fernpetals

[fernpetals]

Masterlist

unedited piece

Warning: Yandere content, you know the rest, so proceed responsibly.

Yandere John Wick is...

The type to keep his distance ( at first). He tries, he really tries, especially if you do not belong to his grim and bloody world.

The kind to be cold even, just so that he can push down the feelings, just so that you keep your distance as well. So that your untainted life remains so, blissful and normal.

But maybe deep down, he is protecting you from himself as well. he is not delusional, he simply stands by his reasons.

He is the kind to be paranoid about any sickness you fall into. Viral cold and fever? He is doing everything he can and is calm in front of you, but is secretly losing his mind.

Poor man is already carrying deep trauma from his childhood and youth, only to heal when he found Helen before she was taken away by death, leaving him absolutely helpless, devastated and empty.

Something broke in him, finally.

So, if you intend to pursue him regardless of his cold shoulder and awkward interactions, remember that you are domesticating a wolf, and a wolf is not the same as a pet dog.

You do not get to have an obedient pet who waits for you at home. You have a creature as a companion who knows his power and makes the rules.

You have forged a bond, so it is on you if it turns into chains. He tried to keep his distance.

Although he tries to ease you into his behaviours and tendencies gradually, he never hides them from you, unless it is something extreme.

Might try to be manipulative, but that does not go far; he is not good at mind games. So instead relies on his instincts, knowledge, reach and raw power to keep you, if and only if things go haywire. He hopes not, though.

Despite all this, he is a true romantic at heart. The kind to make you feel like you are the only woman in the world, and to him, you are.

The kind to be loyal, dedicated and and doting, to a fault even. Might be suffocating sooner than expected with all the prying and his unwillingness to leave your side.

Solo trips? What are they?

Girls' night out? Having a reliable man by your side is safer. He doesn't mind dropping each of your friends home either. Just. Do. Not. Leave. His. Side. How hard can it be?

What do you mean that you have a world of your own? Why are you not telling him your problems? Why does he even need to use other means to find out? You should come running to him.

Loves it when you depend on him, absolutely gets off on it even.

The type to regularly check your phone, and prefers that you do not know. He hates the fights it causes. What, so you have to hide anyway? It makes him physically sick when you try to walk away, but he masks it with calmness well, accusing you of overreacting, and perhaps that you have something to hide.

If you are not the kind to fall for manipulative tricks and see through him eventually, you try to subtly distance yourself. Try.

John is the kind to notices even the subtlest of changes in you and your mannerisms. It's not going to work with him.

In the end, you are cornered enough to be more direct and finally warn him about his tendencies, it only earns you narrowed eyes and a patronising tone. If anything it boils your blood, but good luck trying to break upnwith him.

He really does not want to show you his worst, but he will, if that is what keeps you by his side.

But here's the thing. Even at his worst, John is a 'loving husband'. He acts as one regardless of your marital status. He is doting, spoils you and no matter what, will never hurt you. But of course, restraints and harmless sedatives are never off the table. But that is his last resort, and he is a very patient man. So you better appreciate his patience while it lasts.

Yet, despite all of it, he hates seeing you cry, maybe more than seeing you sick. That makes him feel the absolute worst. There, you have at least some leverage over him.

And if you fail to see through his manipulations before it's too late, good for you. You would probably never need to be afraid of him.

He is a patient man; he will eventually make you see his reasons, and you will realise that he has your best interests in mind.

NSFW

Loves to chase you. I guess he is compared to a 'wolf' in the movies, too. Yes, that is what he is at his core--- a lone, rogue, big, bad wolf..

The kind to give you a false sense of victory just so he can catch you off guard, pin you down and bite into you. You can squeal and beg between gasps and giggles all you want but you are not getting up without at least one orgasm.

The kind to use his size, speed and strength to his advantage. What else are those big hands for? They are all over you, feeling, caressing and squeezing.

His fingers are sin and his soft words are magic. You feel the stretch when he uses them to prepare you for the sweet torment his cock brings.

His beard leaves redness all over your cheeks, breasts and especially between your thighs with the amount of time he spends, just lapping at your opening before he gets you on your knees and reaches the deepest part of you. Sinking into you slowly first, holding you steady by your hips.

John is the type to get off on your pleasure. May or may not have creamed his pants just by making you come into his mouth.

He is a giver to the bone. Loves, loves, loves to give pleasure, be the reason you see white and let out the strangled screams

So when you sink to your knees and take him in your mouth for the first time, the poor man does not know what to do. He enjoys it, don't get me wrong, he really does. But because it is you, and because sex with you is making love and something sacred, to him, he is worried about doing anything wrong. Worried that he would lose control, that simply keeps slipping in your presence, and accidentally hurt you.

But he kind of blanks out like a teenage boy the moment you begin because he cannot put into words how much he wants you and is tuned by your presence alone and has fisted his cock night after night, imagining this, along with other things he will try, eventually.

Yes, he is going to have a good life with you. Just never try to explore the basement unsupervised.

****

I think fics like Bittersweet have shaped our perception of yandere JW to a significant level. The inspiration always goes back to this classic.

[fernpetals]

On the set of The Whole Truth … touching his hair …

http://websta.me/p/1043953519053782955_1536353598

gabe_basso This sums up how serious we were on set of #TWT. Keanu has such wonderful hair

2015-08-04, 8:16 gabe_basso

Gabriel Basso

[fernpetals]

[fernpetals]

i'm sure it's been done 1000000x before but stripper!reader x John Wick would go so hard esp if you're not even a willing participant.

like maybe he's there to scope out the club (and maybe he ran into you at the museum earlier, and his interest was piqued the moment you started rambling about ursus arctos californicus and followed you to your second job. it's whatever), and your paths keep crossing. he's just the polite (weirdly so) older man in your bracket, always sitting in the shadows and drinking nothing but sparkling water. and that should be it.

but you can't stop staring at him. and that's quickly becoming a problem so you offer him a lap dance (because at the very least, if he's like every other man who pays for an hour of your time behind closed doors then you can give up on this confusing muddle of emotions whenever you feel his eyes on you), but it doesn't go as planned. instead of leaning back and grunting at you, he peels his jacket off, eyes politely averted, and slips it over your bare shoulders, unbothered by the glitter and the stench of secondhand smoke that clings to your skin, and now soaking into his expensive, Italian-cut suit.

he offers you lapsang souchong from a small thermos tucked inside his jacket, and seems content to just watch you drink tea and make idle conversation about your job, your boss, your life. Twilight Zone—he's never watched it, he confesses with his palms pointed skyward. you stumble just a little when the flashing neon lights catch the milk-white of his rough skin. he's a beautiful man—tall and lean and soft spoken—and sometimes you wish he'd just disappear because there's too much politeness inside of him, and it feels like battery acid on your skin. but you don't. don't ask him to leave. don't change shifts. you just tell him that's a travesty because sometimes you think you could listen to Rod Sterling talk about oddities for hours.

soul-soothing, you say, instead of what it really is: a mindless distraction from the feeling of unwanted hands on your skin—sticky with nicotine; leaving stains behind—but he looks at you—through you—like he knows what you refuse to say. brooding eyes fossicking through the lies you lay on the table until he chisels the truth from your glitter-stained head, cradling it like a precious gem as he nods, slow and measured, and tells you he'll watch it later on as he pours you another cup of tea. he always says drunk up when he does, but you swear that sometimes it sounds like he's saying i'll take care of it.

and it becomes a little bit of a gag, too, because he never, ever gets a proper lap dance despite paying for one each time. things come up—he has to leave only minutes after you walk through door, leaving behind food that he insists you eat, or comfortable clothes he makes sure you put on. ones he never accepts back, and that always fit you perfectly. or he just wastes his hour listening to you prattle on about whatever it is that has your attention that week, offering a small smile and a slow shake of his head when you try to give him more to make up for it. a little wink, too. a secretive this is just for us he keeps tucked inside the rucksack he carries, filled with homemade food, tea, and gifts you don't deserve. all crammed beside the bits and pieces you tell him about yourself. your life. your wants, dreams.

and it's weird. he's weird. a fifty-something widower who is much too good to be in a place like this, to spend time with a broken, sad little thing more than half his age. they'd write tragedies about this, you joke, flipping through an original print of The Idiot that you didn't believe he actually had. but he just shrugs, palms open, skyward, and says he's stopped believing in the desolate outcome of Russian romance a long time ago.

