John Constantine x Tarot Reader! Reader
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❝Kissing, I hope they caught us, whether they like or not❞
Summary : John doesn't believe in tarot readers like you. But there really was something with you that made him so intrigued and want more.
Warning : NSFW MDNI, just implied hookup but no full scenes (sorry guys I don't know how to write those help), smoking
Author's note: Just wanna say that John's thoughts on tarot in this fanfic doesn't reflect my beliefs. I think tarot is pretty chill. If you believe in those things, there is no problem at all. dont let this fic discourage you hehe (ALSO not heavily edited yet)
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It all started with him being skeptical. It was a carnival, with the typical rides and roller coasters. Kids from local places chasing each other; lines long with accompanying chatter.
Booths were scattered around; some for food and some for overpriced trinkets; and your typical horror houses, and other tents with all sorts of stuff.
He just finished another case. Some demon mirror in the mirror house, where he was called to investigate.
He lets out a tut as he harshly pushes the tent curtain away before putting a cigarette between his lips, lighting it up before putting his hands in his pockets, and trying to find his way out of this crowded and suffocating place.
On his way out, he of course encounters your booth. In bold cursive letters, it says Tarot Reading.
He doesn't get why people believe these things. He was a big skeptic who never believed in these things, but after this rough day, he wanted to go piss someone off.
As soon as he entered the busy tent, there were two other women in there, with their names— also in the same cursive font— resting on their tables in their own corners.
Music was playing, something enchanting, the type for meditation, and something calming.
The place was beautifully decorated. Dim lighting with fake candles that lit up the place. It was clean, with fairy lights scattered, and tables covered in velvet cloth, and bean bags as chairs. It was cozy.
Your table was unoccupied, you were waiting, and you were writing something before you lifted your head and smiled at him, as the other two readers were occupied. Their voices are low, and he can slightly see them through a bunch of short dividers.
He lazily dusts his trench coat before sitting on the beanbag— clicking his tongue again as he sank and made him stand up slightly before sitting again. "Alright, love, give me your best." He started, he meant to taunt, because he was holding back a smug smile.
"Should I get Chinese takeout, or eat in a 5-star restaurant?" he questioned smugly, before crossing his hands, his cigarette bouncing.
He wasn't a believer in tarot; to him, it's a bunch of cards, and people assuming another person's situation.
You laughed, it was contagious, and maybe— there— he realized that there was definitely this type of energy that he sensed from you. The way you sat so gracefully upon the bean bag— both legs slightly leaning on the right; your posture straight, and your palm rested upon the other.
You already knew that he wasn't serious. "Well, we don't need the cards for that, I'd say 5-Star. Treat yourself." You spoke nicely,
He let out a tut again before letting a low chuckle and leaning his arm on your table, "I came here for the cards." he paused, "So what did they say?" he eyed the deck on the center of the table,
"Well, hit me with a better question." You chuckle, and there again was that laugh; it was genuine. You didn't force it, and you didn't seem bothered by him as well, which made him somewhat pissed instead of the other way around.
He hated that you challenged him, so he let out a scoff and then looked at your cards, "Alright," he swallowed before taking a drag and came up with a rather serious question,
"What's the future of my life." he said as a statement, not a question; he spoke huskily— accent thick.
You nodded and gave a warm, sincere smile before closing your eyes. He watched the way your lashes formed a shadow by the fairy lights that were above you two. He watched the way your hands held the cards; it was so careful, as if you were making a clay sculpture— calculated, holding it up as if it was about to fall apart anytime, so you were gentle.
You shuffled, slowly but surely, and he was entranced by the way your hands moved. Because, in general, the way you moved just seemed so entrancing.
After you shuffle the deck, you then gently place the deck on your left side before your fingers pick out cards.
The tower
The devil
The Judgement
The Hermit
You take a deep breath before putting on that smile again, and he notices it, so he flicks his eyes and looks at you through his lashes, as his head leans below, looking at the table.
