#John Constantine x reader

[nihtscada]

"stop calling him babygirl, that is a grown man" TELL THE ARTISTS THAT, THEN

[marks-bby]

men who for some reason love to see the sight of you withering in pleasure. crying for that sweet release you are oh so desperately chasing. but the attempt is futile without him. you need him. you’ll crack without the attention required.

his favorite sight is to see your bottom in the air as your face is pressed against the pillow, drool slipping from the side of your lips, tears soaked into the fabric. your arms are tied behind you as you take every last drop of what he’s giving you. mumbling something about “this is gonna take”. all five senses are gone. the feeling of his cock drilling into you is pure bliss. every thing turns white in your mind as you feel white ropes of his seed full your cunt to the brim; some even spilling out.

“nuh uh, sweetheart.” he pulls himself out, using his two fingers to catch the stray droplets before pushing them back into your sensitive, abused hole, making your body jolt.

men who like to have you on your back after a long day at your job, perfectly placed between your legs as he ravishes your cunt like the dog he is. he’s been waiting to see the sight of your dewy cunt, waiting to hear your incoherent whine of you begging for him to slow down. but the pleas fall deaf on his ears. all he can hears are the lewd noise that your sl*tty c*nt makes on impact.

ignis , DANTE , vergil , sam drake , joe goldberg , JOEL MILLER , aki hayakawa , KISHIBE , SUKUNA , GETO , nanami , toji , leon kennedy , JASON TODD , JOHN WICK , JOHN CONSTANTINE , wolverine , plus your favs !!

guidelines to request .

[carvehisname]

Choose your Keanu character: John Constantine (x plus size female reader) in…..

Porn w/o plot.

TW: p in v, noncon, dubcon, angst, rough sex

gif by Pinterest, dividers by @uzmacchiato

You are in Constantine’s bedroom, cleaning off his windows again, too-tight dress inching up to show off the plush feminine curve atop your thighs. The stockings you wear are intentionally a size smaller, and you are popping from the top like dough does from the can. This is how he likes you, obscene and exaggerated and filthy. 

And bursting from your clothing, every sweet part of you on display—every curve and mound and roll. Your hair clamped up into a messy bun, tendrils spilling down your back. Mascara thickly applied so he can watch it run down your face in black rivulets when he makes you cry. 

You wipe down the glass, your face determined yet embarrassed by the sudden audition of an audience behind you. Constantine divests himself of his tie, then sits on the bed to watch you work. And, of course, he just can’t resist saying something, amusement thick and heady in his tone. “Do I have a maid now?”

You can feel him—that black stare assessing and appraising and calculating. You think he might sport a smirk, but when you catch his reflection in the recently squeakily cleaned window, he wears only a set frown and hooded, bruised eyes. 

And, of course, that rumpled dress shirt and those black slacks that do his figure no justice. 

He adjusts his erection absentmindedly with the heel of his palm, the other elbow leaning him up on the bed for support. His hand is pathetic. It will never be sufficient. Neither will any other being on this astral plain or the next or the next. Only your sweet pussy will ever be enough to satisfy him now that he’s had a taste.

You are some kind of sweet torture he has exacted upon himself. Sent from heaven to be his personal hell. He intends to pay it back to you. In full. 

You look over your shoulder at him demurely, trying your best to tempt and tease, not bothering pulling the dress down over the swells of your ass, your cheeky underwear revealed, standing stark against your skin. “How long has it been since you’ve cleaned your windows?” You ask quietly. 

He doesn’t answer, just watches you and makes you burn.

You turn around to show him the front of this outfit you put together just for him; plump tits pressed together, cleavage plentiful for harvest, nipples proudly protruding. Belly soft and round and nestled securely into the black cloth. 

You can’t look at his eyes, so you focus instead on his Adam’s apple bobbing hard under the thin, pale skin of his throat. 

You make your way up to him, blood rushing from your cheeks down your neck and over your chest. Your heart hammers loudly in your ears, fingers and toes aching from the rush of electric adrenaline in your veins.

When you are almost caught between his legs, you stop, placing both your hands on his knees and smiling at him, leaning over to stare directly into his eyes, cleavage spilling out, heavy and panting. “Want you, John.”

He grabs you, hands snaking around your waist, and stands, backing you into the windows you had just cleaned so thoroughly. You gasp, holding onto his biceps for support while he turns you around and presses you up against the cool glass. Constantine, he is thin, but he is a big boy, and he handles all your weight like a champ. His hard on presses invasively into your middle back, big feet framing your stockinged toes. 

He pulls your tits free of their smothering prison unceremoniously, hands greedily caging each one and kneading, palms pinching your nipples. You moan, pressing your forehead against the cool glass while he toys with curious panther-sized paws 

“God, aren’t these just perfect,” he says from above, tugging your nipples taught and inspiring the first of many tears tonight. It hurts so nicely, as he lifts your breasts into the air by only the most sensitive peaked part of them, then lets them flop back down after you hiss with pain. 

Your dress is riding up even more, the hem caught at the small of your back, your underwear the only thing between his skin and your sopping pussy. He hooks a finger underneath the lining of these slutty lace filigrees, grabs your neck with the other hand, and then rips them clean off.

“Constantine!” Your voice is cut off by his fingers tightening around its vulnerable source, and as he toys with how much air you are allowed to have for a few self indulgent moments, he talks in your ear. 

“I’ll buy you new ones. Actually, no I fucking won’t.” Your vision goes blurry from the squeeze of his hand. “Just another barrier between my cock and this sloppy cunt,” he scoffs. 

The finger that had just torn your panties off slips around your hip, nestling under your tummy to tuck his hand into the slippery fountain beneath, thus proving his point. You’re a fucking mess. 

You gasp, writhe, groan, clamp your thighs together at the still foreign sensation of his spidering fingers tickling your labia, exploring the unmapped and still incredibly sensitive, swollen inner workings. His hand tightening around your neck means stop resisting and spread your thighs, and with a hopeless groan you obey.

He uses his middle finger to find your clit, dipping down to collect some cum from your entrance to rub onto the tender puffy head.

“Ah,” you groan, hips jumping at his hand, desperate for more friction while he teases her with light, purposeless strokes. 

His other hand releases your throat in favor of a handful of your chest. And he must not be able to make up his mind tonight, because a moment later he is pulling your head back with the nape of your hair in his fist and melding his tongue with your own.

You open your mouth eagerly for him, moaning into his throat when he dips his index finger into your opening. 

Fuck. So tight—your sopping walls clamping around his finger, sucking him deeper. He obliges, of course, and finds the spongy spot on your upper wall that makes you scream. 

He breaks the kiss to watch you ruin on his fingers, lips swollen and plump and red from his teeth and tongue, eyes screwed shut, plump little tongue hanging out the side of your mouth in adorable concentration of an impending orgasm.

You rut against his hand, strong slim fingers long and nestled inside, palm protecting the rest of you from the cool air of the room, thumb rubbing incantations into your clit.

He struggles a third finger inside of you, and you don’t have time to tell him you’re coming before the fluid is spurring on his hand and dripping from his wrist and making your stockings see through. 

You whine when he leaves you empty, fingers popping from the juicy mess to shove third knuckle deep down your throat. Your body tries to crumple as you choke, but he has his long arm smushed into your torso, protecting you from the ground.

Uninterested in mercy tonight, he tugs you backwards until you meet the bed, then lets you fall into it, eyes and mouth open comically wide, tits bouncing violently. 

You place your hands on either side of you for some steadiness, but he uses this position to bind you up, pulling the dress down to your elbows, hiking the bottom up above your belly to trap your arms in the tight fabric. He pushes you back easily, and fall you do, your bare shiny cunt on complete display. Embarrassed, you close your thighs, creating a plushy perfect barrier for him to effortlessly ruin. 

He pulls your thighs apart, inserting himself between them, admiring your sensitive places with an appreciative, lusty grin. “You might want to prepare yourself,” he says, giving you absolutely no time to do so before sucking all the plump of your pussy into his mouth. 

Squealing, attempting to scooch away from his assault. Screaming. Yelping, lower back straining off the bed, feet digging into the sides of the mattress. Crying and screeching that it’s too much. Too sensitive. Ohpleasejohngodpleaseno—

He pauses for a moment to look up at you with a seldom light in those long dead eyes, face shiny wet, tendrils of your cum pulling on his cheeks and chin as if summoning him back.