(he leaves his rare copy of The Idiot behind despite giving away a small fortune.)

but it's difficult to escape the fatalistic nature of your relationship. one built on debt and obligation—a transactional affair. services rendered. money deposited. and it doesn't surprise you much when the financial elephant in the room moves, shattering the illusion of choice when the man holding the end of your leash says he's sending you to Europe. a business partner thought you were a pretty little bird, and you're easier to giftwrap than a couple of Lamborghinis.

and it comes to a head when you catch him killing your boss—and maybe it's your fault for letting it slip that he's giving you away, but you thought you could trust him to keep that secret—and reflectively, you grab the gun lying on the floor, but he's just as unbothered by you shakily pointing it at him as is he by the gurgling man lying at his feet, staining the bottoms of his expensive leather loafers with blood. even calmly corrects your form, a little "hold it like this, honey," slipping out as he instructs you how to handle a gun to his own potential detriment. and the that's it, that's my good girl that follows when you obey his instruction is almost too much. so you run. and he follows—straight to the stage where your boss' men stand around, guns drawn, and try to take him down.

futilely, of course, and all you can do is stand there—wide-eyed—on stage as the gentle, polite man who refused every sly attempt of yours to seduce him takes down every man in the room until it's just the two of you remaining in a bloodsoaked room. neon lights slipping through the mess until it glints like the glitter they slathered over your skin. music blaring. smoke dissipating. if your feet didn't ache from the heels they picked for you, you might think it was a dream. a nightmare, maybe. except the monsters are the ones being slaughtered, and you can still taste the faint curl of smoke from the cup of pu'erh between your teeth. hear the buzz of his voice in your ear—i won't let them take you from me, honey.

and when he's finished, he sits at the end of the platform in the "throne," your leash held in his pale hand, and asks if you'd like to dance for him. only him.

(and he'll tuck you into bed later on that night after bathing you—refusing to let you lift a single finger as he gently scrubs the glitter from your skin, thumbs sliding over the indents in your wrist, the marks of your shackles the only remnants of the club that was burned to the ground, no survivors—the Twilight Zone theme playing softly in the background as he curls his lean body over yours, murmuring into your ear to sleep before leaning over to tuck your leash into the drawer of his bedside table.)

[fernpetals]

This is giving me ideas...

Currently thinking about a getting kidnapped by Don John moodboard someone make it happen!!

[fernpetals]

Jack Traven x Reader SFW & NSFW Headcanons

Pairing: Jack Traven x Reader

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW (p in v, f oral receiving, fingering, overstimulation), trauma (Jack's), mention of shooting and death (from movie), language

----- ---- --- -- - masterlist - -- --- ---- -----

Requested by Anon! I hope you like it <3

Thank you to @casuallyobssessed for proofreading <3 also @scarlettspectra come get your man <3

Requests are OPEN <3

SFW:

Jack, even though swearing the opposite, is a man of routine. He gets up at 5 a.m., works out for an hour, showers, dresses, does the dishes from the night before, and is at the coffee shop on 7th Street by 8 a.m. when they open.

Every day, without fail, he is at that coffee shop. He always orders the same thing; black coffee and a blueberry muffin. He always flirts with the cute barista, too. He used to arrive at the coffee shop at 8:30, opting for another 30 minutes of blissful sleep. But since you started working there, he arrives when you unlock the doors just so he can spend that extra 30 minutes with you before he reports to the precinct.

And you take personal offense to his order. How dare he only get a black coffee when there are so many more delicious drinks on the menu? You tease him about it every time he comes in, trying to goad him into trying something different.

“C’mon, Jack!” You whine, dramatically laying your top half across the counter like a fainting Regency lady. Pouting, you look up at him because he’s slowly destroying your dreams. “Black coffee, again? No cream, no sugar, no happiness?”

“And a blueberry muffin…” Jack mumbles sheepishly, looking away as his cheeks turn a fetching shade of pink. His eyes are dragged back to you by some invisible force and he smiles brightly. “Besides, you’re all the happiness I need, ma’am.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” You laugh and Jack thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard as his heart thumps in his chest.

And then the bus happens.

The next time Jack comes in, his eyes look a little duller, his shoulders have a microscopic slump to them. He looks tired, the kind of tired that can’t be washed away with a good night’s sleep. This is the kind of tiredness that settles in your bones and lingers.

Of course, you’d seen the news, you saw what happened. The bus driver who was shot, that lady who went under the tires, the bomber who used to be on the bomb squad, his friend dying. This time, you don’t tease Jack about his order when he comes in the door. It doesn’t feel like you should, like he’s too delicate to take even the slightest poke from anyone right now.

“It’s on me, okay?” You say softly, pushing the blueberry muffin and black coffee across the counter to him. Jack gives you a weak smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and something in your chest aches. He looks from you to the food and back again before taking the muffin in his hand. You raise an eyebrow in gentle confusion as he pushes the cup back to you.

“I’d, uh… I’d like to try an Americano today, ma’am.” He murmurs and you can’t help the pure joy that flows through you when you see some of the light return to his eyes.

He stays in the coffee shop that day, long after his cup is empty and you’ve both left only crumbs of the muffin behind. The tension between you has gone from being sharp in the pit of your stomach to something warm and smooth as you listen to him talk about his job, the pressure, the constant need to be on because something might happen.

It’s like watching two stars in a decaying orbit, knowing the inevitability of a collision but unwilling to rush the process. The two of you, always close but never enough. This unspoken need that neither of you expressed was both heaven and hell.

And then he stays with you to close up the shop one evening. Offers you a ride home, saying about how you’re safer with him as opposed to a taxi at this time of night. You both know it’s just an excuse, but you don’t let the call out leave your throat. 

“This is me.” You say, playing with your keys and praying he gets the hint. His espresso eyes meet yours and you wonder if this is finally the moment when the stormcloud of longing will finally break- Instead, you get a bug flying into your hair. You yelp and try to swat it away while Jack just laughs. 

“Jesus, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He chastises you gently, trapping your flailing hands in one of his own as he plucks the offending insect from your now tousled locks. Jack looks down at you with a tender expression, a teasing smile still on his lips. “There. Better?”

That’s the moment when you both realize how close you are, how he still has your hands in a soft grip, how warm the space has become between your bodies. Jack’s cheeks turn that amazing shade of pink again, looking even redder under the porch light, as he tries to put some distance between you two.

You don’t let him.

The kiss isn’t a rush of passion or lust, there’s no needy moans or the desperate pulling on clothes. This is steady, certain, grounding in a way that Jack has always craved. Your lips are soft against his and he leans into the pressure with an exhale of relief. When he pulls you closer, it feels like coming home.

Now, Jack drives you to and from work, even on his days off. He also insists on buying his coffee (no longer strictly black) and muffin (his new favorite is the chocolate) at full price despite you telling him that he can have a discount for being your boyfriend.

Sometimes there’s silence between you. It’s not cold or hostile, just quiet. Those are the moments when you know that Jack had a bad day, because he won’t speak. Instead, he’ll come up behind you when you’re making dinner and wrap his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into the safety of your neck.