"Your life seems to be in constant chaos. And it seems like this will continue forward in your future." You take a moment, looking at the cards,
"You don't seem to want to change that either; you like the isolation, so it stays that way, with no difference. But it seems like you will still be doing the right thing, making the right decisions. And you will carry that with you into the future." You finished there and looked up at him, watching his unreadable expression, and you two met your gazes,
"What do you think?" You gave a cheeky smile,
He lets out a scoff and then leans closer with a lower gruffy tone, "I'll tell you what, love. I think that you just sell what you want people to hear based on your assumptions."
He watches your face before leaning backwards to cross his arms again, "That's what I think,"
You then leaned your elbow on the table and leaned your cheek on your palm with a low hum, "Maybe. Or maybe I got lucky."
Oh, he liked that, he liked the fact that you weren't pissed at him. That you didn't give any hints or any masks that show any sort of irritation or frustration, frustrated him in a good way. He was feeding on it.
"Oh, is that what you bloody scammers call it now?" he tries pushing it further, wanting to see any hint of doubt or resentment.
You laugh, "Right. Don't worry, it's on the house. I don't charge skeptics."
He let out a low chuckle, "How generous of you, love. Careful, you might get bankrupt with that typa offer."
He just hated how you smiled, how you were so optimistic, how you never got defensive of your cards, or never raised your voice, it was in that consistent frequency. Why won't you defend yourself like he does against other readers he has met before?
"Alright, ask your cards if the world is gonna end." He had his arms crossed, and was still smoking.
"Sorry, Mr.." You waited for him to continue
"Constantine. John Constantine."
"Right. Sorry, Mr. Constantine, but even tarot has its own limits. It could never replace anything medical or anything similar of sorts to your question. It's just supposed to enlighten and give guidance on situations." You didn't ever show any hint of being annoyed; you just spoke with sincerity and honesty. When were you gonna defend yourself? Get mad at him? And why is he so heavily affected that you're not reacting?
And then that's where it started. The fact that he was intimidated by you, the fact that you were just genuinely kind, and that you just laughed, even though you were being taunted.
And the next thing you know, you two were in a motel near the carnival, on the same night. He felt those soft hands, and it really was like you were handling clay sculpture, it was so gentle, like if he was a glass ornament you were gently how you held him.
How it hovered his biceps, or how you two held hands. He never felt anything like it before.
His past hookups were different; with you, it was this complex battle, a battle of trying to find a different side of you, so he takes over, but then he loved the way you held him or was leading, so sometimes he'd let you lead and surrender.
In the dark, with the blankets half fallen from the bed, he could still see this type of glow that he liked in you. You were so gentle with him, so patient, so you.
He likes how you smell, or how you move, it's like you were some sort of royalty, because it was calculated, and it was graceful, but it wasn't in a forceful way, it was like you always knew.
You weren't looking for anything serious either; you just liked being spontaneous and exploring your choices, so you two didn't have a problem with this arrangement.
What you liked about him is that, despite his demeanor seeming like someone who is just a straightforward asshole, he had a side that was so patient and so gentle; a mood of surrender.
The night ends with you wearing his polo, and talking to him, as he has his hands behind his head, as he had his pillow slightly slanted upwards on the headboard, as he smokes, shirtless.
You were at the other end of the bed, smoking with him— which did surprise him— and you two were just talking, with your legs folded one out of the other.
He liked talking to you because you had a different perspective on things. Positive, something he didn't have, and even though he would comment something usually taunting or negative, he actually respects your beliefs.
His tone was lower as your topics changed from your beliefs, to experiences, and how you two went through those experiences. It was more of an insightful conversation. Not forcing each other with the beliefs, but more like education on his part that some people see the world differently from normal people. You're far from normal.
"Well, aren't you a hidden gem" He huskily spoke,
"Thanks. You too." You'd quietly whisper,
"Still don't believe in those bloody cards." He grunts, still attempting to get a reaction.
You laughed softly, "Is this what you think this is? A way to convince you?" Your free hand massages your calves,
"You're just a special customer." You played along after the long silence,
He chuckles, "You're gonna get bankrupt, love." he looks at how disheveled you look, but it works so well. How your hair was somewhat flipped over, or how his polo was falling off your shoulder.
"Don't worry, that's only for you, don't get jealous," you bantered—looking at him through your lashes as you continue to gently massage your calves as you are still sitting, crossed-legged, in front of him, whereas he was still tucked by the blanket.
