You weren’t expecting a romantic night. You really weren’t. But when John Constantine kicked the motel door shut behind him and pulled you into a kiss like he was starving, something shifted. His coat hit the floor. So did your bag. The way he looked at you flushed, devilish, pupils blown wide and you could practically feel his heartbeat through his clothes.
“Did you take something?” you asked breathless as he yanked his shirt off.
He smirked proud. “Couple blues. Thought I’d need ‘em.”
“Couple?! As in… more than one?!”
He gave you that smug half shrug. “Wasn’t planning on being gentle, love.”
Fifteen minutes later, he was still inside you but drenched in sweat, face pale and mumbling Latin like the demons were coming for his soul.
“John—baby—are you okay?”
“Can’t feel my left arm,” he muttered, then winced. “...Or my toes. Or my dick. Oh, fuck me, I think I’m dying.”
You practically threw him off, grabbing the phone with one hand while holding his floppy body with the other. “You’re not dying, you idiot, you’re overdosing on Viagra!”
“I thought it’d make me… last longer,” he wheezed, eyes fluttering. “Turns out it makes you see God without dying. Ow. My chest.”
ER. 2:36 AM.
You’re holding his hand while a nurse adjusts the oxygen mask. He’s half conscious, still mumbling nonsense.
“I should’ve just smoked a joint,” he murmured. “She was already wet…”
You squeeze his hand hard enough to make him wince. “Next time, ask your doctor, John. Or me. I don’t need your heart exploding mid thrust.”
He coughs. “But was it… at least… good?”
You glare at him. “You were inside me for exactly three strokes before you collapsed.”
He grins weakly. “Best three strokes of your life though, yeah?”
You consider unplugging the monitor just to scare him.
- He loves it when you trace his tattoos, specially the one oh his back. When your nails trace his skin he just sighs contently, but he doesn’t say anything. Because if he does you’ll just tease him about it later.
Before you and John got together, you had your fun, and you had your friends. You were always headed to the next bar with your friends when you first met John in passing. Tall, dark, and handsome, you were immediately drawn to him.
You saw him again when you were closing up your antique bookstore and he stopped in.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closed for the night.” You stare at him as he lights up a cigarette. “And we definitely don’t allow smoking in here, either.”
”Sorry, doll.” Flicking out his cig, he walks up to your counter. “I need a book, and I’m hoping you have it.” He was a little pale, like he’d seen a ghost, and if it wasn’t for your terrified scream at the looming dark figure behind him, you and him would probably be toast right about now.
Ever since he saved both your lives that night, you agreed to drive him around jobs in the city, and it was fun and terrifying at the same time.
he’d started to grow close with you after some time, the sound of your laughter making his stomach do cartwheels, the way your hair smelled right after your shower, and the way you applied your lotion to your legs had him stiffening in his pants. Doing this in front of him was an innocent act on your part, but you were oblivious to the torture you were causing.
Asking john to fasten your necklaces was a common reoccurrence. He was tall and could see the back of your neck anyways so it was just easier for him to do it. He’d fasten the necklace, all the while, holding his breath as to not sigh out in part of the sweet smell wafting from your neck; some old perfume of yours.
You had gotten your first boyfriend some months after meeting John, still oblivious to the huge crush he had on you. Everything was going fine, until John started to act weird around you and your partner.
He’d come out just wrapped in a towel from the shower, and you’d catch yourself staring at him, mouth catching flies as he states, “oh, sorry guys, thought I’d be alone tonight.” He smirks, and he knows what he’s doing.
Your boyfriend would try and talk to john about getting you gifts, asking what you’d like and John would give him wrong answers out of pure jealousy.
Don’t even get me started on how he would be starring daggers at the guy whenever he would kiss or touch you in front of John.
Dude is full on simp-mode at this point
When you finally break up with your current toy, John takes every opportunity to make you realize he’s it for you.
Purposefully placing things on the top shelf so you’d ask him too bring it down, his hands grabbing at your waist, sending shivers up your spine as he steadies himself.
The trailing of his fingers on your nap as he fasten your necklace once more.
The flirtatious teasing and glances from across the breakfast table.
One night, after getting ready to go out with your friends, decked out in makeup and one tight dress, he snaps.
“Don’t go.” He states, standing in front of the doorway.
”John, don’t be an ass, I’m going out with my friends. Please move.”
“I said, don’t go.” He stands up from leaning against the door wand walked towards you like a predator tracking his prey. “I said, don’t go because I don’t want to see you with anyone else but me.”