NSFW:

Jack has to be touching you constantly, whether that’s during sex or not. Usually, it’s a hand on your waist, fingers brushing, or just having your shoulder pressed against his. But he needs so much more of you during sex.

His hands never stay in one place unless he knows you need them there. Even as he rubs your clit and stretches you on his long fingers, his other hand is roaming your body. 

Holding your cheek, down to squeeze your breast, your waist, hips, ass, keeping your thighs spread for him as he curls his fingers into your sweet spot. Jack needs to feel your skin against his like he’d die without it.

Loves missionary the most out of all the ways he knows how to fuck you. That need to be close to you in a moment of pleasure can only be sated by his chest pressed against yours, his face in your neck as his hips roll and grind into you. He wants to see your beautiful face, hear every moan from your lips, feel every breath that catches in your chest when his cock hits something inside you just right.

Encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist, holding them there himself if he’s already fucked you to the point where your limbs are jelly. Jack wants to be surrounded by you and he relishes in the dull pain of your heels digging into the small of his back to urge him deeper into your perfect pussy.

Jack praises you every second that he makes love to you, voice low and rough in your ear or rumbling against your skin.

“Such a pretty pussy, baby. Tastes so sweet.” He sighs, licking a firm stripe from your dripping entrance to your clit. You whimper, hips trying to squirm away from the pleasure that hovers just shy of pain. He’s already made you come five? six? times on his tongue alone, addicted to the taste of you and the way you make a mess of his face. Jack tightens his grip on your thighs, keeping them open around his head as his muscular forearms pin your hips against the ruined sheets.

“Nuh uh, you’re not going anywhere, honey.” Jack croons, placing a wet kiss on your abused and puffy clit. “Love you s’much. You can give me one more, can’t you? Yeah, you can, that’s my good girl-”

Jack is a man of routine and part of that updated routine is making you scream as soon as the both of you are awake. He sets his alarm an hour earlier just so he can enjoy taking his time with you in the morning. The sounds you make as you arch into him are better than any bird song he’s ever heard.

He’s the kind of man who tells you that he loves and also shows you. Every moan, every hickey, every thrust is a sentence in the love letter that is his body to you. Jack wants you and doesn’t think he’ll ever stop. First thing in the morning, stinky breath and bed hair? He can’t keep his hands or his morning wood to himself. You’re dressed up all fancy for some party that he’s taking you to at the precinct? Be prepared to be pulled into an empty interrogation room and have to run to the bathroom after to fix your running makeup and hide the love bites on your neck and shoulders.

But the one thing that drives Jack feral for you? You being domestic while wearing his clothes.

There are some nights (not many and not often), where Jack can’t pick you up from work because something came up. So you go home, throw on a pair of his boxers and an old t-shirt that smells like him, and make dinner for the two of you. You turn on some oldies (Frank Sinatra, Frankie Valley, Dean Martin) and dance around the kitchen while you wait for him to arrive.

Jack comes home and nearly drops to his knees when he sees you there. No makeup on, hair messy, wearing his clothes, soft music playing, and looking more delicious than the food on the table.

“Baby!” You smile, trotting over to him with your bare feet and planting a loving kiss on his lips. God, you’re so amazing it makes him ache. He doesn't know what he did to deserve your love, but he can’t live without it now. “I made us dinner- oh!”

He’s already scooping you up like you weigh nothing and setting you on the kitchen counter. This time, he does sink to his knees, kissing from your shins up your thighs as he gently pulls you closer. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

“Jack!” You blush and smile, brushing your fingers over his buzzed short hair. “I love you, too, but the food’s gonna get cold-”

“Don’t care.” Jack mutters as he yanks his boxers down and over your ass. “Want my dessert first.”

By the time he’s satisfied that he’s thanked you properly for being such a caring and sweet girlfriend, the food is stone cold and the counter top is shining with a combination of your liquids and his.

A/N: First time writing Jack but I loooove him <3

Tags: @casuallyobssessed @scarlettspectra @discoscoob @johnwickb1tsch @devilsadvocatevhs @97keanus @lilithlinen @blackcoffeeblackeyes @sweetwolfcupcake @pointbreakvhs @arabellascented @barnabae-brooks-jr @treedaddymcpuffpuff @jaebyrd96

[fernpetals]

Masterlist

unedited piece

Warning: Yandere content, you know the rest, so proceed responsibly.

Yandere John Wick is...

The type to keep his distance ( at first). He tries, he really tries, especially if you do not belong to his grim and bloody world.

The kind to be cold even, just so that he can push down the feelings, just so that you keep your distance as well. So that your untainted life remains so, blissful and normal.

But maybe deep down, he is protecting you from himself as well. he is not delusional, he simply stands by his reasons.

He is the kind to be paranoid about any sickness you fall into. Viral cold and fever? He is doing everything he can and is calm in front of you, but is secretly losing his mind.

Poor man is already carrying deep trauma from his childhood and youth, only to heal when he found Helen before she was taken away by death, leaving him absolutely helpless, devastated and empty.

Something broke in him, finally.

So, if you intend to pursue him regardless of his cold shoulder and awkward interactions, remember that you are domesticating a wolf, and a wolf is not the same as a pet dog.

You do not get to have an obedient pet who waits for you at home. You have a creature as a companion who knows his power and makes the rules.

You have forged a bond, so it is on you if it turns into chains. He tried to keep his distance.

Although he tries to ease you into his behaviours and tendencies gradually, he never hides them from you, unless it is something extreme.

Might try to be manipulative, but that does not go far; he is not good at mind games. So instead relies on his instincts, knowledge, reach and raw power to keep you, if and only if things go haywire. He hopes not, though.

Despite all this, he is a true romantic at heart. The kind to make you feel like you are the only woman in the world, and to him, you are.

The kind to be loyal, dedicated and and doting, to a fault even. Might be suffocating sooner than expected with all the prying and his unwillingness to leave your side.

Solo trips? What are they?

Girls' night out? Having a reliable man by your side is safer. He doesn't mind dropping each of your friends home either. Just. Do. Not. Leave. His. Side. How hard can it be?

What do you mean that you have a world of your own? Why are you not telling him your problems? Why does he even need to use other means to find out? You should come running to him.

Loves it when you depend on him, absolutely gets off on it even.

The type to regularly check your phone, and prefers that you do not know. He hates the fights it causes. What, so you have to hide anyway? It makes him physically sick when you try to walk away, but he masks it with calmness well, accusing you of overreacting, and perhaps that you have something to hide.

If you are not the kind to fall for manipulative tricks and see through him eventually, you try to subtly distance yourself. Try.

John is the kind to notices even the subtlest of changes in you and your mannerisms. It's not going to work with him.

In the end, you are cornered enough to be more direct and finally warn him about his tendencies, it only earns you narrowed eyes and a patronising tone. If anything it boils your blood, but good luck trying to break upnwith him.

He really does not want to show you his worst, but he will, if that is what keeps you by his side.

But here's the thing. Even at his worst, John is a 'loving husband'. He acts as one regardless of your marital status. He is doting, spoils you and no matter what, will never hurt you. But of course, restraints and harmless sedatives are never off the table. But that is his last resort, and he is a very patient man. So you better appreciate his patience while it lasts.

Yet, despite all of it, he hates seeing you cry, maybe more than seeing you sick. That makes him feel the absolute worst. There, you have at least some leverage over him.

And if you fail to see through his manipulations before it's too late, good for you. You would probably never need to be afraid of him.

He is a patient man; he will eventually make you see his reasons, and you will realise that he has your best interests in mind.

NSFW

Loves to chase you. I guess he is compared to a 'wolf' in the movies, too. Yes, that is what he is at his core--- a lone, rogue, big, bad wolf..