He lets out a cocky smirk in response, "Yeah, I usually have that charm on people"
"How about you? Do you usually do this to people and things you are skeptical of?" you retort to the question,
And as usual, he already had a reply ready, "Not really my thing, love, no."
You take a drag before leaning in front of him, as if you were going for a hug, but in reality, you just left the cigarette on the ashtray on the bedside.
He, on the other hand, continued, "Why do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Read those bloody pesky cards. Is that really your job?"
"I just needed some extra since I just moved in. So, I wanted to use my hobby." You then lifted your leg up and now leaned your cheek on your knee— still sitting on the latter end of the bed, opposite to where he was.
"You call that a hobby?" he scoffs. He now looks at the ceiling, "Gotta get out of this town, love, it'll eat you." He doesn't know why he said this, but you were too nice for such a place.
"Why?" You raised your brow
He didn't reply for a few seconds, letting the silence drown them, "It's just a figure of speech. This town is hell, not safe for someone like you."
He said this because he wanted to protect you. He saw the type of person you are, other than your other activities from tonight, and he was able to get a genuine conversation from you. And he respected you, and that was real.
He didn't want this place to ruin you, to ruin your hope, or your optimism.
You didn't respond; instead, you thought and nodded, "If you say so." You trusted him, you didn't know why, you just felt a connection with him, too. Even though it was just a hookup, it was the conversation afterwards, the genuine real-talk felt so raw.
Afterwards, he didn't speak anymore. Nor did you, and you two just stayed that night, enjoying the silence. It wasn't awkward, and it wasn't the type of silence you want to break; it was the type of silence that was peace, that was just respecting each other's space.
You two cuddled that night, but you were both wide awake as both of you thought that whole night, and until the sun was up.
And then, there you were, you again, at the same spot, in the same tent of the same carnival as he lifts up the curtain, an unlit cigarette between his lips as he makes his way to your table.
You greet him again, with that pure smile, but he still couldn't quite figure you out.
He'd do the same again, asking some sarcastic, unserious question just to make a conversation with you. And help you let the time pass before the carnival closes.
He'd have his hands in his pockets as he stood outside the motel door, waiting for you to meet him there.
And it happened all over again. Another hookup, it was so passionate, it was a soft battle between you two. He liked how you were just yourself, and you liked how difficult he was.
And then you spent the other half of the night, talking again, in the dark, and sometimes that's all you need. Someone real and honest to talk to. Before he'd tell you again to turn away from this town. To get away, and to save yourself, because he feared the day he wouldn't see you react that way.
He likes keeping you around, but he respected you enough to warn you to just go back home to your small town, or some other small town, but just not this place.
Other than the occult stuff that haunts every corner, the people and the environment weren't just healthy.
You would hum again and trust him, by agreeing, but you never tell him a plan.
"Don't say goodbye, by the way. I'm not into those things." Constantine let out a low gruff. He was leaning on the headboard again,
You snorted, "Really? Or you don't want to be emotional when I leave?" you bantered him,
You weren't lying; he wasn't good at goodbyes or any sentiments when it comes to these things, so, yes, but he won't say that to you.
"Don't flatter yourself, darling," he would reply with a low husky tone.
This would happen for a few more nights, till finally, when he opened the curtain to the tent again, you weren't there. There were only two tables left, not three.
He just scoffs as he looks at your empty area as if you never happened or existed.
Hands in his pockets, he nods his head subtly before turning and walking away from the carnival. Throwing his cigarette away to the pavement on the side as he hastily walks home. You finally listened to him, and part of it hurts, because even though you two were just bedmates— or whatever label you two had—You two had really nice conversations. Little sentiments, but just two people with two different beliefs, but you two respected your boundaries.
Someone he sees as hope, and someone positive, someone he respects. And now those raw late-night-after-hookup conversations were gone. Maybe he really wasn't after those hookups, and all the different ways you held him; the way you two would give each other turns to give each other what you want. Maybe it was what happened after, a rare shared complicated vulnerability. Or maybe it was a little bit of both.
He won't forget you. Not easily, because sometimes whenever he gets cases around that area again, he would come by to that tent. Taking a peek to see if you would be back there in your place, in the center of the room.