His grin is salacious, proud, it would be  infuriating if he didn’t have you quite literally on the tip of his big, greedy tongue. 

“Already tapping out?” He asks, “I’m not even close to being done.”

“I came,” you whine, struggling.

“And you’ll cum again,” he tells you, “and again and again, if I want. You’re going to give your body to me, tonight. Every orgasm you have is mine.”

You groan, head hitting the bed as he descends upon you again, slurping and licking and sucking, eyes rolled back in your head, whole body clenched, drool running down your chin. He doesn’t stop, adding two fingers in a V to pump up inside you, your traitorous body allowing him full slippery and unfiltered access to your undoing. 

You never thought it was possible to cum so much that it hurts, for your clitoris to be so sensitive that every flick of his tongue upon it feels like a jolt of lightning that makes you convulse. All you can do is cry and cum, everything about you completely ruined down to your pretty mascara and your pink panties lying on the floor in shreds. 

You are a babbling, quivering, sweaty mess when he finally decides to bully his way inside and find his own pleasure so deep it actually brings back your fight just a tiny bit. Gurgling and gasping and gnashing your teeth, trying to curl around him to encourage his fat cock head away from your vulnerable cervix but he pushes your shoulders back down into the bed and throws your knees up around his shoulders with a little “uh, uh , naughty girl.” 

With his fingers, in a rare vulnerable and loving moment, Constantine presses damp sticky hair back from your cheeks and parts your lips. A dollop of your drool plops onto his finger, and he licks it off, then licks your teeth, slipping inside your mouth for a joining kiss as he fills up every little crevice between your thighs, inside and out, with his cum. 

Soaked and sweaty and heaving, he collapses on top of you, pressing his forehead to yours. “You're cleaning my windows again?”

Unable to make sensible noises with your mouth, you hum into his lips. And when you talk, it sounds like you have been screaming quite a lot, your voice dry and scratchy. “You said you…… liked maids, remember?” 

He laughs, shakes his head and then goes to roll off of you to get cleaned up. You grab at him, pleading with your wide eyes. “Please stay, John.”

With a sigh, he settles down beside you, wrapping those long arms around your waist and pressing his nose into your disheveled hair, and you hate how your heart fills with an aching satisfaction, because you know that beautiful feeling is only temporary. “For a little while, needy girl,” the handsome sorcerer promises.

[blackcoffeeblackeyes]

🖤 my (weirdly specific) John Constantine headcanons 🖤

✧ (hear me out) He's actually not as mean and cold-hearted as he makes himself out to be. It's just a wall he's built around himself to avoid diving into his uncertainty in expressing his emotions. It will take a long time for those walls to come down but once it does, he's suprisingly quite affectionate and romantic but only when it's just the two of you home alone of course. He will follow you around everywhere, he will bring you fresh roses, and he'll keep whatever room the both of you are in lit by various candles.

✧ (hear me out) He is an introvert who also has a dark and very twisted mind, so I think he'd need to be with someone who's similar in that way. He unwinds by watching horror movies and hiding away from the world in his apartment. The only way he'd let you have any control (reference to next paragraph) would be by fully letting you decorate the place however you wanted. As long as you made the place dark, gothic, and extremely intricate he was content.

✧ NSFW This man is a sadistic and an absolute freak. The only thing bigger than his ego is his sex-drive (and his dick), and if you were to bring up something you wanted to try with him, there's a suprisingly high chance he's into it. He fully gets off on being in total control both physically and psychologically, so of course he will use this to his advantage. He will make you beg until you're in literal tears, crying and pleading for him to touch you. Just for him to overstimulate you until you are again tears and begging him to stop, once he has started. (I could write a literal novel about this)

Disclaimer: These are my personal opinions, and I'm just having fun expressing those! Don't take any of this too seriously!

[strawberrygothhh]

middle school me reading the most jaw dropping toe curling traumatizing fanfic at 4 am when i had to wake up at 6 am

[urdreamydoodles]

DC Comics Characters x Fem!OC

You smacks their ass as they walk past

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl) & Slade Wilson

After a short festive break, I'm back in force with my headcanons. My (hyper) brain has been obsessed with DC lately, so get ready for some DC headcanons with new characters I've never done before. I missed you all, love, Marie.

Bruce Wayne aka. Batman

- You didn’t mean to do it. Well, that’s a lie. You absolutely meant to do it. The way Bruce’s broad, suited figure strode past you in the Batcave was simply too tempting. There he was, the epitome of brooding composure, running a hand through his dark hair as he mulled over crime scene reports. Without much thought, your hand acted on instinct. Smack. The sound echoed through the cavern like a gunshot. Bruce stopped mid-step. Slowly, he turned his head, an arched eyebrow lifting to meet his ever-present scowl. "Really?" he asked, voice calm but laced with that unmistakable Wayne edge.

- His reaction wasn’t anger, though you could see the faintest twitch of amusement in the corner of his mouth. You, the only one in Gotham—or perhaps the world—who could dare to breach his stoicism with something so mundane as a playful swat. You crossed your arms, feigning innocence, though your smirk betrayed you. “What? Just testing your reflexes, Mr. Wayne.” He took a slow step toward you, his shadow sprawling like a cloak. “I thought you’d want to keep that hand intact,” he murmured, but there was warmth in his voice that belied the threat.

- Bruce never let much show, but you knew the man beneath the cowl better than anyone. As much as he loved his mission, as much as he carried Gotham on his weary shoulders, he loved you more. There was no hiding the way his stern exterior softened around you, how his dark eyes gleamed with affection when he thought you weren’t looking. And now, despite his unflinching persona, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in the way he lingered near, uncertain if he should let himself laugh.

- “Next time,” he finally said, his voice low, “make sure Alfred isn’t around to hear it.” His lips quirked into the barest smile before he turned back to the Batcomputer. Yet, as he walked away, you could swear he slowed his stride, almost as if daring you to do it again. You didn’t, of course. Not then. But the idea of Gotham’s Dark Knight flustered by a simple smack was too delicious to forget. And Bruce knew it.

Clark Kent (Kal-El) aka. Superman

- Clark didn’t see it coming. How could he, when he was too busy carrying three bags of groceries in each hand and balancing a box of pastries in the crook of his elbow? You watched him shuffle toward the kitchen counter, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his wholesome, Midwestern charm radiating even in the simplest acts. As he passed, you couldn’t resist. Smack. The clap of your hand against his ridiculously perfect backside made him jump slightly, the pastries nearly tumbling from his grip. “Hey!” he exclaimed, spinning around, cheeks flushed pink.

- For someone faster than a speeding bullet, Clark sure could get caught off guard by you. His face was an endearing mix of surprise and bashfulness, and you swore the man looked like he’d just been scolded by Ma Kent herself. “What was that for?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine confusion but also a hint of laughter. You shrugged, batting your lashes. “Couldn’t resist. You’re carrying so much cake, after all.” He groaned at the pun but couldn’t keep from smiling.

- Clark, despite his extraordinary origins, was at his core a simple man. A man who loved sharing quiet evenings with you, cooking together, and pretending the world didn’t need him for a little while. He was also devastatingly kind, a trait that extended to how he loved you—with full-hearted sincerity and no room for doubt. So when he looked at you now, shaking his head with a chuckle, you knew he wasn’t really annoyed.

- “You’re unbelievable,” he said, placing the pastries safely on the counter. Then, faster than you could blink, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close with that impossible strength. “But if you’re going to tease, you’d better be prepared to deal with the consequences.” His grin was all boyish mischief as he tickled your sides, your laughter ringing through the kitchen. You swore he let you win when you finally broke free. Clark Kent, the strongest man alive, completely at your mercy.

Barry Allen aka. Flash

- Barry didn’t even stop moving. You were sure he noticed, though, because as you walked past him in the hallway and your hand made contact with his backside, he nearly tripped over his own feet. For the Flash, that was saying something. “Did you just—” he started, spinning to face you. His words were drowned out by your laughter as he stood there, red-faced and wide-eyed, his usual chatter momentarily short-circuited.