The kind to give you a false sense of victory just so he can catch you off guard, pin you down and bite into you. You can squeal and beg between gasps and giggles all you want but you are not getting up without at least one orgasm.

The kind to use his size, speed and strength to his advantage. What else are those big hands for? They are all over you, feeling, caressing and squeezing.

His fingers are sin and his soft words are magic. You feel the stretch when he uses them to prepare you for the sweet torment his cock brings.

His beard leaves redness all over your cheeks, breasts and especially between your thighs with the amount of time he spends, just lapping at your opening before he gets you on your knees and reaches the deepest part of you. Sinking into you slowly first, holding you steady by your hips.

John is the type to get off on your pleasure. May or may not have creamed his pants just by making you come into his mouth.

He is a giver to the bone. Loves, loves, loves to give pleasure, be the reason you see white and let out the strangled screams

So when you sink to your knees and take him in your mouth for the first time, the poor man does not know what to do. He enjoys it, don't get me wrong, he really does. But because it is you, and because sex with you is making love and something sacred, to him, he is worried about doing anything wrong. Worried that he would lose control, that simply keeps slipping in your presence, and accidentally hurt you.

But he kind of blanks out like a teenage boy the moment you begin because he cannot put into words how much he wants you and is tuned by your presence alone and has fisted his cock night after night, imagining this, along with other things he will try, eventually.

Yes, he is going to have a good life with you. Just never try to explore the basement unsupervised.

****

I think fics like Bittersweet have shaped our perception of yandere JW to a significant level. The inspiration always goes back to this classic.

[fernpetals]

Have you seen some Keanu's movies these days?

Aah, I wish I had the time for a new movie other than Ballerina. But sadly, I have been slightly busier.

[fernpetals]

Took my longer than expected but I finally finished my edit inspired by astrfairy’s tiktok

[fernpetals]

Kiss Me Through The Screen

Pairing: Thomas Anderson x OnlyFans!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW (mutual masturbation), language, Thomas is pathetic and I love him

----- ---- --- -- - masterlist - -- --- ---- -----

Requested by Anon! I hope you like it <3

Thank you to @casuallyobssessed for proofreading!

Requests are OPEN <3

Thomas isn’t a social person. His palms sweat during casual conversation, he never makes eye contact for longer than two seconds, and he’s constantly on his computer. His co-workers worry, hearing one too many stories about guys who are depressed and have no social life coming in to the office and ruining everyone else’s lives. They try to involve him in group activities, hoping that something will stick and help him to not be so isolated. But he always turns them down. When his co-workers ask why he never joins them for drinks after work, or dinner out, or the various office parties, Thomas always gives them the same answer.

“I can’t, I gotta get home to my girlfriend.”, “Sorry, my girlfriend is waiting on me.”, “Busy tonight, promised my girlfriend a night in.”

They stop asking after a while, content with the fact that he has someone at home waiting for him. Maybe he isn’t as lonely as they thought and was merely an awkward but private person. The reality of the situation was so much more pathetic. Yes, he has a “girlfriend”. You. But you’re not just his girlfriend. You're the girlfriend to nearly half a million lonely men like him, and that’s only counting your subscribers. 

That’s your niche on OnlyFans. You make content pretending to be a loving, sweet, kinky girlfriend who absolutely adores her boyfriend, the viewer. The videos you make range from the domestic to the erotic. Some of them are sweet, like enjoying a meal together and talking about your day. You eat slowly as you talk to the camera, leaving pauses long enough for the viewer to fill in with their own replies. Others are more pornographic, with you sucking a dildo while pretending to give a blowjob or you riding said dildo while moaning praises. The content that you post does so well that it’s your full time job now. 

Thomas is one of your top subscribers, paying over a thousand dollars each month for exclusive text chats, your used panties, and voice messages from you. Every day after work, he nearly runs home so he can check for a new uploaded video. It’s a sickness at this point. Despite knowing the truth, knowing that you’re just a random girl who makes money from the desperation of men like him, he’s addicted to you all the same. Even miles away (yes, he knows where you live, like any good boyfriend would), he craves you like a drug. The pretty smiles you give to the camera, the sincere way you say ”I love you”, the way you scream when you come… Thomas spends hours in front of his computer, watching your videos and spinning down into his own obsession.

But tonight was special. You’d announced months ago that you were doing a fundraiser for a charity near and dear to your heart (doesn’t Thomas have the kindest girlfriend?). The fundraiser would consist of your subscribers buying tickets for a raffle, the prize of which would be getting to have a video call with you for an hour. Thomas had bought twenty tickets, spending almost all his rent money in the process. He was certain that twenty would be enough to win the raffle until he saw the other numbers people were spending. Fifty tickets, a hundred, two hundred and Thomas could see his chances going down the drain.

Being a hacker has its upsides, though. Sites like OnlyFans are notorious for their shitty security, especially when the person paying doesn’t have the same kind of security set up as Thomas does. It’s almost too easy for him to hack into the server and edit the names on the tickets, changing them to his name. By the time he’s done, it looks like he’s the only one who donated, the only one who bothered to support your charity. So it’s no surprise to him when he opens OnlyFans and there’s a message from you waiting in his chatbox, asking what day and time he would be free for a video call.

When he gets home, he’s quick to open his laptop, throwing himself into his chair as he takes off his blazer and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. Any minute now, you’re going to call him and he’ll have you all to himself for an hour. You two had already messaged to outline the time allotted. First, you’d be domestic and eat dinner together while talking about your day. Thomas had suggested a narrative of you two being a long distance couple getting on a video call for a date night, which you had graciously agreed to. He’d even gone so far as to request that you use a special toy tonight that he bought for you. You had accepted, not one to turn down an opportunity to add more money to your bank account. What Thomas didn’t tell you was that the toy that arrived in your PO box was a dildo molded from his cock. It was more romantic this way, was his line of thought. Now you can come on your boyfriend’s dick instead of some random toy.

His thoughts are interrupted by the “Call Incoming” notification popping up across his screen. Thomas is quick to answer, loosening his tie and wiping his palms on his pants as he waits for the call to connect.

“Hi, baby!” Comes your voice over the speakers of his laptop as your image fills the screen. Your smile is almost blindingly bright and open, making the corners of your eyes crinkle. Thomas chokes on his own breath, eyes wide and cheeks slowly becoming pinker and pinker as he takes you in.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” You ask, frowning softly when he doesn’t reply to you. You wonder if your internet is out, especially since the wind has been messing with your power so much lately. “Thomas?”

He shoots to attention when you say his name, knocked out of his daydream. Thomas stutters and smiles sheepishly as he replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y-Yeah! Sorry, yeah, I can hear you. You… You’re so pretty, I-I didn’t know what to say.”

“Aw, I have the sweetest boyfriend.” You coo, playing into the script as you blow a kiss to the screen. Thomas feels a little swell of pride in his chest when he sees how your cheeks turn red from his compliment. You could fake the words coming out of your mouth, but you can’t fake that kind of blushing.

The conversation flows naturally, like you’ve known each other for years. Thomas laughs at your jokes and you offer a sympathetic ear to his problems. All the while, you both follow the fantasy of being together, calling each other ”baby”, ”darling”, ”sweetheart”. Every time you smile and say ”I love you”, his chest feels tight in the best way imaginable.

“Hey, honey?” You say softly when there was a lull in the conversation. Thomas makes a low sound in his throat as a reply, eyes still tracing your features on his screen. You're so beautiful, he's been staring the entire time. He's so lucky to be your boyfriend.

