#constantine vampire fic

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - Chapter 3

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, brief mention date rape, domestic violence, not reader oh make me over, i'm all i wanna be, a walking study, in demonology - celebrity skin, hole

3. for the life of the flesh is in the blood 

It is both a relief and a disappointment, that you find your first experience of feeding on John Constantine was quite singular. No one since has inspired the same brand of heady lust when you break a vein. You think about him often, but you've done your best to give the demon hunter a wide berth. You're sure the last thing he wants is some needy little leech following him around, begging for his attention. 

You're sure he only saved you out of pity, anyway. 

It still hurts, so you try not to think about it anymore.

You have taken to hunting your meals amongst the evil doers of the city—of which there is no shortage, in the City of Angels. Your favorite method has become playing the party-going damsel in a bar not watching her drink. When the inevitable asshole drops a dose of something in it, a thing you have found does not affect you at all, you play drowsy and accompany him to the inevitable alley or sometimes even his car, where you pounce.

You can't say you feel too terrible about removing such trash from the population. You're not sure how God feels about your methods, but then you're not sure it matters any way. It helps pay your rent too. Holding down a job as a vampire kind of went out the window, so you help yourself to whatever cash you find in your criminals' wallets with little remorse. 

The fact of the matter is, as time goes on...you don't exactly hate being a vampire. It took some adjustment, sure, but you have power you'd only dreamed of as a human woman. You can go anywhere you want now without fear. You are fast. You are strong. You haven't figured out flying yet, but even that seems like it might be possible down the line. 

Maybe you could ask a fellow vampire about what is and isn't possible, but you have yet to actually meet one. 

You've sensed them around the streets of LA—but in the end you always chicken out and flee the scene. The vampires who made you were not exactly shining examples. You're not in a hurry to fall in with their ilk. You'd observed there was a definite pecking order in the coven that took you, and you're not exactly eager to become some asshole's toady again, a little cog in some evil plot or another. You’d played that game in corporate America in your old life, and you're not going back to it. 

One evening when you are heading out for the night you run into John in the hallway again. 

You are astounded when he is first to greet you. "Y/n."

"Hi, John." You can't help but feel the contrast to the way you used to play this game. You feel the loss of innocence, of your humanity, so keenly when you see him. You'd be a liar if you said the sight of his stupid, handsome face didn't still move you. The loss of what might have been...hurts, like a half-healed wound with a finger in it. You haven't been avoiding him, per se...but seeing him still ties you up in knots in a way you don't necessarily like. 

"You look...nice." You glance down at your dark low-cut dress and leather jacket. Bar bait chic. It's quite a shift, from the sweet floral sundresses and bright colors you once favored. 

"I was just popping out for a bite to eat."

"Yeah?" He is looking at you with an intensity that makes you squirm a little inside. A look that a vampire does not like, on the receiving end from a demon hunter. "How's that...going for you?" 

"Fine."

He looks around the hallway for potential eavesdroppers. You already know it's vacant. Your hearing was excellent on the night you were Born to Darkness, and it's only improved from there. 

"Fine?"

You cross your arms with a look of what the fuck else do you expect me to say out here?

Constantine makes an annoyed sound that's almost a growl. 

You shouldn't find it as endearing as you still do. 

“Come talk to me a minute?” he invites, nodding towards his apartment. 

Remembering all the crosses and weapons he has stashed in there, you're not too keen to go, in case he's decided letting you live your undead life was an oversight. 

You wrinkle your nose like you’ve smelled something bad. "You can come talk to me in here," you counter, nodding towards your own space. 

He smirks at you, as though he knows very well the cause for your caution. “Sure,” he agrees, cocky as ever. John Constantine isn’t afraid to walk unarmed into the lair of a baby vamp like you.

You unlock your door again, ushering him in with a wave. As he steps inside you are struck again by how big he is in your tiny apartment. A wave of nostalgia hits you, for a night when you'd still been human, and he'd made you feel like you were the most desirable woman in the world.