- “What?” you asked innocently, though your grin betrayed you. Barry spluttered for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—I wasn’t expecting that!” he managed, his voice pitching higher than usual. You loved how easy it was to fluster him, even though he was one of the smartest, fastest people in the world. “You’ve got to work on your reaction time, hero,” you teased, winking as you sauntered away.

- Barry’s mind was racing, as it always did, but now it wasn’t just thoughts of his latest case or some quantum theory experiment. No, now it was you—how you could so effortlessly knock him off balance with a single playful act. He adored you for it, for the way you brought lightness and humor into his often chaotic, exhausting life. You were his anchor, his calm in the storm of velocity and danger.

- Later, when he zipped into the living room with snacks for your movie night, he couldn’t resist a little payback. As he placed the bowl of popcorn on the table, he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. “Tag,” he whispered, and before you could respond, he darted away, leaving a gentle swat on your hip in his wake. Your laughter followed him, echoing in the space he’d just vacated. Barry might be the fastest man alive, but you were the one who always left him breathless.

Diana of Themyscira aka. Wonder Woman

- You didn’t think it was possible to catch Diana off guard. The Amazon princess was grace and power personified, her every movement deliberate, her every action precise. But when you passed her in the sunlit garden and gave her a cheeky smack, she stopped mid-step. Her head turned slowly, her azure eyes narrowing as her lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Did you just strike a warrior?” she asked, her voice a blend of amusement and mock reprimand.

- “A warrior with impeccable form,” you shot back, bold as ever. Diana’s laughter rang out, melodic and warm, her posture relaxing as she faced you fully. “You’re fortunate I consider this an act of affection,” she teased, stepping closer. The sunlight caught her dark hair, casting her in an almost ethereal glow. She was intimidating and beautiful, a goddess among mortals, yet in this moment, she was utterly human—and yours.

- Diana loved how unafraid you were of her strength, her presence. So many treated her like a distant, untouchable figure, but you reminded her that she was more than her titles or her mission. You made her laugh, you challenged her, and you weren’t afraid to be playful with her—even when it came to something as bold as this. She admired your spirit, your fire, the way you met her gaze without hesitation.

- “You realize,” she said, her tone mock-serious as she closed the gap between you, “that this is an invitation for retaliation.” Before you could react, her arms wrapped around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. Her laughter joined yours as she spun you once before setting you back down. “Careful, my love,” she warned, pressing a kiss to your temple. “A warrior never forgets.” But the smile on her lips promised she’d never stop loving your daring nature.

Arthur Curry aka. Aquaman

- You should have known better than to smack Arthur Curry as he walked past, the salty scent of the sea clinging to him like a second skin. The man was built like a fortress, with muscles that rippled beneath his tank top and a stride that exuded the confidence of a king. As your hand connected with his backside, the smack echoed through the cozy beach house you shared. Arthur stopped mid-step, his broad shoulders tensing. Slowly, he turned his head, a grin spreading across his rugged, sun-kissed face. “You sure you want to start this game, love?”

- He set down the fishing net he’d been carrying, his piercing green eyes narrowing playfully as he took a deliberate step toward you. You couldn’t help but laugh, holding your ground even as he loomed closer, his smirk promising trouble. “I couldn’t resist,” you said, your voice light. “It’s not every day a queen gets to remind her king who’s really in charge.” Arthur barked out a laugh, the sound deep and rich like the ocean waves outside. “Oh, is that so?” he rumbled, his hands finding his hips.

- Arthur loved your boldness, the way you matched his fiery spirit without hesitation. You were one of the few people who could keep up with him—whether it was challenging his quick temper, teasing his authority, or standing beside him when the burdens of two worlds weighed heavily on his shoulders. You weren’t afraid of his strength, his power, or the scars that told the story of his battles. Instead, you met him head-on, reminding him of the joy and levity he often forgot.

- “Alright,” he said finally, leaning down until his face was inches from yours, his grin widening. “But just remember—you started it.” Before you could react, his large hand swatted your hip, the playful strike making you gasp and laugh at the same time. “That’s for round one,” he teased, straightening as he headed toward the kitchen. “Let’s see if you’ve got the guts for round two.” You watched him go, shaking your head. King of the seas? More like king of cheeky comebacks.

Hal Jordan aka. Green Lantern

- You didn’t even plan it. Hal Jordan had been walking past, cocky as ever in his flight jacket, tossing his keys onto the counter with that easy swagger that made your heart race and your patience thin in equal measure. Before you knew it, your hand moved of its own accord. Smack. The sound was sharp, and Hal froze, mid-step, his head snapping toward you. For a moment, his mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then, finally, he broke into a grin. “Well, hello to you too,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

- Hal was never one to back down from a challenge, and you knew that all too well. “Careful,” he warned, his green eyes sparkling as he took a slow step toward you. “You’re playing with fire here, gorgeous.” You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Oh, please. If you’re so tough, you should be able to handle a little pat on the back. Or… elsewhere.” His laughter was immediate, loud and free, filling the room like music. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know that?”

- That was what Hal adored about you. He’d spent so much of his life surrounded by danger and responsibility—whether it was saving the universe as Green Lantern or pulling insane aerial stunts as a test pilot. But you? You were his gravity, his reminder that life wasn’t all about proving himself. You made him laugh in a way no one else could, and even when you pushed his buttons, he couldn’t help but fall a little more in love with you each time.

- “Alright,” he said, slipping his jacket off and tossing it onto the couch. “You wanna play dirty? Let’s play dirty.” Before you could react, Hal’s ring glowed, and a green construct of a feather appeared in his hand. “Let’s see how tough you are when the tables turn.” You squealed, darting behind the couch as he followed, grinning like a kid in a candy store. Hal Jordan might be fearless, but you knew his real weakness—your laugh, your smile, your ability to keep him on his toes.

Oliver Queen aka. Green Arrow

- Oliver Queen barely flinched when your hand smacked his backside as he walked past the kitchen counter, a bow slung over his shoulder. Instead, he stopped, cocking his head to the side with a slow smirk spreading across his handsome, scruffy face. “Well, that’s one way to get my attention,” he drawled, turning to face you. His emerald-green eyes sparkled with mischief, and you could already tell he was plotting some form of retaliation. “Should I be worried, or was that just your way of saying ‘good shot’?”

- “You’ve been spending too much time in the field,” you teased, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “Thought I’d remind you who really has the aim around here.” Oliver laughed, the sound warm and rich as he set his bow down carefully. “Oh, really? You think you can out-shoot me and out-smart me in my own house?” His tone was playful, but you knew the archer in him couldn’t resist a challenge.

- Oliver loved that about you—your boldness, your fire, the way you never let him take himself too seriously. It was a rare gift to be able to break through the walls he built around himself, the layers of guilt and responsibility he carried as Star City’s protector. But you didn’t just break through; you tore those walls down with humor, love, and a fearlessness that matched his own. You reminded him of the man beneath the hood, the one who still knew how to laugh and love.

- “Alright,” he said, stepping closer and resting his hands on either side of the counter, trapping you in place. “But just so we’re clear—if this is your idea of flirting, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve too.” Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you deeply, stealing your breath and your smugness all at once. When he pulled back, his grin was pure Oliver Queen. “Your move, pretty bird.”

John Constantine aka. Hellblazer

- When your hand smacked John Constantine’s backside, his reaction was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low, throaty chuckle that promised trouble. He turned to face you, cigarette dangling from his lips, his trench coat swirling slightly with the motion. “Well, well, love,” he drawled, his voice tinged with that unmistakable cockney accent. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Careful now—you’re playing with fire.”

- “Oh, please,” you shot back, smirking. “You deal with demons, curses, and apocalyptic prophecies daily. You can handle a little slap.” His grin widened, and he took a step closer, the scent of tobacco and leather surrounding you. “You’ve got some cheek, you know that?” he said, taking the cigarette from his mouth and flicking the ash into the tray. “But that’s why I keep you around. Keeps me on my toes.”

- John wasn’t used to this—lightness, laughter, love. His life was a whirlwind of darkness and chaos, and yet, somehow, you had wormed your way into his blackened heart. You brought him peace in a way no spell or sigil ever could. And while he’d never admit it outright, he adored the way you challenged him, kept him grounded, and gave him something to fight for beyond his own self-loathing.