“Do you wanna have some fun?” You smirk, holding up the box containing the silicone cock he bought for you. Thomas swallows hard and blushes as he nods, the sultry tone in your voice already making his dick twitch in his slacks. His hands clench the armrests of his seat, anxiety and arousal churning in his gut. God, what if you didn't like the toy? He'd used his own body to make it, so if you didn't like it then you wouldn't like him-

“Can you take your shirt off for me, baby? I wanna see you…” You say softly, the box sitting on your lap and begging to be opened.

The gentle command in your voice has him under a spell, his hands moving before he could consciously register. He keeps his eyes on the open laptop as he tugs his tie off and tosses it somewhere behind him. Next is his shirt, coming off quickly even with how much his fingers are trembling. Soon, he's shirtless in front of you and the sight has you biting your lip like you want to devour him whole. Thomas isn't built, not overly muscly. He's all slim lines and toned muscles, beautiful in the same way a willow tree is next to a river.

“Fuck, you're so sexy.” You breathe, taking your time to gawk. He whimpers from the praise, so deprived of any kind of attention that the simple words make him embarrassingly hard. His dick throbs in his pants, aching for any kind of relief, but he holds back, wanting to enjoy this hard-won time that he has with you.

“I wanna see you, too… Please, can I?” He murmurs, almost afraid of asking too much of you. His voice barely catches the microphone and you smile indulgently at his shyness.

“Of course, sweetheart… Anything my boyfriend wants.” You respond, already peeling off your T-shirt. Your bra comes off next and Thomas can't help the needy sound that crawls up his throat. One of his hands migrates on instinct, palming himself through his pants as he takes in the curves and dips of your naked upper half. It's not like he hasn't seen it before, but knowing that it's just for him is a head rush he never wants to come down from.

“You're- God- You're so beautiful.” He sighs as he strokes his cock over his clothes. You hum softly, watching his hand with a hungry look in your eyes. Your cheeks turn a rosy pink once again and Thomas wishes he could touch you to feel how hot your skin is.

“What’d you send me, baby?” You tease softly, pretending not to know what’s in the box on your lap as you open it. He watches you eagerly, his hand pausing its movement. He wants to take in your expression when you see what he made for you. The box comes open and you take out the dildo from inside, a slightly shocked look gracing your features. It was bigger than what you would normally use and very detailed. “Holy shit…”

“You like it?” Thomas asks nervously, his fingers tapping out a random pattern on his thigh. “I, uh, I wanted it to be special…”

The implication is clear, even with his delicate phrasing. You grin and shimmy your shorts and panties down your legs, kicking them off and revealing your pussy to the camera. He tries to stay focused on your face, he really does, but the sight of your glistening folds is just too much for him to look away from. Thomas leans forward in his chair, pulled like a magnet without even realizing. Fuck, he wants to get on his knees and taste you, suck your clit until you’re pulling at his hair and coming into his mouth-

“Can you help me out, hon?” You say gently, slowly rubbing your clit. “I gotta get nice and wet for you to fit inside me.”

Thomas moans and nods, shucking off his own pants and boxers with speed. His cock is hard and leaking, pulsing against his stomach with every beat of his heart. Without any more preamble, he spits into his palm and starts to stroke himself, the soft, wet sounds travelling from the microphone of his laptop to the speakers of yours. 

“Fuck, baby, that’s it.” You encourage him, pushing two of your own fingers into your pussy as you pump them to his rhythm. Your thumb rubs circles on your clit, making you moan and jerk your hips up into your own touch. The arousal you feel is only heightened by the utterly wrecked look on Thomas’ face, his cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open in soft pants as he watches you with hazy eyes.

“L-Lemme see-” He whines, hips bucking as he fucks his fist. Sweat forms on his forehead, strands of his dark hair starting to stick to his skin. “Wanna see how wet you are f’me, baby.”

You pull your fingers out of your heat and hold them up to the camera, letting him see the sticky shine on your digits. His cock twitches in his grip, a bead of pre-come oozing from the slit at the sight. A soft hiss leaves his lips as he swipes his thumb across the wetness, wishing it was your slick he was rubbing across his skin. “Fuck, wanna taste you s’bad.” Thomas moans, his other hand reaching down to squeeze and fondle his balls as he continues to pump his cock with firm strokes. He’s so needy for you that his filter is completely gone. The facade of shyness drops, leaving only the filth that falls out of his mouth. “Wanna have you sit on my face and fuckin’ suffocate me.”

“Mmm, maybe next time, baby.” You coo, voice breathy from arousal and Thomas is too overwhelmed by the possibility of a next time to even form a coherent sentence. Deciding you’re stretched enough, you slowly start to ease the dildo into your pussy, your walls clamping around the intrusion as you whimper. Your fingers work frantically over your clit, trying to ease the burn with pleasure as you keep taking more.

“Fuck, you’re so big-” Comes your moan over the speakers and Thomas has to strangle the base of his dick to keep from coming on the spot. You look so erotic, pushing a toy molded from his cock into your tight pussy. He watches in amazement as you work it all the way to the base, your lower lips stretched around the dildo. There’s a moment of quiet, both of you observing the other through the screen. You, letting your body adjust to the thickness currently sitting inside you, and him, waiting for your cue and looking at you with nothing short of adoration.

Without saying a word, you pull the toy all the way out until only the tip is still penetrating you. Thomas’ hand follows the motion, smoothing up his cock until his fist is wrapped around his tip. Slowly, you work the cock back into you, moaning from the shape that seems to hit every sweet spot nestled deep within you. He matches your pace, sighing in relief from the friction and from your sounds of pleasure.

“Feels s’good.” You breathe, back arching in your chair as you grope your breast with your free hand. The tempo of your thrusts speeds up, plunging the toy in and out of your pussy with a lewd squelching sound that echoes under the music of your moans and Thomas’ groans.

“Fuck, oh my god-” He moans, breathless as he works his cock with the same speed as you fucking yourself on the dildo. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, fighting down the orgasm that sits at the base of his spine. The need to preserve this moment, to watch you come apart on something that has his shape, is clawing at his insides. He can't believe that he's the one who gets to see you like this right now, who gets to make you feel good from miles away. Thomas won’t let himself ruin this perfection by coming too soon, not until he has this image of you burned into the back of his eyelids so it can haunt him forever. “Please, don’t stop, don’t stop, I need to see you-”

The pixels of you contort in front of his eyes as you reach down to your neglected clit, rubbing the bud in quick flicks. Your chest is having as the knot in your stomach coils tighter and tighter with each thrust of the toy you hold in a white knuckle grip. Mewls and moans pour past your lips, your eyes fluttering as you fight to keep them open. As much as he's begging to see you, you want to see him, too. 

He's beautiful as he teeters on the edge of oblivion, waiting for you to push him over. His throat bobs as he swallows and gasps for breath, the muscles in his thighs jerking and twitching under his skin. You can see the way his stomach flexes with each thrust of his hips from him holding back. But the thing that sends you over the edge with a moan of his name is his eyes.

You're used to the way men look at you. Hell, it's what you do for a living, sell your image and be the fantasy that men want. But the way that Thomas looks at you makes something sweet and sharp dig in between your ribs. Yes, there's lust in the chocolate of his eyes, but there's also something softer, like this isn't even for him. Like he just wants to watch you feel good instead of making it about his own pleasure. It’s new and you try not to focus on how much you want to keep seeing that look on his face as he comes.

“Come for me.” You plead and Thomas finally lets himself topple into his orgasm as he watches you come, your name a choked scream on his tongue. His hips jerk up, his release shooting from his cock and painting his stomach and chest with the hot spurts of fluid. He keeps moving his hand quickly, his movements even more slick from his semen coating his fingers. Thomas wants to give you everything he has, everything in him until there's nothing left, until all there is in his world is your eyes and the sound of your moans.