Your mouth opens and shuts as your brain rewires itself. “What do you mean, John?” You finally finds the words as you realize you’ve backed yourself into a corner.
”I love you, y/n. i fucking love you and it hurts me to see another man touch what’s rightfully mine.” He kisses you hard, and you find yourself melting, wrapping yourself in cig smoke and whiskey as the door closes, cutting out the sound of your laughter and John’s.
——————-
I’m sorry if this sux. I’ve been dealing with a nasty head cold but i wanted to get this out for you guys. Please enjoy!!
You’ve been working for John Constantine for a little. He’s been too protective to let you learn anything but he wants to keep you close. Just my usual one shot smut with a little plot.
Words: 2.8k
Tags/warnings: m/f penetration, cunnilingus, drinking, smoking, a little dirty talk, choking, idk sex mostly
John Constantine hates being bothered.
But he needs a new driver.
Just temporarily.
He’d found me on one of his previous endeavors, but many already know who I am. Taught of the occult and arcane by a small circle on the streets after my parents passed, my skills are above most.
Not that I ever get to use them with John. He’s worrisome, shaking as he presses his cigarette back up to his mouth, inhaling like it was his last breathe. He is peering outside.
“John, this time please,” I beg as I round up to the building, John doesn’t even look my way, tossing his cigarette to the ground the moment he opens the car door. He rushes inside and I sigh, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel and letting my head fall back.
30 minutes or so and he’s back, staggering with another goddamn cigarette between his lips. He climbs into the car and I drive forward,
“Where to?” I ask, glancing in the mirror. He’s been crashing at mine for this stent, but he’s been talking about something West. Something I could help him with.
My life is in Brooklyn. I pursed my lips together when he told me. I agreed. He knew I would. I’ve been following John blindly these past few months, yet I don’t know if he really gives a fuck about me.
“Fuck,” he spreads out in the backseat, closing his eyes and pressing his cigarette up to his lips, “anywhere. Do you have alcohol?”
That’s code for my place, because I almost always have alcohol. He’s not a terrible house guest. He doesn’t touch my food, he crashes on the couch fully clothed, no blankets no pillows. That’s only if he’s tired, otherwise he sits and, thinks. I guess.
I pour us a glass and leave the bottle in the middle of table. John sits back and retrieves his cigarettes from his pocket, knocking out another and putting it up to his lips.
He lights it before taking a long sip of his drink. He’s sat back in his seat but leaned forward in a long folded over shape. He takes another drag as soon as he’s swallowed the liquid, huffing out and looking around my apartment.
Nothing has changed since the last time he’s been here, he realizes quick and settles back to me. I reach out, “may I?” He seems annoyed but he snatches the pack from his side pocket where he’d returned them.
I scoot my chair over closer as he grabs the lighter. He holds the cigarette up and I lean forward, taking it from his fingers between my lips. I still, following his hands as he takes another long drag, looking at me waiting for him. I raise an eyebrow and begin reaching for the lighter myself. John’s eyes dart to it and he reaches out quick, flicking his wrist to open it and swiftly sparking it up. I inhale just enough to light it before taking a real drag and sitting back.
“Any plans here, John.”
He takes another sip, “always asking me shit. No, there’s no plans. I’m waiting for someone to slip up.”
“I haven’t found anything about the soul stones,” I’ve been researching, asking around, “most people say they haven’t heard of them.”
“Then you’re asking the wrong people.” He takes a hit after every sentence, this man breathes no oxygen.
“Maybe it’s not in Brooklyn anymore?”
“West…” he mentions again, “but it’s just another gamble.” He turns his head away, like he’s tired of the conversation and finally I take another drag of mine. I can feel the nicotine buzz in my body, I only ever palm one off of John occasionally. It mixes well with a little alcohol.
John leans back up, resting his elbows on the table and taking another large sip of his drink. “Are you really coming?” He asks, suddenly so serious. He takes his last sip of his drink, putting it to rest on my tabletop, he flicks his ash into the ashtray I have specifically for him.
“I said I was.” I respond, lifting my own cup, I swirl the liquid around and take a small sip.
“You don’t have to.”
“Do you want me to?”
John puts the cigarette out, leaving it in the ash. “Only if you want to.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You’re… useful to me. But I don’t want to uproot your life.”
“I have no other life. Do you want me to go?” I’m shifting closer as I speak, John watches me careful, like I’m about to lunge at him.
“None at all?” He almost teases me, I watch his lips form the words, he tilts his shoulders towards me, leaning in.
