down on the kitchen table.
Before you could begin to put the groceries away, John snatched it out of your hand and was all but ushering you out like some pesky child.
“Speakin of hot water, you go wash up, I’ll get these sorted for ya.”
You gave him an odd look as he did have a point, but still.
“Was I this coddling with you when I’d drag you around, John? It’s my damn flat.” You asked, amused as you walked towards your bedroom to take that much-needed shower. Taking the time to hum along to the song still stuck in your head.
“You were worse, practically had me swaddled up with a bowl of soup when I was in the dumps luv.” He called after jokingly over the music as it echoed through the apartment.
Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
Who watches over you?
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
A wash up did you more than good, stepping out of the steam-filled bathroom dressed in a clean shirt and sleep shorts made it feel like you were reborn into a normal human being once more.
Your bed was the perfect place to be as you went utterly boneless upon hitting the sheets with a contented sigh, too comfortable to pull back the covers and blankets.
“You still breathin sunshine? Don’t tell that’s all it took to get you knackered?” John asked upon seeing your state, setting the chocolate on your nightstand as he looked at you in amusement.
Getting tucked into bed like a child wasn’t the worst thing in the world; it was like an approving hug for all you’d done today.
Warm & all encompassing, you would have embraced sleep quicker if you hadn’t felt John kiss your forehead and…begin to pull away.
“Stay,” you demanded before he could slither from your grasp and go disappearing off to god knows where. You hated it when he did that. Try and deny himself simple things as ordinary as affection.
While you're at it,
Your hand tightened around the blanket he’d tucked you under, pulling it off you to welcome him into your warm bed. Not for anything more than to hold each other.
Leave the nightlight on inside the birdhouse in your soul.
“Stay with me, please? I don’t want to be alone.”
And who was he to deny you that?
Comfort clearly needed yet never verbalized til now. It already had him undoing his tie and shuffling off his pants to dive under the mass of blankets with you.
“Alright luv, you got me.” He assured as he followed your demand.
Not to put too fine a point on it
You held onto each other, warm embracing you both as you sighed contentedly, feeling him pet your hair. The blankets keep you tangled together as your hands clenched into his shirt.
Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
“I’m right here, sunshine, ain’t goin nowhere,” John sighed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek, already feeling you begin to fall into sleep's tempting clutches with him so close. Finally having everything you needed to fix your once depressing mood.
“And (Y/N)?”
“Hm?”
“Next time you feel like this, ya give me a bell, ya here?”
You only chuckle as you tangled yourself further with him, his hand rubbing circles into your back.
“You don’t need me bothering you.”
“Psh. Please sunshine, I’d take handlin your mopin over whatever crap I’ve dug myself into any day.”
He was happy he could at least make your day a little better and remind you how much you mean to him as he followed soon after you in sleep.