As you both drift back down, you sit there, panting as you try to catch your breath. Wincing, you pull the dildo out of your pussy and set it aside to clean later. You contemplate the idea of throwing it away before deciding to keep it. So what if it was based on a real guy’s cock? That thing just gave you the best orgasm of your life, like hell you’re getting rid of it. 

“You okay?” Thomas asks, voice rough and you feel a fresh shiver of need tingle between your legs. He’s wiping off his chest and stomach with a tissue but his focus is entirely on you, deep brown eyes shining with compassion. 

“Yeah, baby, I’m fine.” You reply, the pet name slipping out a little too easily this time for it to be only scripted. Letting out a huff, you glance at the clock by your desk and chuckle. This was only supposed to last an hour, but you’ve been on the video call with him for nearly two. “You okay, too?”

“Mhm…” He hums, tossing the tissue in the trash can just off camera. Thomas’ eyes flick to his own clock and he blushes. “Oh my god, it’s been two hours, I’m so sorry-”

“Relax, hey, it’s okay.” You assure him sweetly even as you both sit there naked. With a soft smile, you shrug casually. “I don’t mind it being longer. But I do have to go now, okay?”

“Yeah.” Thomas says, relieved that you’re not mad at him for taking up more of your time. “Thanks for this… It was amazing.”

“It… It was.” You duck your head to hide a smile as you speak. “See you around, Thomas. I love you!”

You blow a kiss to the camera, letting your smile show before you disconnect. You have time to see him smile back, wide and dorky as it blooms on his face, before the call drops. Thomas sits back in his seat, grinning at the ceiling of his apartment and looking too happy for simply staring at plaster.

“I love you, too.” He breathes into the empty room. His focus is dragged back to his computer as a pop-up crowds his screen. An ad for your OnlyFans store. He’s pretty sure he’s already bought one of everything you offer, but he decides to browse anyway as he basks in the afterglow of the orgasm you gave him.

16 ounces of your bathwater for a hundred dollars?

Click.

Thank you for your purchase!

A/N: pathetic thomas makes my brain go brrrrrrrrrrrrrr <3

Tags: @casuallyobssessed @scarlettspectra @discoscoob @johnwickb1tsch @devilsadvocatevhs @97keanus @lilithlinen @blackcoffeeblackeyes @sweetwolfcupcake @pointbreakvhs @arabellascented @barnabae-brooks-jr @treedaddymcpuffpuff @jaebyrd96

[fernpetals]

Yandere Tom Ludlow is...

The type to knock on your doors in the middle of the night with some bullshit excuse. Also keeps track of all your male friends like he is solving a case, and they are the prime suspects.

The type to install a tracking device in your car phone and shoes is a good measure. You will never know. But he has to do what he has to do; he is only trying to protect you.

Has your medical, educational and employment records, and often digs up your call records for a 'better look'. No harm done if you do not know.

NSFW

His belt and handcuffs might or might not have been used inappropriately in your shared bedroom, in the back of his car, and on the couch.

He is the type to repeatedly ask if the handcuffs are too tight, because trust me, despite how controlling and 'protective' he can be, he never wants to hurt you.

Waking up with his fingers buried deep inside you as he brings you to a slow-burning but intense pleasure is a frequent occurrence. Thick, long digits. Two at a time, three even as they curl and rub against your slick walls, making you arch your back and scream his name. And then curves them, precise and firm, while you lose your mind, melting and busting simultaneously under his touch.

But if you think he is done, then you're wrong. Far from it. When his fingers withdraw, slick with your release sticking to them, his manhood replaces his fingers, stretching you deliciously.

You scream then, and every time you do, his mouth drinks it up.

But this is him being merciful.

On days he is in a certain mood, you are in tears. Sobbing in overstimulation, with his mouth torturing your engorged clit like it has life force. His tongue between your puffy nether lips laps into your folds and inner walls like he has been starving.

And maybe he has been. He has been starving for you. Dying to renew your taste on his tongue and hear you scream out his name until your throat is raw and your vision is blurry with all the tears.

That is when he takes you. Folding your knees as he reaches the deepest anyone has ever. How did they even feel? You do not remember, you do not even want to remember.

You have Tom, that is enough.

Only if you knew about the trackers and the call records.

*****

Unedited and random, but I needed something to get back into writing.

[fernpetals]

young!Constantine x witch!Reader imagine

Imagine you’re a psychic, and an earth witch. And…you’re the love of John Constantine's life. You met in India a long time ago, when you were learning about Ayurvedic healing, and he was doing research on Rakshasa demon possessions. In the common area on the roof of your hostel in Varanasi, it was as though your eyes were glued to him. You couldn’t look away–and neither could he. Something tugged at you, like there was a string tied to your insides, and the other end of it was wrapped around that man’s finger.

He tried to play it cool by throwing a snide comment your way when you sat nearby. “Let me guess. You’re taking a year off to find yourself and learn yoga.” You threw it right back, taking in this handsome weirdo in his pressed white shirt, with his gorgeously fluffy raven hair and eyes that could steal a woman’s soul. He had a stack of books at his elbow, one of which you were wary to see was a Bible. “Let me guess, missionary boy here thinks he’s going to save some polytheists whose perfectly good religion predates Christianity by five thousand years?”

The corner of his mouth quirked in kudos, those dark eyes shining for you. “Actually, I’m a demon hunter. Know any, little witch?”

You bantered the rest of the evening, the lights of the sacred city around you, a cool night breeze coming off the Ganges, while he pretended to read and you toyed with your Tarot cards. You continued to snipe at each other through the hall, going back to your rooms, all the way until you grabbed him by his stupidly dashing shirt and kissed him–just to shut him up, of course. You certainly didn’t expect him to kiss you back like he meant to devour you, pinning you against the door of your room until you managed to fumble out your key. You barely made it under the mosquito netting before you fucked like it was imperative you try out the whole Kama Sutra by morning. (OK, maybe you had been learning a little yoga. He never ridiculed you for it again…)

The rest was history. You were inseparable from that day, and you were fire together–and water. You balanced each other out–his magic and your magic meshed. You completed each other in a way you didn’t entirely understand, but you felt it though, and nothing had ever felt so right. Though he didn’t tell you about being damned, you saw the scars on his wrists, and you sensed he had a rough childhood. You felt the sorrow of it hovering over him like a dark cloud, and all you wanted in the world was to chase it away for him. Sitting in a secluded alcove of the Red Fort with his arm around your shoulders, he admitted to you that for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt happy, with you. 

You had a grand adventure traveling around the Great Subcontinent, reveling in its wonders from the Himalayas to Tamil Nadu, until you had a close brush with that demon he was tracking, and Constantine realized how utterly it would destroy him, if something happened to you because of his calling. He pushed you away when it was time for you to fly home, even though it killed something inside him to let you go.

For years, you feel like you are bleeding out from a wound that will not heal, after losing him. Eventually you manage to make a life for yourself, living in your little cottage in the woods, growing your plants and making your potions, healing people and caring for animals…but you never love again, the way you loved John Constantine.

You hear whispers of him here and there, you know he’s become a legend in his field. You wonder if he ever thinks of you, the way you still think of him. 

The answer to that, is every day that ends with y. He misses you like a severed limb, but he takes some twisted comfort in imagining that you are safe, far away from him.

But when you start having visions of him sitting in a pool of blood and glass, dying, you have to go to him. You know he’ll be mad–but you always had a knack for talking him down--or fighting him, if you have to. He needs your help, whether he likes it or not…

TBC?

[fernpetals]

Imagine you met John as a young man in India...Part 2. a Constantine x Witchy!Reader fic... author's note: i actually wrote this a long time ago. i'm sorry it took me so long to post. thank you everyone for being patient with me.❤️ divider by strangergraphics part 1

2.