I’m not going to engage, he tilts his chin up, like he’s going to kiss me, but I know John’s games and I turn my head. Quickly cutting him off to take a long drag.
John wants to roll his eyes, snaking a hand past me to take the short stick from my hands. He takes an equally long drag, burning through the rest of the cigarette before casting it out with his first.
“I want you to come,” he tells me. He says it like I’m holding a gun to his head, but his body is open, pulling me in slightly. I have to tilt my head up to him.
“Then I’m there,” I almost whisper it. He bites his lip for a moment, pats his blazer for his smokes and fills the gap between us. It’s sweet, one careful kiss. I capture it, silently allowing him to continue. He has his stance open, on either side of my chair. He leans in closer, sliding his hands around my hips and pulling me to the edge. I moan against his lips, he we taste the same almost, the same brand of cigarette. He pulls away and leans back, licking my saliva off his lower lip.
“This is your obligatory one minute to reconsider.”
“Reconsider?”
“To reconsider being with me. You have 45 seconds.”
I reach out and wrap my fingers around his tie, pulling him back closer to kiss him again. He stops the count, swallowing me up hold. He pulls me over into his lap and stands, holding me up against his waist.
I’m straddled up against his cock, which poked at me through his loose slacks. He fumbled to my room, forgetting which door it is at first, setting me up on my dresser when we were there. He bites at my neck, sinking his teeth in hard enough for it to hurt. I hiss, going to shove him away. No matter there I pushed or pulled him, he didn’t budge. John secures his arm he already has around my waist, his other hand reaches into his pocket. He retrieves his smokes and sets them beside us on the dresser. He kisses where he was just attacking me, hand sinking into his pocket to retrieve his lighter. My break is short lived, he runs his nose down my neck and delves into a soft spot there. I choke and stretch away from him, knocking his lighter from his hand on accident.
I hear it bounce around on the ground with a few soft thuds then silence. John follows it with his eyes before they snap back to me. I dont know why it’s so embarrassing, I can feel my face burning and John simply moves on. He presses more pretty kisses to my neck, coaxing me again. I give in easy, wrapping my legs up around him. He moves to kissing me again, going to undo his belt. I groan, reaching out to knock his fingers away and do it myself. My shaky fingers fumble over the black leather, pulling it from the matching black belt loops. I wait to break the kiss once I’m done, blinking up at John through my lashes. He takes over, pulling it completely out and dropping his belt to the floor, he’s completely hard now. His slacks sink down his waist without his belt, his briefs waistline visible and the tip of his cock pressed against the edge, waiting.
He sits back up, running his hands along my thighs and yanking me closer to the edge of the dresser. He forces me to sit back when he undoes my jeans, looming over me and nudging my nose with his.
I push my hands flat against the wood, lifting my hips up and letting him slide them off of me. He sinks down, the flat of his hand running from my outter to my inner thigh slowly, making sure they’re well apart before he’s sliding over my panties. I grip the edge of the dresser, looking down at John for once. One hand curves around my thigh, fingers hooking my underwear and holding them to the side with his ring finger, the rest of his hand flat between my hip bones. He presses there with minimal pressure, wasting no time sliding his tongue right between my folds. He opens his mouth wide, running right from my entrance up to my vulva then a few open mouth kisses, his tongue seeking out my clit and pressing in rough circle. He has his eyes closed until he’s found a rythme, looking up at me and shifting his free hand down, palming himself through his slacks.
It feels way too good, really, I’m trying hard not to wriggle out of his hold in pleasure. I can only grind down and shake, unable to rip my eyes from him. I snake my hand into his short dark hair, pulling at it then fixing it to the side.
John’s tongue slips down, exploring my entrance as his hand finally manages to get his button off and he’s exposed himself. He stroked himself slowly, lustfully, trying to fuck me with his tongue.
I switch between his hand and his face, I’m getting closer. His mouth feels better and better each second, I begin to freeze up, focusing on the sensation. I’m almost smirking, I’ve never thought I’d have John Constantine in this position. Jacking off while I grind against his face.
He sees my smirk and he just can’t help but be an asshole. Slowing his tongue, he licks one more slow strip up me before pulling off, he practically rips my underwear off as he stands back up.
I groan, edging myself back from the dresser and cursing quietly, “getting too cocky there, Hellfire,” he warns me, brandishing my nickname he’s almost called me one before. He goes back to holding my hips, lulling me forward as he drags his cock right up against me. His saliva mixed with my pleasure coats his cock and he groans into my ear, “protection?”
“Already casted,” he nods.