- “But fair warning, darling,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that sent shivers down your spine, “I don’t play fair.” Before you could react, he whispered a quick spell under his breath, and suddenly, your shoes were glued to the floor. “There,” he said with a wink, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Let’s see if you’re still so bold when you can’t run away.” Your laughter filled the room as he walked off, his shoulders shaking with amusement. Classic Constantine—always one step ahead, but always hopelessly smitten with you.

Roy Harper aka. Arsenal

- You really couldn’t resist. Roy Harper had been strutting around the apartment like he owned the place, shirtless, a bow slung across his back, humming some old rock tune under his breath. His cocky energy was palpable, and when he passed by you in the living room, it was instinctive. Smack. Your hand connected with his jean-clad backside, and the sound was sharp enough to cut through his off-key singing. Roy froze, turning slowly with a look of mock betrayal. “Did you just…? Oh, you’re really asking for it now, gorgeous.”

- You leaned back against the couch, smirking. “What? Just checking if Arsenal’s reflexes are still sharp.” Roy placed a hand on his hip, pointing at you with the other. “You’re lucky I didn’t just shoot an arrow in surprise,” he teased, though the grin tugging at his lips made it clear he was anything but annoyed. “But fine. If we’re doing this, let me warn you—I don’t fight fair.”

- Roy loved that you didn’t take him too seriously. In a life full of chaos, mistakes, and battles, you were his sanctuary, the one person who could knock him off his pedestal in the best way. Your playful antics reminded him that not everything had to be about proving himself or fighting the next big battle. You were his partner in every sense of the word—his laughter, his balance, his home.

- “Alright, beautiful,” he said, dropping the bow and cracking his knuckles. “You know what happens when you mess with me, right?” Before you could react, he pounced, pinning you to the couch in an exaggerated wrestling move that had both of you laughing uncontrollably. “This is justice!” he declared dramatically, tickling your sides until you were begging for mercy. Roy Harper was impossible, but then again, so were you, and you wouldn’t trade him for anything.

Koriand’r aka. Starfire

- The reaction was immediate. As your hand connected with Koriand’r’s backside while she passed you in the hallway, she stopped mid-step, her fiery hair glowing faintly as it caught the light. Slowly, she turned to face you, her wide green eyes blinking in confusion. “Was that… an Earth custom of affection?” she asked, her tone curious but tinged with amusement. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, her innocent confusion melting any attempt at feigned innocence. “Sure, Kori. It’s totally a custom. Very common.”

- Kori tilted her head, a thoughtful expression crossing her beautiful features. “How interesting,” she said, stepping closer to you. “On Tamaran, we express affection with embraces, kisses, and occasionally by flying into the air with loved ones. But this… this is new. I like it!” Her radiant smile made your heart flutter, and you could see the mischief spark in her gaze. “Does this mean I can do it back?”

- You adored how open and loving Kori was. She embraced life with the same passion she brought to battle, and her joy was contagious. Loving her meant constantly learning to see the world through her eyes, where every experience—big or small—was worth celebrating. You could never get enough of the way she made even the smallest moments feel like an adventure.

- “You may want to prepare yourself!” she declared suddenly, her arms wrapping around you in a warm, powerful embrace. Before you could protest, she lifted you effortlessly off the ground, spinning you in circles as laughter bubbled out of both of you. When she finally set you down, she pressed a kiss to your forehead and gave you a playful tap on your backside. “This is a wonderful custom!” she declared with a bright giggle. You’d created a monster, and you couldn’t have been happier about it.

Kara Zor-El aka. Supergirl

- Kara Zor-El nearly dropped the bowl of popcorn she was carrying when your hand smacked her backside. Nearly. Her Kryptonian reflexes kicked in, and she saved the snack, spinning around with a look of wide-eyed disbelief. “Did you just…?!” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a deep red. You leaned casually against the counter, biting back a grin. “What? Just making sure Earth’s strongest woman doesn’t have any blind spots.”

- “Blind spots?!” Kara exclaimed, placing the bowl down with exaggerated care. “You’re lucky I don’t fly you straight into the stratosphere for that.” But the way she crossed her arms and pouted made it clear she wasn’t actually upset. If anything, she was flustered—adorably so. “You’re impossible, you know that?” she muttered, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

- Kara loved how comfortable you were around her. So many people treated her like a symbol or a savior, but you just treated her like Kara. You teased her, laughed with her, and never let her powers overshadow the fact that she was just a girl trying to navigate life on a new planet. Being with you grounded her, reminded her that even superheroes deserved to let their guard down and have fun.

- “Fine,” she said finally, her lips quirking into a mischievous grin. “But don’t think I won’t get you back.” Before you could respond, she darted forward at super-speed, giving your side a playful nudge that sent you stumbling into the couch. She was back in her original spot before you could blink, arms crossed and a victorious smirk on her face. “Kryptonians don’t lose, you know,” she teased, her laughter filling the room.

Slade Wilson aka. Deathstroke

- You weren’t entirely sure what possessed you to do it. Slade Wilson wasn’t exactly known for his sense of humor, but as he passed you in the training room, his armor catching the dim light, the temptation was too strong. Your hand smacked his backside, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet space. He stopped immediately, his head turning just enough for his single visible eye to lock onto you. The sharp, dangerous glint in his gaze made your heart race. “You’re braver than I thought,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

- “And you’re slower than I thought,” you shot back, unable to resist. His brow arched, and you could see the corner of his mouth twitch—was that amusement? “Careful,” he warned, stepping closer, his imposing frame casting a long shadow. “You might find out just how fast I can be.” Despite his intimidating presence, you refused to back down, crossing your arms and smirking up at him. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

- Slade had always admired your boldness. In a world where most people either feared him or tried to use him, you were a refreshing change. You didn’t treat him like a weapon or a monster—you saw the man beneath the mask, the one who carried the weight of too many sins. Your audacity, your fire, reminded him of the parts of himself he thought he’d buried long ago.

- “Alright,” he said, his tone deceptively calm as he leaned in, his face inches from yours. “But don’t forget—every action has a consequence.” Before you could respond, his hand darted out, delivering a sharp but playful swat to your hip. You gasped, more in surprise than pain, and he straightened, his smirk now fully formed. “Your move,” he said, turning and walking away with the measured confidence of a man who always had the upper hand. And yet, you could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For all his gruffness, Slade Wilson was undeniably charmed by you.

[gay-dorito-dust]

John: anything can be used as a cross and it will still do the job.

You: I have severe doubts about that.

John: yes they can, look.

John: tada

You: you’ve got to be fucking joking. you didn’t just use your last two cigarettes to make a cross…

John: MAY THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPEL YOU-

[kitkatscabinet]

THREE IS THE MAGIC NUMBER

pairing: bruce wayne x fem! reader x john constantine.

summary: you see the way he looks at you and your husband. Constantine's a brat, but an attractive one, you might have to do something about it.

a/n: 18+ minors dni. i'm sorry guys I initially had way more planned but i haven't written smut in a while and i lost steam :(

warnings: handcuffs, m! receiving oral, threesome.

You feel the way his gaze lingers, tracing your curves, fixating on your tits, he's not exactly subtle. Then again, nothing about John Constantine ever was; the man was seemingly without shame, strutting around like a peacock for both you and your husband. 

That was the real kicker. Had the foul-mouthed Brit been ogling just you, then you’d have rolled your eyes and moved on. But there was something about the way he glanced appreciatively at Bruce that had you pausing in consideration. You were hardly a stranger to the looks Bruce garnered; he was (in your unbiased opinion) one of the sexiest men on the planet, but John’s stare was downright hungry. 

A blink and you’d miss it flush covering his cheeks anytime Batman displayed his impressive physical strength, as if John was imagining that strength being used on him. Not that you blamed him, those were the sorts of fantasies you and Bruce often acted out together. 

Bruce clearly noticed it too, and was doing his best to ignore the flirtation stalwartly. To anyone else, he was the picture of nonchalance, but you knew your husband, and hidden behind the veil of irritation was thinly disguised interest. John wasn’t an unattractive man, for all his personality made him as likable as a gnat sometimes, and even if he’d protest vehemently, you knew the blonde was Bruce’s type. 

Bruce was loyal; of that, you'd no doubt. He’d never do anything to jeopardise your relationship. He probably didn’t even realise he was looking. You supposed that should make you jealous, but then you’d be a hypocrite, given that you were looking too. 