Maybe you are delirious with exhaustion, having driven all night, but something about the light of the dawn that morning in Los Angeles reminds you of the first time you woke in John Constantine’s arms. The smog, maybe, echoes the sunlight that filtered through the mosquito netting. The promise of the day’s coming heat, hovering like a blanket just waiting to fall.

You’d been so surprised, that morning in Varanasi, when you woke with his strong arm wrapped snugly around you. You’d expected him to slip out in the night, the way most young men would after a hookup in those days.  

There was something about him that just made you feel at peace, even then. 

It was totally crazy, really. He’d made you cum on his fingers, and with his mouth, and his beautiful cock too, but you really didn’t know a thing about him except that he claimed to be a demon hunter, and he was some sort of psychic. That much you could just tell, because you were too. Your energy slid over his and back again, content with this arrangement, like you’d found a place where you finally belonged. 

Maybe that should have scared you at that point, but you decided not to fight it. You weren’t even sure that you could. How young and naive you’d been. But even knowing then what you did now…you wouldn’t change a thing. 

You’d run your fingers through his silky dark hair, brushing it away from his eyes that looked at you with the weight of a man beyond his years. He’d offered you a smile, that slight curl of lips that you would learn spoke volumes of what he was really feeling inside. “Morning.” 

“Good morning.” 

You’d waited for the usual excuses. That he needed to get going. That that was fun, and maybe he’d see you around… Instead he’d asked, “Want to get breakfast?” Delighted, you’d nodded, and you’d gone up together to the roof again for mango lassis and aloo paratha. 

You could see the mighty glittering Ganges river from your crow’s nest, lounging against overstuffed bolster pillows on the floor in the shade of an awning attached to poles. You’d been told it was rude to show public displays of affection, but he’d found your hand under the table while you watched all the dizzying bustle of the colorful city down below, boats and carts and people and cows teeming through another day in this ancient city. It was one of the oldest continually inhabited settlements in the world, and there was a magic to this eternal place that made you feel reassuringly insignificant in the grand scheme of things.  

The feelings that were growing in your chest for this man beside you, however? Not so much. You’d talked over breakfast, and lingered long after the bread and yogurt drinks were gone. He wasn’t a chatterbox, this one, but the things he said had a certain gravity to them you were finding hard to resist. 

Eventually you decided to go down to the ghats together, the stone stairs that led down to the river, the hub of life for this city. It was hard to behave yourself with this man; every time he made you laugh all you wanted was to climb to the step above him and kiss him silly. You settled for twining pinky fingers here and there, and there was a heat in his mocha-dark eyes that told you you weren’t the only one simmering like a pot of hot daal on a low burner.

You’d marveled together at the sights of the riverbank, the stone steps that seemed to stretch on forever, leading up to towering buildings that had been there before your country was even a twinkle in the Founding Fathers’ eyes. There were colorful boats and women doing laundry while their children played, brightly painted murals of Hindu gods and holy men in saffron robes meditating. Mischievous monkeys watched over it all, waiting for their chance to make a score, and some places offered bins full of “Monkey sticks” intended for self defense. (You declined to take one).  There were prayers being performed at the water’s edge, and cremations too. Every aspect and every stage of life could be witnessed at the ghats, and it was as fascinating as it was beautiful. You didn’t have to be a psychic to feel the magical energy of this place. 

It was evident to anyone with a pulse. 

When the two of you were tired of walking you retreated to the shade with a banana leaf full of sliced papaya bought from a fruit wallah’s cart. When John fed you a piece from his fingertips you reckoned it was the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. 

“So where are you headed next?” he’d asked. “The Taj Mahal?” There was a bit of that snobbish more-traveler-than-thou tone in his question that made you want to roll your eyes. 

“I’m going to Bodhgaya,” you’d told him, taking a bite of sunset-colored fruit. “I want to see the Bodhi Tree.” It was the descendent of the Pipal tree under which the Buddha attained enlightenment, surrounded by a temple complex. There were shrines from every Buddhist nation in the world in this one city, and you wanted to see them all.  

“You’re going to Bihar by yourself?” he’d asked with narrowed eyes, clearly not liking the thought. Supposedly it was one of the more dangerous provinces for a traveler to visit–but anywhere could be, if you were an idiot about it.  

“Yes,” you’d answered, so sure of yourself in your invincible youth. 

“No,” he’d answered back, and that was how you’d got yourself a new travel companion. Or at least, that was the excuse he’d made at the time, to attach himself to your side. You hadn’t minded at all. 

Right after that a troupe of macaque monkeys had sidled your way, eyeing your dwindling fruit snack. Rather than fight them, you’d put what was left of the papaya down on the step, and the two of you ran away laughing (and screaming on your part) as the primates rushed you for it. 

The two of you made it away unscathed, though as you stopped to catch your breath in the shade of a building it was becoming harder and harder to not be in his arms. You’d looked at each other, you craning your neck because he was so tall, and this certain feeling settled over you like you’d known this man your whole life; you’d just been waiting for him to find you. Maybe because in a rare moment you’d had relative privacy in that empty alley, excepting a cow chewing its cud watching you disinterestedly, he’d stepped into you, pinning you against the wall with his big hand cupping the side of your face. Your heart was a jar of butterflies madly trying to escape your chest while he looked down at you like this; like he could see right through you.

“Want…to come back to my room?” he’d asked you, that warmth in his eyes that utterly curled your toes, and you’d dared to think...he felt it too. 

“Yes.”

From then on, anywhere he asked if you wanted to accompany him, your answer had been yes.

TBC...

Masterlist

[fernpetals]

exorcising you feels like a battle he can’t win. The strength he makes against you is inutile, your body trashing and escaping him anyways. A punch lands in his head, and he almost lose consciousness, your demoniac force tackling him down instantly. While he tries to recover himself, you grab his neck, dragging him to the tub, the water you filled before killing yourself now cold, stained with your blood. He has zero time to think and then his head is under the water, the pressure you make on him not human. John fights, tries to hold his breath, but it’s a losing battle. His consciousness slip, his body limp. It lasts a second before a brutal force reawaken on him, on his feet in a blink. John looks around, realizing he is a completely different place. Cass is behind him, panting as he watched the demon perishing in the floor. He instantly recognize the scene, a few hours ago, a mission where a demon almost killed him. Like a crazy man, his eyes flies to his watch. This can’t be, it’s too good to be true.

Constantine doesn’t think twice before abandoning his mission, Cass following behind him, truly concerned for John. The young boy drove John to his house, and when he finally stepped inside, it felt like a breath of fresh air and a punch to the gut at the same time. You were there, standing in the same corner, removing your makeup with your crying face. John chants your name like it’s a prayer, hugging you so strong it scared you. He is all hands and kisses, like he’s trying to merge your body with his.

— I’m so fucking sorry, love. Should have came earlier…— He murmurs to you, relishing in the way you hug him back, whispering a small “it’s okay..” you feel like a puppy being smothered by the way he’s trying to redeem himself to you, but it’s not a bad feeling, not at all. For the first time, John feels like god finally heard him, giving him something almost too good to be true. The love of his life, back in his arms.

[fernpetals]

I'm here for demon Constantine

BY THE DEVIL HANDS.

synopsis. Living in a non-intimate, sexless relationship with your neglecting boyfriend is starting to feel like a nightmare to you. In the hopes of weakening the passion of your lover, you follow a sketchy ritual your friend suggested, weakening other type of thing you didn’t imagined.

warnings. dub-con. monster fucking, tentancles, fingering, piv, cheating from readers part, third party cheating allusion.

pairings. demon!constantine x reader

You feel pathetic sitting there, red lingerie hugging the curves of your body like a delightful sin, only to be rejected by your boyfriend. It’s almost turning into rage, being neglected over and over, and you don’t even know the reason.