He runs his hands up my hips and finally slips my top off, letting it fall with his other clothes beside us in the pile. He undoes a few of his shirt buttons quickly, pulling it off over his head when he’s had enough.
John assumes position. “Hold my shoulders,” he commands, bringing his hips back, one hand adjusting himself and the other holding my side. He presses the tip in carefully, my body rejects him. It aches, I tighten my hold around his shoulders, encircling him closer to me. “Fuck, relax,” he tells me to like it’s easy. I inhale stiff and sharp and he runs his hand around me to my back, “breathe,” he tries again, speaks slower. I do, inhaling again slowly. He’s pushing into me on my exhale, carefully, steady. We both make a noise when he’s, passed the hardest part for me. John is hungry, running his hand up to cup my breast, he sinks his hips into me further.
I lean back on one hand, supporting most of our weight, my other arm is still encased around John. I can’t go anywhere as he fills me up, pushing him away only makes him smile. He gets halfway in before he snaps up into me. His name falls past my lips, not given a moment to regain my composure before he’s fucking me. Quick and rough, his body makes a slapping sound every time we meet.
He groans over me, following the curve of my open mouth with his brown eyes. His pupils blown, he grabs at my neck, encasing his large hand around it and holding me still.
He’s gripping me just rough enough to steady me but I can still breathe. My gasps are raspy against his palm, the pain is all pleasure. I gaze at him through my eyelids, going weak against his grasp on me. I paw at him with my free hand, running the line of his collarbone and trying not to let my eyes shut.
John yanks me forward, my useless hand coming up quickly to his wrist as the rest of my body sits up in order. He speeds up his thrusts, holding me by my neck right up his face. He’s so focused in, there’s not a thought behind those dark eyes besides need.
I let my sticky forehead press against this, eyes eyes dip down, not realizing how hard he’d started choking me. He loosens his grip but only moves his hand when his hips have slowed, scooping me back up while he’s still pressed inside of me. I wrap both arms around him around, barely assisting him in the transition from my dresser to my low bed.
He gets on his knees, falling out of me as he sets me back on the bed. I fall back doll, letting my arms rest above my head as I lift my hips and stretch out. He runs his hand over himself a few times, trying to really take in his view before crawling back up to hover above me. He pushes my legs apart with one hand, still touching himself as he leans over, pressing an open mouth kiss to the soft spot of my thigh. The niceties never last long. Next he’s biting me again, holding my leg down when I immediately begin my escape.
“So pretty,” he hums, running his nose up my leg, licking my hip bone and adjusting himself to press against my entrance. It’s easier for him to slide into me in this position, he grabs my arm when I go to block my blush.
He eases slowly, shuffling to find the best position where he has at least one free hand. He runs it down my side, squeezing my hip and bringing me closer. With his thumb he presses more slow circles against my clit, I lay still and lazy, following his slow motions with my hips as encouragement.
“Am I being good?” I prompt him, my voice scratchy from him grip before. I say it quiet, unsure if he even heard me. But John most certainly did, unconsciously picking up speed.
“That’s what you want?” He snaps up in me, moving his thumb over me with a matching thrust. My hips jut out, trying to push my legs apart further. The same tingling heat building up inside of my groin.
I only kinda nod, too close to be embarrassed. I ghost over the tattoos on his forearm and grip his upper, pleading with him with my eyes. “You’re being so fucking good,” he murmurs, coaxing my orgasm with every thrust, “letting me use you.”
“John,” I whimper his name, trying to get him to keep talking and attempting to drag him closer. He’s getting closer, not daring move from where he is now he’ll spill. His arm is shaky, flexing under my grip. He is losing his breath, mouth ajar.
He sucks in quickly, “fuck, you can cum, baby,” he says it in a growl, edging himself as I spill. My body grips around him and his head falls slack against my shoulder, he bites into the skin there but I don’t even register it past the pleasure that’s hits me.
It rings out through my whole body, John slows, sloppy thrusts as he continues to use me. When I’m settling he pulls out, letting out a delicious moan and cumming. Warm spurts all over my bare stomach, I hum in delight, running my fingers to scoop some up and lick them clean.
John sits up slowly, huffing as he pushes his sweaty hair back. “Fuck, Hellfire,” he mumbles, climbing off the bed to grab his smokes and lighter. I’d knocked it off halfway beneath the dresser. He lights one up swiftly, how he’s done it a thousand times before, and grabs a random shirt off my floor. I don’t protest, it’s dirty anyways. I steal the cigarette from his lips as he wipes me clean.
