#sub john constantine

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John Constantine dub-con, collaring, and pet play?

Opinion?

Incredible combination.

Have a little something to chew on, cuz I've been rotating this one in my brain.

He really should not have come to poker night.

John knew it was a bad idea, of course; walking into enemy territory to cheat who-knows how many old 'acquaintances' out of their coin. But, as always, he was tempted by the promise of booze, smokes and the thrill of risk and danger.

To be fair though, he was expecting something more along the lines of a brawl, perhaps a proper murder attempt– Hell, maybe even a good-ol' fashioned kidnapping scheme.

But not this. Certainly, not this.

"Enjoying the view from down there, Constantine?" Your looking down at him, a mocking lilt to your tone as you smirk. Perched lazily in your great armchair, looking like a king upon a throne, with a polished gold chain wrapped loosely around your palm. It connected perfectly to the black and gold leather band secured snugly to his throat, its tightness and weight notable with every breath John took.

He was certainly not expecting this, but God, if he wasn't rock-hard already.

Suddenly, Constantine is jerked forward by his lead. "Fuck–!" The blonde man collapses forward on his hands and knees with a choked gasp, before his head is forcefully yanked upward by the chain. Constantine sputters, scrabbling to claw at his collar just as he meets your eye.

"I did expect an answer to my question, you know," You drawl, leaning over to your face-to-face with your captive. "Please, do rate your experience."

"Well–," Constantine chokes out, struggling for breath "I'd just think a bit more highly of the service— if I were planning to be here."

You hum consideringly, "I understand that. But I'm afraid your preferences aren't a priority this time 'round, pet." You slack the chain, and John collapses at your feet with a wheeze, panting. Fuck, he's so hard. He feels like hes about to spill in his pants like a bloody teenager. And clearly, you must see it too.

"Though honestly, you seem to be enjoying it either way," You push your foot forward, sliding it right up against the tent in John's pants. He jerks forward, of his own accord this time, and curses as soon as he catches himself.

"Christ- hah, I think I've meet succubi less fuckin' dick-hungry," John taunts, but it comes out shakey— his body has betrayed him, as you can feel the dampness, the texture of wet Khaki against your leather shoes.

"And yet you seem all for it," You apply a sudden, heavy pressure, and the magician keens loudly, before curling over your outstretched leg, leaning forward against it for support. "Like a rabbit in heat, you are. Isn't that right, bunny?"

"Gah, hauhh– uhn, no, not a- not ah bunny, you cunt–" John pants out, tilting his head back to glare up at you. Unphased, you simply twirl a length of his golden leash around your point finger with a lazy disposition. Without acknowledging his protest, you move the hand not occupied with the lead to your own slacks, which you begin to unbutton. John looks between your crotch and your face, raising an eyebrow incredulously.

"You can't be serious" You smirk, finishing your unbuttoning and pulling down your pants and undergarments together in a single flourish.

"Oh, I'm nothing if not serious, pet," Your grasp on his leash is tight again, dragging him forward against his grunting protests. "Now, be a good little bunny, and hop to it, won't you?"

John Constantine glares at you like hes trying to set you on fire with his mind. "That was awful," is all he says in the end though, settling forward with his hands resting on your thighs. Your cock is fully out, and partially erect, which John admits would certainly be an entirely pleasant view under better circumstances, but as is, is only still painfully arousing.

Tentatively, he latches his mouth around the bulbous head of your cock, suckling gently, before beginning to work his way further down the shaft. Little by little, he takes your cock, spit pooling over the edges of his lips and coating your dick in shiny, sticky strands. "Oh, yes," You breathe, quiet but edged with a certain intensity. Well, at least he's knows he's still got it.

All of a sudden, though, you pull the leash again. Hard. John sputters gagging and choking as your cock is abruptly shoved down his throat, violating his mouth with a speed and harshness he failed to anticipate. You thrust in and out at a brutal pace, only tightening your grip on John's leash, forcing his throat to tighten around you.

Its at this point that John begins to fall apart properly— His face is a mess of drool and tears as he struggles to breath through his nose while on hand claws at his neck, pulling weakly at the pretty collar still wrapped firmly around his neck. Meanwhile, his other hand's got a death grip in the fabric of your pants, anchoring himself to you. Without realizing, the magican began to rut up against your leg, still positioned between his. The delicious friction of it makes him moan and whine, which reverabrates through your dick and spurs you on further.

"God, you're so hot and wet, my pretty bunny," You pant, still fucking his mouth with vigor, "Its just like fucking a cunt, your mouth is– really quite good. Fuck– I'm gonna cum down your throat, so be a good pet and keep fucking my leg like the filthy animal you are, Constantine."