The man had shrugged off his tan trench coat, his shirt sleeves rolled to above his elbows to show off his forearms, almost as if he knew you had a weakness for just that. His hair had become gradually more dishevelled as the night wore on, and he ran his hand through the blond locks in frustration. 

Though after nearly four hours of magical research, even Bruce was getting cranky. His patience for Constantine’s flirting and magic as a whole reaching its end. Some of that’s probably your fault, having gone to take a shower around two hours in, only to emerge adorned in nothing but a fluffy robe, tied loosely enough to show off your cleavage as you reclined back in your seat. Every little movement you make draws both their gazes, forcing you to hide your smirk behind the glass of wine you’d poured yourself. 

John’s tongue darts out, swiping over his lower lip as you shift, crossing your legs and showing off the skin of your bare thighs as the robe slips lower. Bruce clears his throat, shifting the attention from you, and your smirk deepens at the visible cracks in his composure. The tension in his jaw muscles, the white-knuckled grip on his now-empty glass of whiskey and most damningly, the way his pants do little to hide the beginnings of his arousal. 

Constantine chokes when he notices, tugging at the collar of his shirt as he stares with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. You tilt your head, eyes searching Bruce’s as you silently ask, rules?

With Zatanna, he’d wanted to watch, with Hal, it had been a competition between the two men to see who could fuck you better. That instance had left you unable to walk, not that you’d complained, but neither of those dynamics seemed right for John. 

In those seconds of silent conversation between you and your husband, John recovers, rougish grin covering his face. “Damn Bats, that–”

Whatever John was going to say was forgotten as you gripped his face, tilting his face up to pull him in for a sensual kiss. One of your hands tangles in the hair on the nape of his neck, tugging harshly. You’re rewarded with a whimper that you greedily swallow, prompting you to repeat the action, hoping to hear it again. 

You pull away, giggling a little when John absentmindedly chases after your lips, a dazed expression plastered across his normally cocksure face. Bruce had taken the opportunity to rise, moulding himself against your back, planting gentle kisses over the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders. 

John’s eyes follow the action dazedly, nearly bulging out of his head as Bruce’s hands deftly tug on the belt of your robe, helping you slide out of it as it slides to the floor forgotten. “Fuck, love, Bats.” The sorcerer croaks, hands clenching and unclenching on his thighs as he looks desperately between you and your husband as if searching for confirmation that this was happening. 

“Problem, Constantine?” Bruce asks, feigning ignorance as one of his calloused hands drifts between your legs. Your hips buck involuntarily, attempting to coax Bruce into touching you properly. 

"Don't be impatient," he chides quietly, gripping your waist to keep you still. 

John swallows, watching intently, squirming in his seat to try and find a comfortable position. "This isn't a dream, right?" His eyes are still flickering back and forth between you and Bruce, as if waiting for permission.

“Not a dream, love.” You sigh, head falling back against Bruce’s shoulder as he cups your tits, before he starts to walk you backwards. John watches, frozen, dazed as Bruce opens the study door until you speak up again, “Are you coming?”

John practically trips over himself to follow, making you giggle as you reach out, lacing his hand in yours as the three of you stumble into the nearest bedroom in a tangle of limbs and shed clothes.

In a brief moment of lucidity, you mentally thank the stars that none of the kids are home, and it dawns on you that Bruce probably planned this. But then his lips are back on your neck, and Constantine’s sprawled, naked across the mattress, and all other thoughts fly out the window. 

The sorcerer’s confidence had returned, his usual cocky smirk back as he takes in the way both you and Bruce stare appreciatively. “What are you waiting for?” He purred, and you pounced, kneeling between his spread thighs and pulling him into a bruising kiss. 

You feel the mattress dip behind you, Bruce’s now bare chest pressed against your back once more, caging you between him and John. 

“Of course you’re hard already, you little slut.” You and John moan together at Bruce’s words, the blonde’s head falling back with a hiss as one of your hands trails down to his neck, squeezing slightly as your thumb runs over his rapidly fluttering pulse.

John's eyes fluttered shut briefly, a gasp escaping his lips as Bruce's hands joined yours in caressing his body, only to snap open in surprise when cold metal clasps around his wrists and the headboard. 

“When did you–” He stutters a little, giving an experimental tug as his fingers flex. 

“I’ve learned not to question it, you’ll go insane.” You murmur between kisses you trail down his chest and abdomen. His hips flex, arching into your touch until Bruce makes a chiding sound, a large palm snaking around you to hold him down. 

“So impatient, both of you,” Bruce growls, nipping at your shoulder before he tugs you back against his chest, nudging your thighs open with his own. 

“Can you blame me, Bats?" John rasped, his voice hoarse with desire. “I see two gorgeous people and I can't help but want to test the limits a bit.”

“Such a brat, someone should teach you a lesson,” Bruce growled, his grip tightening.

John gasped, “I'm all for it, love. Knock some manners into me. Put me in my place.”

"You're a mouthy one, aren't you? Let's see if we can't find something better for you to do with your tongue besides run it."

John let out a surprised sound as Bruce captured his lips this time, biting down on his lower lip as your thumbs ran soothing circles over his hipbones. 

“Tell me, Johnny, how long have you wanted this? To be at our mercy?” You coo, delighting in the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch, straining against his bonds to try and reach for you or Bruce. 

“I…” he trails off, eyes following the movement of Bruce’s hands as they trail down your sides, one gripping your thigh to hold you in place as the other dips between your legs. 

He watched, entranced, until suddenly Bruce was tugging on his hair harshly and forcing him to look into Bruce’s, “She asked you a question, Constantine.”

“I…” He stutters once more, swallowing deeply to try and focus over the sudden sounds of your pretty moans. “Since I first saw you, both of you.” John strains against his bonds once more, aching to reach out and touch you as you grind down against Bruce’s fingers, mouth open in bliss. 

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it, Johnny?” Bruce teased, lethargically working you open as you relied on him to hold your weight up. 

John, meanwhile, was completely enraptured by the sight before him, powerless to do anything but watch, his entire body tense. 

“Isn’t my wife gorgeous?” Bruce hummed against your neck, eyes never leaving Constantine’s face as he nodded frantically. “Use your words, John. Tell us how pretty you think she is.”

John swallows heavily, his throat bobbing as he stares at your bare body “Beautiful,” he manages to get out finally, eyes dragging greedily over your curves. “Stunning,” he corrects, gaze lingering on the marks Bruce left on your throat. “Bloody sinful.”

John watched every moment, his eyes practically glued to you both, his hips arching off the mattress in desperate need for stimulation of his own.

“Good boy.” Bruce praises, nipping playfully at the shell of your ear. You whimper again, pressing your thighs together unconsciously. “What else do you like about my wife?”

John's eyes darken further at the reminder of your status, clenching his jaw. It's almost painful to watch as Bruce caresses you, doing what he desperately wants to. His knuckles are white as he strains against the handcuffs, cock twitching. 

“Everything,” John pants, his gaze flickering from you to Bruce and back. “Bloody everything.” His eyes rove over your body again, drinking in every inch as if he wants to commit you to memory.

“She's perfect. So bloody perfect,” he breathes, his words ending on a note between a laugh and a moan. “And smart, so bloody clever. And a mouth made for–” He sucks in a sharp breath, cutting himself off, still a little unsure of the boundaries. 

Bruce chuckles, his breath warm against your neck. “She is quite good at that,” he murmurs. “Always eager to be a good girl. Aren’t you, baby?” 

You nod desperately, whining when Bruce retracts his fingers, only to eagerly slide them into your mouth, tongue swirling around his digits before he pulls them free with a pop. “Why don’t you show Johnny how good you can be?”

Bruce slides back, allowing you more space to lean down, arching your back as you stare up at John. “You look so pretty like this, Johnny,” you hummed, “All tied up and wanting.”

John shivered under your touch. “Please, love”, he begged, his voice cracking with desperation. “I need– Fuck!” He swears, throwing his head back when you suddenly take him in your mouth. You hum in amusement, the vibrations making John see stars. 

The taste of salty pre-cum on your tongue was as intoxicating as the sight of him beneath you, his body trembling with need. “God, you're delicious,” you murmured. 