Suddenly, your throat is tight.

Wow. Who knew you could still feel these things as a creature of the night? You’ve been so focused on your day to day, or night to night, as it were. You never really allowed yourself to process everything that had happened. You were too busy figuring out how the fuck to survive.

"Do you...want something to drink?" you ask, looking in your pantry. “Or perhaps can I interest you in some whole kernel corn?” Your perishable options have long gone by the wayside, but you still have alcohol, canned goods, and dry cereal. All together, not the most appetizing combination.

A snort of laughter escapes him at your attempt at humor, and he seats himself in one of your surviving kitchen chairs like he owns the place. "Sure. To the drink. Hold the vegetables."

You produce a bottle of Scotch that you may have bought with him in mind after your little tryst, and pour him a couple fingers.

"What about you?" he asks with a glitter of something in those obsidian dark eyes. Even with all your vampire senses, this man is still hard to read as a brick wall.  

You cant your head to look at him, curious what he’s about. That is when you realize... you smell desire. You hear the spike of his heartbeat, see the dilation of his pupils almost lost in the black of his irises. 

His only outward tell is the corner of his mouth curled up, but blood never lies.

You yourself would be a liar if you said you hadn't thought about the way he'd tasted that first night with a sharp longing. 

The sound of his pulse hammering in your ears makes you bold enough to ask, "Why, are you offering, John?"

He lifts one eyebrow nonchalantly, though the sound of his racing heart is sweet sweet music to your ears. 

"Maybe."

Cautious as a cat, you dare approach, a finger sliding along the surface of the table as you regard him curiously. Cool as ever, he leans back in his chair, man-spreading as he looks up at you. You stand between his legs, looking down at him with a new confidence, armed with the knowledge of his blood rushing double-time through his veins. 

He certainly hadn’t sought you out before this. Not once in the past few months has he even tried to check on you. At least, as far as you know.

He tilts his head up, returning your gaze. It’s impressive, really, how little he manages to show on the outside, while you can sense the rising roil of something brewing within him. Lust, you tell yourself. Anything more…would be wishful thinking, on your part.

You really should know better by now, but you still can’t help but carry a torch for this man, stupid little vampire that you are.

“A little warning: I’ve heard some hot shot High Table vampire hunter is in town from New York. You should be careful where you go to hunt.”

Your own heart thumps in your chest. Just the once. You don’t have a regular heartbeat anymore, unless you’ve just fed on someone.

“You worried about me, John?”

“As far as I've heard, you're keeping your nose clean, but I thought you should know."

So he has been keeping track of you. 

"I’m not exactly feasting on the blood of newborn babes."

He winces a little at that, as though you have invoked some long-buried memory. You suppose you cannot fathom the horrors this man has seen in his time battling the Darkness.

"Who are you feasting on?"

"Mostly assholes who deserve a lot worse than what I give them."

It's his turn to tilt his head as he looks up at you, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s. "What does that mean?"

"Do you really want to know?" you ask, propping a hand on your hip. What you really want to do is insinuate yourself into this man’s lap, but some sense of self-preservation holds you back.

"It's why I asked."

"Ok.” You start to tick your recent exploits off on your fingers. “I saved a girl from getting mugged and maybe worse the other day while she was walking to her car at night. Before that, I snacked on a date raper who tried to drug my drink. Before that, I broke up a domestic dispute and made the piece of shit husband disappear. Before that—"

Both of John’s dark eyebrows shoot up.

"Ok, Miss Vigilante Vamp. I get the picture." There's a gleam in his eye, and you almost think he might be proud of you? Or at least, amused. You should not care, of course, but his approval definitely tickles some long-buried little pleasure center in your brain. You always were a teacher’s pet type, for better or for worse. "You should be careful though. You could get hurt."

"By who?” you counter, knowing you sound cocky as hell. “This vampire hunter?” 

“I think you missed the part where I said he’s  High Table?”