— You have been tired for weeks now, Daniel! Just tell me you don’t wanna fuck me anymore, have some decency! — You snap at him, gaining a scoff, and nothing more. You pick the first clothes you seen at the wardrobe, trying to hide away your embarrassment.

— You know what? I’m done, I have been working my ass off only to hear your nagging, stop being a bitch! Im going to Jack’s, don’t wait for me. — Daniel answered and you roll your eyes.

— Yeah, yeah! Run for your buddies, I bet they are a lot more fuckable than what I am! — He doesn’t ever answer before running away from the apartment. In a crying fit, you call your best friend, who come for you under minutes, holding a bottle of vodka in one hand and sweet treats in the other. You vent it all for her, show her the beautiful red lingerie you bought specially for this night. You tell her how ridiculous you feel, wondering if you are just not attractive anymore.

— Babe, come on, you’re being silly. Of course you’re still attractive. Daniel it’s just being an ass, I don’t know what’s wrong with him..— Marla says with a softness that only she has. — Do you think he was other girl? — You ask, holding your breath for her answer. Marla sighs, silence perpetuating the room before she answers. — I don’t know, I couldn’t know. It’s a possibility, yes. But Daniel was good to you once. Don’t you think he’s just having… problems? — At your confusion, Marla start to make some lewd movements with her hand, and your eyes widen when you realize what she meant.

— I don’t know… I didn’t asked him this before. I feel dumb now… if it’s true, he must feel terrible, oh my god…— You groan, hiding your face in your hands. — Oh, don’t panic, he should communicate with you about whatever is happening. But.. well, my aunt did some type of witchcraft once for her husband. She tells it works… — You giggle at her, throwing a pillow at her face.

— So I should use some spell at my boyfriend to get some dick? That sounds absolutely terrible, Marla. — This send you both into a drunk laughing fit, then Marla picked her telephone, searching the exact same spell her aunt said used. It’s sketchy and plainly ridiculous, but after half a bottle of vodka, it seems like a good idea. Sitting at the floor of your bedroom, with a lit candle and a pentagram drawn on the floor, you badly chant some type of weird, unknown song in a language neither of you can recognize.

— Are you sure this what aunt Lucy used? I don’t feel anything different.— You asked after it ended, still in a drunk, giggly torpor.

— I’m going home, sweetheart. Will you be fine on your own? — She asked and you nodded, a bit more sad at the prospect of spending the night completely alone, but you can’t just rent your friend because your boyfriend sucks. Wishing her a good night, you watch as she leaves, getting back to bed. For some odd reason, you can’t close your eyes not even for a second, feeling like the room is colder. You try to shrug it off, but it start to creep up on you, like you’re being watched.

You glance up to the window, realizing it’s closed, the source for the chill air in the room unknown. Irritated, you get up, hoping to find some left comforters in the wardrobe, but before you could even reach it, you scream when something hold your legs down, making you fall on the floor with a hard, disorienting thump. You look to your legs, seeing thick, slimy tentacles holding you down. They go up and up, creeping to your thighs, almost like a caress. The feeling is warm and wet, and it feels almost disgusting.

— Don’t make that face, lovely girl. You were the one to call me. — Your eyes shot up at the deep voice, seeing a tall shadow. It’s tall enough to tower over you and any other human, and it scares you. You must be hallucinating, there’s no other explanation. Your heart beats so wildly it feels like a caged bird inside your chest, your reaction the same as a deer in the highlights. More tentacles come, wrapping all over your body, on your arms, your neck, your torso, lifting you up from the floor, cradling your closer to the source of it. The demon looks scarily close to a man, but has leathery, black skin, red eyes, ripped mouth showing a row of sharp teeth. He holds you to eye level, a devilish grin in his face as he evaluate you. His hands, fingers long and sharp as knifes cradle your face.

— Such a pretty little human.. your cheating boyfriend is surely losing a treat…— The demon says, ignoring the soft tears failing from your eyes, fear written all over your face.

— Cheating boyfriend? — You ask with a meek voice, and the creature laughs at your innocence. — It shouldn’t be a surprise for you by now, right? After all, you’re retorting to such unorthodox methods to have someone to take care of this neglected little pussy? — And with that, you feel another tendril groping your pussy from the top of your clothes, the sensation making you gasp and whine, trying to squirm against the tentacles holding you down, but the strength is inutile.

— Let me go! — You shout, desperation crawling in your veins as the tendril probs and cups your mound, feeling you up like you’re a new toy. The demon chuckles, his hand bringing you closer to his face.

— Let you go? But you begged for this, silly human. By the way, the name is Constantine, John Constantine, so you know what to scream..— Your clothes are ripped in less than a second, showing the red lace adorning your body. He sneers, hands coming to cup your soft, plushy chest. They cover almost the whole half of your torso, huge and heavy. Tired of your pleas and whimpers, a wet, softer tentacle invades your mouth, gagging you. The lingerie is ripped too, revealing your soft, vulnerable body to him. He slowly lowered you, laying your body on the soft bedsheets, spreading you completely to his view. Your pussy is completely soaked, his presence a natural aphrodisiac, your body opening up against your own will.

Two of his tendrils finds their way to your nipples, rubbing and squeezing your chest in a way that has you clenching around air. Constantine chuckles at that, a finger breaching deep into your cunt at once, making you scream around the tendril gagging you. It’s big enough to stretch you good, reaching your g-spot with ease. He doesn’t even wait for you to get ready before trusting in your cunt with an aggressive force, the speed inhuman. It’s painfully and pleasurable embarrassing the way you fall apart so easily, body limb as you receive the best pleasure you ever felt with only a finger. The tendril leaves your mouth, Constantine desperate to hear your needy moans. — N-ngh, John! — You squeal as you came, squeezing and creaming on him. — Good one, pretty thing. I think you’re ready enough for me…— He groans at your ear, pushing your head down to face his cock. It’s huge, way bigger than any men you had ever seen. It’s scary, and just by looking you know you wrecked you’re gonna be.

— Don’t worry your pretty little head, you’re going to love it…— He chuckles, positioning his cock on your entrance. One of the tendrils on your chest descend to your pulsating clit, moving on small teasing circles while he penetrates you. Your whole face contorts, body aching as he mercilessly splits you up. The demon groan at how tight you feel. He had you completely filled to the brim and he’s only halfway in. When his tip kissed your spongy sweet spot again, you felt your body giving up, another orgasm rippling thorough you. You gush again, your growing wetness making him slip easier, molding your body to his cock, ruining you to every other man. John feels you growing used to him, and start his fast, punishing pace. His hips snaps on yours with every rough thrust. Your body jolts and jumps, almost getting away from him, but his tentacles brings you closer, using your body like you’re a living fleshlight.

— Ready to give me one more, little thing? — He coos at you, angling your body just right to make you snap again. You come with a ragged, pleasured scream, squirting and gushing all over him and the bed. Your spasming cunt squeezes him to the verge of pain, making him cum deep into your cervix. You can feel it heavy on you, the amount of cum he pushes into you almost obscene, leaking all over. You’re absolutely wrecked, boneless like a rag doll. You watch as the demon in your room transform it body, turning into a almost humanoid form. A black hue forms into your room, shining on top of the badly drawn pentagram in your room. It’s his portal, the same way he got inside.

— John, are you going to come back? — You ask vulnerably, already addicted to whatever happened to your body just seconds ago. He chuckles, patting your cheek. — You know how to call me, little human. — His gravely voice murmurs, crossing the portal, disappearing from your room. You faint a second after he left, your body completely wrecked and spent on display, leaving a certain jackass very confused and shocked when he sees you on the next morning.

taglist. @opheliainlove42 @97keanu @fascinorous-argonaut @cuddleyhoney @tcrturedreeves

[fernpetals]

[fernpetals]