His fists clench, teeth digging into his lower lip as your hands migrate to his hips, preventing him from thrusting into your mouth as you slowly swirl your tongue around his leaking tip. All the while, your eyes never leave his face, relishing in the way his cheeks flush, sweat dripping down his temples. 

“Look at you, so needy,” Bruce said, leaning over to capture John’s earlobe between his teeth. “Such a pretty little slut.” You hum again in agreement, and John jolts beneath you. 

“Fuck, darlin, if you keep that up m’not gonna last.” He pants, too blissed out to be embarrassed at how quickly he’s about to cum from the glorious sensations your warm mouth provides.

It’s your fault, really, for teasing him so relentlessly, leaving him aching for your touch over the past few hours. 

Your only answer is taking him deeper into your mouth, head bobbing as your nose brushes against his pelvis, one of your hands moving to grip his ass. “Christ!” He hisses, heels digging into the mattress as his thigh muscles tremble. 

Suddenly, there’s a hand on the back of your neck, tugging you back upright against Bruce’s chest, causing you and John to let out whines of frustration. “Not yet. You haven’t earned it.” Bruce grunts, sliding his cock between your wet folds, barely giving you any warning before he lifts your hips before practically slamming you down. 

John's eyes go wide as he watches you sink down on Bruce, a sharp gasp escaping his lips at the sight, unable to look away from the erotic display before him, his body still burning from the orgasm he’d been denied. 

"God, you two look so good," he groaned, his voice hoarse and low. He wanted more than anything to touch himself, to touch you or Bruce, something, anything to help relieve the ache.  

One of Bruce’s hands slinked around to rub at your clit as he roughly bounced you up and down on his cock like a ragdoll, your head falling back against his shoulder, mouth open in ecstasy.

The sight of you, head thrown back in pleasure, was almost too much for John to handle. He was straining against the cuffs, his wrists undoubtedly bruising. “You cruel, beautiful people,” he groaned, “Making me watch but not letting me touch... It's torture.”

“You deserve a little torture, don't you think?” Bruce asked, his tone playful, but slightly strained as he maintained his pace. “You've been such a brat, after all.” 

“I... please... I'll behave,” John promised, his words coming out in ragged pants. His pride long forgotten in his need to cum. 

You moan loudly at his words, and Bruce’s rhythm falters a little, showcasing a crack in his composure. It seemed John wasn’t the only one worked up from tonight’s teasing. 

As pretty as John looked, you decided to take pity, wanting nothing more than to have him in your mouth once more. You leaned forward, your breath ghosting over the tip of his cock. Bruce doesn’t stop you, and you take it as all the permission you need, your tongue darting out to tease the sensitive head of John’s cock. 

Bruce leaned over your back, watching, mesmerised by the sight. “You look so pretty with your mouth full,” he muttered, his hands groping your tits and ass, each thrust pushing you further down John’s cock. 

“Please, please, please,” John panted, his body arching, “Bruce... I can't, I can't…”

“You will,” Bruce replied, his tone brooking no room for argument. His eyes were dark as he watched you take John's length deeper, his gaze flickering from your mouth to the way the blond was begging beneath you. “You'll be patient, taking what we give you, and you'll be damn grateful for it.”

Suddenly you pulled off John with a pop, moaning desperately “Bruce, baby, need to cum.”

Bruce’s hips stuttered, his hand moving to gently cradle your cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and rough. 

You nodded, your words nothing but a needy whimper. "Please," you begged, barely even able to say that. 

“Alright, baby. Since you asked so nicely…” He grunted, smacking your ass before his hand slid around your front, middle finger providing the perfect amount of pressure on your clit. 

John, however, groaned in protest, “And what about me?” his frustration evident, brattiness slipping back into his tone. “What about what I need?”

“Thought I already told you to be patient, Constantine.” Bruce growled, before a wicked smirk crossed his face, “Besides, kids are out of the house for a few days, we’ve got all the time in the world.” John whimpers at the thought, though the sound is drowned out as you cum with a wail, slumping against his chest. 

Bruce, however, is far from finished. If you and John wanted to tease him, then you’d deal with the consequences.

[gilverrwrites]

Which one of the DC superhero men would be embarrassed that they came into their pants in a public setting? 👀

Okay, so, instinctively I want to say it would be the men that are already prone to feeling a bit self-conscious: Clark Kent, Jason Todd, Barry Allen, Ted Kord

And then there’s the characters who would be mortified, if only because they’d previously considered themselves to have better control over themselves (whether they’re correct or not): Dick Grayson, Hal Jordan, Vic Stone

[Sidenote] Characters that would obviously try to cover themselves up for decency purposes, but wouldn’t be ashamed, so much as eager for payback: Wally West, Arthur Curry, Michael Carter, Tim Drake

And characters that would have no shame at all: John Constantine, Roy Harper, Conner Kent

But if I may throw a wildcard your way as my final answer, celebrity characters, who not only have to deal with the fact that you’ve made a mess of them, but have to hide if from the media swarm that could descend upon them at any moment: Bruce Wayne, Oliver Queen

I can just see their tense shoulders, hunched frames, trying to wave of the paps while strategically covering the stain in their slacks. The way they’re glaring at you any chance they get, so much so that there’s speculation of a break-up or feud on all the gossip sights the next day. The way they mutter in your ear, voices low and tight but not as tight as their grip on your waist as they try to use you as a shield, threatening all the things they’re gonna do to as soon as they get you home.

[bigbaddie45]

Y’all ever read such a good fic with a nice plot just with so many spelling errors?!? Like TF you mean he was “grinong” in her ear or “taiek” her by the waist??

[the-fictional-wife]

I already knew this bitch @luv-lock was weird when they hardcore gender bent all female characters with a fem reader (ooo im so soft and woke I'm so scared). You can always tell in someone's vibe when they're a right-wing ignorant asshole who finds even being LGBTQ "woke" because they were confused and curious when they were younger. Not even mentioning they sling the r-slur at people as an insult and spew misinformed lies about America's state right now....while not even being American.

Anyways, this isn't a trauma competition of "who has it worse", fuck ICE, fuck you trump and fuck all you right wing losers who are nothing but hateful and legit kill off LGBTQ, black people and people of color alike, and support the illegal detainment and deportation of immigrants- REGARDLESS of citizenship status (yes they're taking citizens and people in their court appointments too shocker). Same with you fucks who support ICE, police, and military harming peaceful protesters as well as the damn press.

People's human rights are being infringed on here and being taken into centers where no one knows what's fully happening to them and you bitches wanna sit up here talking outta your ass- you shitted more on democrats then half of America who voted that man in, the world is sick even in fanfics.

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][no penetration][oral f! and m! receiving][sixty-nine][reach-around][semi public][fwb][for those two who asked for John Constantine, our collective shitshow of a man]

"Oh, come off it." John rolls his eyes. "Drop the 'better than thou' act, luv. You're not better than me."

"Last time I checked, I don't fuck demons for favours, do I?" You argue. "So, I'm pretty sure that makes me better than you."

"Does it? You fuck me, which is worse?"

Your lips purse, and you run your tongue across your teeth. "Fair enough, Johnny."

You glance towards the foil wrapper in his hand, creased and tugged in all the wrong edges, and John's stormy blue eyes continue to glower at you as he picks at the packet.

"Just rip it op— ow!"

You hiss when the condom collides with your forehead, before dropping onto the rolls of your belly, caused by the way you're slumped so unsexily against the headboard.

"Open it y'rself. 'm gonna go smoke."

John steps towards the balcony, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter from the table beside the balcony door, moving to stand on the terrace, enjoying the sight of the city as he lights his cigarette.

The scent of nicotine and tobacco stings your nose, and you grumble under your breath as you rip open the condom packet, pulling out the latex ring and inspecting it for any holes.

God forbid you get some sort of demonic STD, or even worse, a baby.

That'd tie you right to the morbid fuck, and you'd hate that more than having to treat literal flaming herpes.

Grabbing your robe from the nearest chair, you shrug the cottony fabric over your shoulders, tying a loose bow in the front before stepping out onto the balcony to join John.

The cool air whips at any exposed skin you have, and you shudder, before moving to stand behind John, your cheek pressed to the centre of his broad back, listening to the low thump of his heartbeat.

And your hand sneaks into the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around his... Surprisingly still hard cock, and you press a kiss to the scar just above where you'd estimate his heart is.