“What does that mean?”

He gives you a look like you should know that, but you don’t know how or why you would.

“It means you don’t want to mess with him. I heard he’s here for the Master, but you don’t want to attract his attention.”

“The Master?” You are so confused.

Seemingly exasperated, he lifts his eyebrow at you. It kind of starts to piss you off. “I don’t know any other vampires, John.” And he certainly made no efforts before now to fill you in. 

“Look, just be careful, ok? Just because you’re a vampire now doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

It’s almost touching, that he’s worried about you. It would be, at least, if it didn’t sound so fucking much like mansplaining.

“A girl’s gotta eat, John.”

“Well…you coulda asked.”

You narrow your eyes down at him, knowing they flash a molten orange with your annoyance. The thing he said when you’d first woken as a vampire echoes in your mind, the way it has every night since. I guess they thought you meant something to me.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I told you I’d help you. You kinda disappeared on me after that.”  

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Thinking some distance might be a good thing after all, you turn to go, just to have his long fingers wrap around your wrist. “Wait—” 

You try to pull away, and he doesn’t let go, so you jerk him out of the chair like he’s a ragdoll. You find yourself in a pile on the floor with John Constantine’s solid weight half on top of you—not a horrible arrangement, truth be told, but the context is less than ideal.

“Jesus. Easy there, tiger.”

The fact that this man has the gall to needle you, after everything that has happened, suddenly fills you with white-hot heat, like gasoline on a fire. You’ve been bottling it up for months, just shoving it down so you can do what you have to do, but now everything bubbles to the surface with a vengeance. Suddenly, you are sitting on him, a clawed finger pointing into his chest. “You asshole. I got turned into this thing that I am because of you, because I was stupid enough to care about you, but I was supposed to be the one knocking on your door for a handout? I bet you would have just loved it, if I came crawling back to you for another taste.”

It’s just so fucking unfair.

That you can still feel so much for this man, and maybe he desires you back, but outside of that there’s just nothing. You’re sure of it. It shouldn’t matter to you anymore but it does and it hurts. Jesus fucking Christ it hurts.

You feel too much.

You’ve always felt too much, as a human, and now as a monster, apparently, and it sucks. You feel the sting of tears filling your eyes, and you know they look like blood to him and it’s just so gross you could scream.

“Tell me how to do it,” you hiss through the aching lump in your throat. “How do I feel nothing like you, because I’m so tired of this.”

Constantine’s frown is utterly thunderous below you. You guess it’s a real buzz kill, when people—monsters—emote all over you. He says nothing, just glares back up at you, breathing heavily through his nose.

Only later will it occur to you what a miracle it was, that he didn’t go for his cross, or a holy gun, or gold knuckles, with a spitting mad vampire perched on top of him. He really does have nerves of steel.

Only when you notice a small dot of blood blooming on his white shirt beneath your razor-sharp fingernail you let up, clenching your clawed fists at your sides.  

“Sorry,” you half-snarl, closing your eyes against everything. But now the scent of blood is in the air. His blood, and it is just as intoxicating as you remember from before, and a powerful, prickling heat rises within you, spreading out to him too. Every hair on his body lifts, and you wonder if he reacts to you this way because of his psychic abilities, or if…it’s just the chemistry between you. Some of the tension in his frame softens—other parts of him decidedly do not.

“My life is dangerous, y/n. What happened to you is exactly the reason I don’t have many friends.”

Or lovers, hangs unsaid in the air.

“Yeah. Well…too late for me, I guess. What’s the worst that can happen now?”

“You never want to challenge God like that. Believe me.”

“Why do you sound so certain it’s God who makes bad things happen?”

He snorts derisively. “Because as far as I can tell, he’s an even bigger asshole than I am.”

You look away, feeling guilty all of a sudden. “I’m sorry I called you that.”

Surprisingly he turns your gaze back to him with a finger on your chin. “It’s ok. The shoe fits.”