Just as you finish speaking, you do as you promised and cum down his throat. At the same time, your degrading words push John over the edge along after you, spilling into the front on his pants like a damn virgin. His back arches and muscle tense like he's being electrocuted, and fuck, its so good, he can't help but moan, loud and long. Ropes of salty white cum overflow John's stuffed throat, spilling out past his lips as you pull away, leaving him to spit out whatever he had not already instinctively swallowed.

A beat passes as you slump down in the chair and Constantine sits back on his haunches. The magician is fully disheveled, blonde hair messy and sweat-slick, face wet with tears, drool and snot, eyes glassy and pupils blown out wide. You catch your breath first, straightening up slightly, and pulling gently on the leash again. John looks up at you, huffing.

"What, didn't... didn't get enough?"

"Hardly. Besides, you did make quite the mess of my pants," You sniff, haughty, before it morphs into a smirk.

"Seems only fair you clean it up."

He's definitely going to be coming to poker night more often, after all.

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idk what to send i just. thinking abt this one comic i saw that has a ship i dont like doing dollification and like. i want. i want a beautiful boy to be my dollie just perfect and limp and obedient. i tried to write something about this on my blog but ur always so much better with this stuff

Ooouagghh you have no idea, dear friend, just how much I've been thinking about this ask! Goodness gracious, how I have been pondering! Since this ask is subject-less, I shall also take this opportunity to introduce another character that I enjoy writing for: John Constantine!

Imagine being among the many, many demons, God's and spirits that the infamous Laughing Magician had pissed off with his lifetime. Not too hard to picture, really; The man is a certified cunt approximately 87% of the time, even when he's not trying to get on anyone's nerves.

But you're not exactly his usual adversary. You're something a little more subdued, but a little more... well, eldritch is probably the closest word for it. Generally, your full power level compared to your little actual involvement in most affairs, mortal or otherwise, tends to be disconcerting. Most magic users either look past you due to your lax nature, or realize that your act is the surface-level ploy it is and approach you with a decent amount of respect.

Of course, John Constantine has never had an ounce of respect for anything remotely magical in all his life, really. He'd come across yoh only once before, and that was to aquire an artifact you had in your possession. Constantine had bargained for it from you, but, as you should've expected, tried to loophole out of his deal with you. Unfortunately, he'd made the mistake of thinking that, like with demons, you were bound by your deal- which you very much are not.

The sheer offense at his attempt to cheat you was enough that you decided he needed a proper lesson in respect. And why not enjoy yourself while you're at it?

°•♤•°

Which is exactly how John Constantine, trickster extarodinarie, ended up paralyzed and helpless in a frilly pink princess dress. To be fair, it wasn't really pink- you'd picked out a flattering shade of dusty rose, in a nice, snug bodice cut that showed off his muscular shoulders. The sleeves were made of the same fabric, a velvety material, in a poufy bell-cut. The skirt of the dress was similarly poufy, properly and fully layered with oodles of intricate lace hemming. The fit was tight, hugging his chest and waist, but properly fitted to ensure the dress itself was not strained at all.

John only knew al of this because you'd had the audacity to drag him to a vanity and prop him up in front of the mirror. You came in and out of his fixed view, bustling away behind him as you cooed and fussed with his hair, carding nimble, slightly clawed fingers through his blonde locks. God, it'd make him shiver out his skin if he could move, something he is suddenly glad he cannot do, even involuntarily. The only thing that could possibly make this more humiliating is if you– oh, of course, you're doing his make-up. Just bloody brilliant.

By the time you're finished your long-winded lecture about respectful dealing with unusal entities, John has a full face on. You've paired a lucious modified smoky eye in all dull pinks with soft, decorative wing of black eyeliner and full black mascara. His cheeks and nose-tip have been lightly pinked with blush, and dusted with shimmer. And to top it off, a shiny pink lip gloss coated his plumped lips, swollen from where you'd tugged them in teasing.

You step around him until your directly behind him, watching him take in his new look in the mirror. His pupils are blown wide, and he looks near the verge of tears! And, as you look down... Well! Seems like perhaps he enjoyed this lesson a bit himself! A lovely suprise that you make sure to insult him graciously for, in the most condescending manner you can manage.

In the end, though, it is meant as a lesson, so you certainly can't reward his bad behavior! You tell him as much as you set the artifact that'd he'd caused muc trouble for on the vanity and turned to walk away. It doesn't matter much to you, you tell him, as a single desperate tear managed to trail its way down John's face. You'd have given it to him for nothing in return–

–If only he'd asked nicely.