Keyword 'estimate', because you don't even know if John has all his organs, much less if they're in the right spot.

"You mad at me?" You taunt, and his voice is a low rumble as he takes another drag of his cigarette, blowing a thick plume of smoke into the still, night air, gaze locked on flickering city lights and the twinkling stars that seem to spread out endlessly.

"Pissed." He grunts out, and you hum quietly, continuing to stroke his cock sweetly, thumbing at his slit and spreading the sticky precum all over the throbbing flesh, and your actions cause John to let out a quiet groan, his head tipping back, and his Adam's apple bobs.

"Put the condom on me, gorgeous."

John instructs quietly, shifting in your grasp and he leans back against the bannister, elbows braced on the wooden handrail, and he lifts one of his hands to take another drag of his cigarette, before flipping the cancer stick, and stubbing it out against his calloused palm.

The action is stupidly sexy, especially when he gives you that half-lidded gaze, sunken eyes and that permanent 5 o'clock shadow on his face, not doing anything to hide that perfect jawline or even softening his features.

Messy blonde tucks fall just past his hairline and you carefully inspect the condom once again, before grabbing the centre of it and tugging it forward.

And you watch that melodramatic and erotic expression on John's face fall, giving way to annoyance and frustration.

"The fuck're you doing!" He hisses, watching as you drop to your knees with the definitely ruined condom in your hand.

"It'll still work, John." You argue. "Trust me."

It works. Not really.

Not at all.

Because it's equivalent to the act of a doctor putting on surgical gloves that are just too tight, the lube and precum mixing into a sticky substance that makes the latex stick to his cock, which results in you pinching the condom and the latex shooting back against the sensitive flesh, and his shoulders twitch with each painful snap.

Its an agonizing 4 minutes and John wonders how he's even still hard until he peeks down at you, noting that creased brow, pursed lips and the most concentrated expression he's ever seen.

Oh, that's how.

"Done." You chirp and John looks down at his cock, the shaft covered in latex and his tip still feels the cool breeze.

Maybe it's because of the huge fucking hole in the condom?

"You and your fuckin' dragon claws. You ripped a hole in the condom." He groans. "The fuck's this gonna prevent?"

"You from getting chilly?" You answer with a shrug, before resting back on your haunches, kneeling in front of John as you try to peel the condom from his cock.

And it's another grueling experience.

Especially when your manicured nails keep scraping against him as you repeatedly attempt to grasp the edge and tug it off in one pull.

"Raw?" John questions, with a huff, looking down at you from beneath blonde lashes and you snort.

"I think the fuck not." You scoff. "Don't you have another condom?"

"Would I have propose goin' raw, if I had another bloody condom?" John grits out, blue eyes narrowing at you because now, he's hard and he's not jerking his own cock when your perfectly warm pussy is in the same room.

Warm, inviting. Tight.

The words float in John's mind and he nearly whines when your hand wraps around his cock, lazily pumping him as you look up at him through those fluffy, long lashes, your tongue running across that plump bottom lip he just loves to nip at when you're kissing.

"I'm clean, luv." He breathes out, his hand moving to thread through your hair in a way that's almost affectionate, blue eyes locked on your face.

"You're clean by human testing, Johnny. Doesn't mean you wouldn't have some sort of—" "Demons don't get STDs." John interjects.

"Well..." You purse your lips. "Still no. At least, now."

John respects your decision and he would admire your firmness if he wasn't achingly hard.

"Well... Then how're we gonna do this?"

—♱—

"Beautiful girl. That's it."

John feeds your cunt two fingers, easing them into your sopping walls that spasm at the intrusion, all as his tongue continues to drag between your slippery folds, before gently flicking at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Gorgeous thing, aren't you?" He teases softly.

His forearm rests down the middle of your back, his free arm bracketing your hips and keeping you from moving away from his face.

Broad back pressed against the sheets, John gets to indulge in one of his laziest pleasures, while feeling the way your slippery palm strokes him with reverence that makes beads of precum drip from his leaky tip like a faucet.

Your knees dig into the mattress on either side of his head, your drooling cunt pressing against his mouth and he takes his time dragging his tongue over your needy pussy, feeling each twitch of the organ.

His fingers leave your drooling cavern, instead, his hands move to grip your hips and keep you firmly in place as he shifts the tiniest bit, and he sucks on your clit, enjoying the way you squeal at the sensation, attempting to pull away from him out of pure instinct but you're unable to.

Your hand readjusts it's grip on his cock, your middle finger and thumb not even touching one another as your tongue licks up the next bead of precum and you watch as his thighs tense, sinewy muscles bulging beneath his scarred skin.

Random cuts, bullet holes and wounds, the odd sigil carved into his flesh, all healed and remaining as unpleasant memories, turned into a painful tapestry on his skin that very few are allowed to see.

Not that John doesn't get around.

He's looser than the hairtie you use when you're desperate.

But he prefers to keep his clothes on, or have the room in complete darkness.

But right now, the room's not too dark, he's completely bare and the low light of the city filters into your apartment, especially with the curtains of the balcony door parted.

John always asks for the tiniest bit of light when you're together. He likes seeing you.

Even if you're the most annoying person he's ever met.

Dipping his tongue into your cunt, you whine, pushing back against John's face just as your lips wrap around his cock, taking the flushed and rosy tip into your mouth.

The bitterness of his precum rests on your tongue.

It's the kind of taste that makes you grimace, before going in for a second taste, and you suckle, sweetly and you moan around his cock when he sucks on your sensitive clit, his nose bumping against your slick slit.

And God, are you happy he broke his nose enough times to have one of those bumps.

"Johnny, 'm gonna come.." You pant out, giving John a few rough tugs before you take him back into your mouth, your tongue tracing protruding veins and your hips bucking as your grind against his tongue.

John laughs.

A low throaty sound that makes your toes curl and he groans.

"I know, luv, I know." He coos sweetly.

And everything is serene, peaceful even.

You're coaxed towards the sweetest orgasm you've ever had, when a flaming pentagram burns into your carpet and you squeal at the intrusion of a menial demon scampering off into the shadows because of course, John is a gateway.

"Mind the fuckin' teeth!"

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

DEATHSTROKE!READER HEADCANONS CUZ YALL LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!

Deathstroke reader's hair is fried, like it was back when they used to be Robin. They used to straighten their hair to an unreasonable amount. Actually, think of Steph back in her Robin days—that was literally the reader's hair back when they were Robin, but it didn't work well for their hair type, resulting in terrible and irreversible hair damage. When they joined Deathstroke, they shaved all their hair off and started fresh. Fresh hair. The reader has a buzz cut that is gelled to be spiky and styled; it's actually pretty good. They used to dye their hair a lot, like blonde, which also contributed to the hair damage. Last but not least, the Wilson family loves to rub your freshly buzzed hair.

Deathstroke reader has acne around their face, which is basically your fault because you wear a lot of makeup, causing some acne. Also, your mask makes you sweat, clogging your pores. You've been thinking about getting a skincare routine, but you're too lazy, so Rose does your skincare every now and then. Your acne isn't really noticeable; it's just there. But as long as you keep up with those face masks, you'll be fine.

Deathstroke reader is non-binary; they go by all pronouns and wear both masculine and feminine clothing. They used to only wear masculine clothes back in their Robin days because they hated femininity due to their mother. I'll get into this deeper in a later fic. Deathstroke reader is also around 19 to mid-20s; I wanted to make them older compared to the other readers, who are either in high school or in college. Deathstroke reader is pretty tall, like basketball-level tall, standing right next to Slade's shoulder.

Deathstroke reader smokes; Rose does too, and I'm pretty sure I saw a comic where Slade smokes. It runs in the family, I guess, but you can't find your lighter anywhere—borrowed by Rose, or you lost it some way, somehow. So you find intricate ways to light a cigarette. Hell yeah, the Flash's electric speed definitely helps your Green Lantern boyfriend light your cigarette for you. Totally, Deathstroke reader will literally walk up to Bruce, smoking in his face. The rest of the Bat Family hates the fact that you smoke, scolding you and saying it's bad for you, like you're some child, even though you're about to be pushing 30. It gets on your nerves.