You get the sense that this is his way of apologizing…maybe, and the last of your anger leaks from your body. You nod, and close your eyes, and one of those bloody tears escapes to make its way down the curve of your cheek. No one is more surprised than you, when he reaches up to wipe it away.

“For what it’s worth…you’re not bad, for a vampire.” Coming from him, that’s quite the declaration. Again, you’re not proud of what it does to you, to receive praise from this man who usually keeps so aloof. 

You dare to open your eyes, your vision sharpening upon him, your vampire senses keen to detect a lie. You can tell he’s a little excited beneath his cool façade, but it doesn’t feel like he’s lying to you. That has a certain smell. A pheromone maybe, or a stink of fear of getting caught.

“Yeah?”

He sits up, so that you are cradled on his lap, nearly nose to nose, and you can’t help but be painfully aware, groin to groin. He’s so tall, and broad, and you still want to climb him like a tree. Another wave of that titillating energy rises in you, a mix of hunger and desire. You know he feels it too. You can tell by the way his eyelids half-close, his grip tightening momentarily on your thighs.

It’s not a horrible development, truth be told.  

“Yeah.”

“Even though I scare you?”

“Let’s go with…yes and no, on that,” he answers with a quirk of the side of his mouth.

“Hmm. You know, it’s hard to lie to a vampire?”

“Can’t say I usually spend much time conversing.” He cups your cheek, his fingers sliding into your hair—and you’re not sure you really want to converse anymore either. “I was giving you space—guess I should have kicked down your door.”

“You could have just…knocked,” you tell him with narrowed eyes, smiling in spite of yourself. You feel your teeth pressing into your lips—and you shut your mouth again.

“I know they’re there,” he teases you, surprisingly gently, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. “You don’t have to hide them.”

You close your eyes again, sighing. “I just…feel like such a monster.” 

Again his long fingers slide through your hair, like he’s petting you. It does things to you, to be stroked like a favored pet by this man. 

“You’re not a monster.” You clench your fists, so moved to hear him say it. And as you do, you can feel your claws biting into your palms. You lift your hands so he can see them. 

“No?”

He examines them, seemingly nonplussed. You guess he’s seen bigger and sharper. “No,” he asserts again. 

Your eyes flick down to the little bloodstain upon his nice white shirt. “I made you bleed.” 

“I probably deserved it,” he excuses with that smirk that pulls at your undead heartstrings. “Keep going like you are, you might get to Heaven before I do.”

“John…” you sigh, a wave of emotion sweeping through you that you can’t even name. “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

“Me? Nice?” Again, that barely discernible purse of lips, the suppression of a smile that would give him away. 

You find yourself staring at his mouth, before forcing your eyes up to meet his once again. You don’t do it on purpose, but the power of your hunger fills you like a cup, spilling over into him where your bodies touch. This time he gives in to that tingling wave of treacherous pleasure, closing his eyes and letting it wash over him without a fight. Longing throbs in your loins, and hunger in your belly. They really feel one and the same, in this man’s arms.

“You’re…getting good at that,” he tells you, his voice low and gravely with desire.

“It just…happens, with you,” you’re almost reluctant to admit.

He smirks, the way you just knew he would, the smug bastard. “Just with me, huh?”

You roll your eyes to the ceiling. This man.

His low chuckle should not inspire such a thrill inside you. His strong arm looped around your waist, pulling you harder against him, does not help either.

Your claws have retracted again, and you run your hand up the flat of his chest, fingering the starched collar of his white shirt. You are gratified to receive a shuddering sigh as your touch moves higher, caressing the jumping pulse in his neck longingly.

“Bar’s open,” he offers.

It’s your turn to sigh, and you go about undoing his tie, carefully loosening the knot, resisting the urge to tear it off of him. You’ve learned a little bit more about how to control your hunger now, but it’s all still so new. You wonder if you can use it to make this, whatever this is, last longer than the frenzied chaotic rush it was last time.

“Did you miss me, John?”