Deathstroke reader isn't much into relationships; mostly, they have meaningless flings. When you're thinking about getting into a relationship, you're already waking up with someone gone. You have an ongoing fling with Constantine—not a serious relationship, really; it’s routine at this point. You call him up for a favor or he does, and you both get a drink, maybe a smoke. You end up at his dank apartment, then you leave the next day. You don't intend on staying, and you don't intend on loving him either, but he's developing warm feelings in his chest because of you. You always have to remind him it's just a fling. Roy, on the other hand, isn't so easily persuaded. That ginger will not believe it started as a one-time thing. The moment he saw you playing around with Lian was the moment he declared you his. So gentle with her, so sweet; you only say it's because you have siblings, but he knows better. The nights you two spent together are passionate and sweet, but you always seem to leave his bed with no intention of coming back. You're breaking his heart.

When Deathstroke reader was Robin, they had internalized misogyny within them, not just because the Robin mantle used to be for guys, but also because of their relationship with their mom. Think about the "I Hate My Mom" song by GRLwood—like, they used to hate almost anything feminine because it reminded them of their mother: long nails, makeup, eyelashes, dresses, skirts, all that stuff. It's not until they worked with Slade that they started to embrace this part of themselves. You're not like your mother; you never will be. It doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't make you any less strong. That's something I can understand—makeup and flashy clothing, embracing yourself more.

Deathstroke reader is brutal when it comes to fights; they do not fight fair at all—biting, slapping, scratching, kicking—almost anything. Sure, they do know fighting styles, but their greatest strengths are brute force and ambushing their attacker with punches to the point where they're unable to react. You had a fight with Cass one time, and you dominated her with hits over and over again, not letting her let up. Sure, she can read body movements, but yours are so aggressive that it's honestly too hard to fight back. You're pummeling Damien like he's not your little brother, more like a stray dog on the street begging for scraps. Your head-butting Jason's Red Hood mask, making cracks in his mask and giving him a black eye in the process. Sure, your head was ringing for at least an hour, but it was worth seeing the shock on his face. You remember one time Bruce visited you at Arkham Asylum—the asylum he put you in—trying to manipulate you into coming home. You jumped across the table, beating the shit out of him. It took multiple nurses to get you off of him. Anytime the Bat Family comes to visit, especially Bruce, you're stuck in a straitjacket with a glass wall in front of you. There's literally a struggle at Arkham to try and get you into the meeting room. They have to roll you in a wheelchair like luggage out of an airport because you tried to escape multiple times, but it always fails, and you're stuck in that meeting room. They're rambling on and on, saying they'll bring you back home. Yeah, right.

[eatingoutmen]

MDNI. - ⚠︎ 18+ content || 🎥 ;; 「 ✦ TAMING THE BRAT ✦ 」 || 🎬 STARRING : JOHN CONSTANTINE

“Oh, God… F-fuck…!”

JOHN moaned and grunted unabashedly while writhing and arching his body, his hands clenching into fist at the ropes that bounded his wrist right above his head to the headboard. The bed creaked beneath mingling with his desperate, needy moans as he screwed his eyes shut at the feeling of your cock stretching his hole as well as his walls. Your tip kissing and jabbing his prostate repeatedly that made JOHN’S mind fuzzy and clouded with pure lust and pleasure as you continued to pound deep into him.

How did the JOHN CONSTANTINE get himself in this situation?

By teasing you purposefully, by being a total complete brat to you. He always knew how to rile you up, knowing how to be a complete tease to you, getting you aroused and all excited. Like whispering such foul and dirty things about what he wants you to do him into your ear, teasingly palm your crotch under the table, and grinding his ass whenever people weren’t looking at the both of you. All while JOHN had a cocky grin playing on his lips as he smoked a cigarette, knowing fully well he’d get punish for it later. So when you practically dragged him away and head towards your car, starting it up and not even looking at him, he couldn’t but smirk to himself when he noticed the bulge in your pants. Fully proud of his antics when he finally got what he wanted.

And now here was JOHN CONSTANTINE, getting his ass pounded deeply while you had a cocky smirk on your lips. “Getting close, Johnny?” You teased, the nickname making him whimper and shiver in excitement. Your gaze trailed down to his abandoned cock leaking more pre-cum onto his stomach, he looked up to you half-lidded eyes. A needy moan escaping his lips, he opened his mouth and tried to form coherent words but all that came out his mouth was just incoherent sounds, mixing with his own moans and whimpers. He let out a sharp gasp, finally finding his voice. “Please…” JOHN begged, his voice breathless and his eyes pleading for mercy. “I need to cum… Please let me cum.” He managed to gasp out between moans.

That only made you chuckle lowly, your smirk widening more. Your pace getting more rougher and deeper, making JOHN moan out of pleasure as his walls hugged your cock tightly, you smirked mischievously. “You gonna be good for me now, Johnny?” You asked, looking down at him, nodding desperately. “I promise…” JOHN whimpered, his breath coming short gasps. “I’ll be good for you, I promise.” He promised with a needy whimper. “Good boy.” You praised gently and held his hips firmly and pounded into his deeper and rougher, making his moans grow louder and desperate and his cock leak more pre-cum.

A few more deep and sloppy thrust, your hips stuttered and you released your hot seed inside him, emptying yourself out when JOHN reached his own climax, his cock shooting out his own load onto his stomach. You were both panting heavily and moaning softly, you slowly pulled out of him and untied his wrists, making JOHN sigh from relief as he laid back and massaged his wrist while letting out a soft exhale when you grabbed a nearby towel and cleaned him off. Once you were done, you kissed his forehead before grabbing his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out and brought to your lips and grabbed his lighter and lit up the cigarette.

You took a slow drag, inhaling it deeply and then exhaled a steam of smoke into the air. You couldn’t help but smirk a bit as JOHN grinned at you, you offered your cigarette to him. He gladly took it while laughing breathlessly, he brought to his own lips and took a long drag and sit up from the bed and leaned in closer to you. “You’re not gonna behave like you promised, aren’t you?” You questioned with a small smirk, he snickered at you and blew out a slow, deliberate steam. JOHN chuckled lowly, a smug grin on his lips and then placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Where's the fun in behaving good for you, love?"

ʚ all works belong to eatingoutmen — do NOT steal, copy or repost anywhere without my permission from ME personally. ɞ

[nihtscada]

hello darlings, welcome back to another installment of "DC men I would commit several atrocities for" today's victim i mean- guest is:

I am a broken man

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

I'm curious as to how the JL would react to this scenario with assistant!reader:

____________

Some hoe (probably John Constantine): Hello gorgeous, ya' free after this?

Reader: I only date rich men and supermodel women *walks away sassily*

------------------

I imagine Diana would get a supermodel gig and reader would sudenly bump into Bruce Wayne at her usual café, but since she was just tryna get the hoe off her back before they are in for a surprise.

But I wanna know what you think would happen ❤️

1-Well, Reader didn't reject the JL in a blunt way like that bc they're their bosses, so they (the yanderes) might overthink that they have a chance, a chance that Constantine didn't have. Unless we're considering that John Constantine is on Justice League Dark, which maybe would make him one of our bosses too somehow, or maybe not, I don't have a deep enough knowledge about Justice League Dark.

If we desconsider this detail, the members of the League who aren't rich get humbled soooo quickly!!! They're devastated!!!

And Constantine? No one's ever letting him get close to you again.

2-Okay, first of all, if Diana becomes a model and approaches Reader, whitout Reader knowing she's Wonder Woman, or Bruce approaches, whitout Reader knowing he's Batman, I personally wouldn't reject them, even if Bruce Wayne's known for being a slut, you can just have something casual and enjoy his money, until he says "thank you, next!" Of course, we know their real intentions, so Reader would probably fall for that and now Reader's screwed.

... Unless, we take in consideration your little implication at the end. They would be even more devastated, they thought it was finally happenning!! Also, if Reader's being so good at hiding relationships, perhaps they aren't paying enough attention, they're missing opportunities, they have to fix that.

Bad news, the last bit of privacy you had is gone.

3-Now now now, if they tell you their identities like "Batsy: heard you like rich men *takes the cowl off* I am Bruce Wayne" and "WW: Darling, I heard what you said the other day. I could easily become a model as Wonder Woman, but if you prefer more privacy, I'm sure I can do it in my civillian identity. Agents are always trying to cast me"

Not much to say, they're getting dumped.🤷🏻