He doesn’t answer you, just makes a sound low in his throat and leans in to kiss you instead, and with his soft mouth on yours you are content to let it go for now.

Maybe if you read between the lines, it’s answer enough anyway.

It’s a little funny, that the two of you never really make it up off the floor. Wrapped up in the wonderful, heady power that is your hunger, amplified by mutual desire, you are content to shed clothing and trade appreciative caresses there on the rug. You had not forgotten how beautiful this man is, the feeling of his warm muscled flesh beneath your questing hands, and yet still it somehow surprises you.

He makes a face as he pushes your jacket from your shoulders, tossing it unnecessarily far across the room. “You don’t like it?” you tease breathily.

“It doesn’t suit you,” he admits, and goes for your dress next, pulling it up over your head. He stares down at the skin he bared, your lacy push-up bra. He’s kinder to the dress, but maybe just because he’s distracted, ducking to kiss the soft mounds of your breasts.

The glitter in his dark eyes as you extricate his belt from between your pressed bodies should be illegal, it’s so intoxicating. With a hand on his bare chest you press him down to lay back on the floor. He does not fight you, looking up at you with that signature smirk that makes your blood boil. Rolling your hips against his straining erection between you wipes some of the smug off his expression, replacing it with a raw need.

With careful fingers you unbutton his pants and extricate him into the palm of your hand, his velvety length almost searing hot against your cool grip. Your undead body hungers for the warmth of his life, absorbing it anywhere you touch. His nerve falters a little, as he watches your fanged mouth descend towards his swollen manhood, his eyes widening just a bit. It’s your turn to smirk up at him.

“I haven’t tried this yet, John. I’d be very still, if I were you.”

He doesn’t tell you to stop, and the sound he makes as you descend on his hard cock with your silken tongue isn’t pain. In fact, it’s extremely gratifying. You are careful, and as you work him up and down with your mouth he trembles with the effort not to move beneath you. When his fingers tangle in your hair you moan against him, winning a twitch of his hips that would have made you smile, had your mouth not been so very full. You withdraw with a pop that makes him growl with pleasure beneath you. “Fuck, y/n...”

He tries to sit up to reach for you, but you pin him down again with one hand, tilting your head with a playful look down on him. The heated frustration in his narrowed eyes is rather priceless. Maybe you’ll pay for this later, but the predator’s instinct in you is enjoying this immensely.

Too impatient to take them off, you pull your panties to the side to sink onto his beautiful cock, his thick head pushing past your entrance rocking your head back with ecstasy. “John…” you sigh, moving your hips up and down, until he’s seated fully inside you, bottoming out against your cervix. It doesn’t hurt, like it once did. You are learning all kinds of things about your new vampire body.

“I would have returned the favor,” he rasps, his head rocking back hard into the floor as you carefully squeeze him inside you, conscientious of your new strength. It wins you a gratifying moan, his eyes drifting closed.

“Next time,” you answer cheekily. If he can’t admit that he missed you—then you’ll be damned if you say it first, even if it is the truth.  

You look down, fascinated by the sight of his big hands on your thighs, his strong fingers pressing into your flesh. The whip-cord muscles of his forearms draws your eyes, to the curve of his bicep and the sweep of his collarbone—your attention fixes on the jumping vein in his neck like a laser. 

You lean down to lick his pulse and he tilts his head, baring his neck for you. You know that part of it is him riding the power that crackles between you, but another part–it feels like a gesture of trust, and somehow that warms your undead heart. The razor-sharp tips of your fangs brush his pulse, winning you a sigh. “Do it,” he moans, surging inside you, lifting you with his hips. It’s all too much to resist, and with trembling caution you slide your fingers into his hair, and press your teeth into his pale skin.

The resulting rush of blood filing your mouth is intoxicating–by the sounds he makes, not just for you. The rush of pleasure across your tongue and in your loins is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, an exhilarating bliss that spreads warmth through every nerve across your skin.  

You’ve always thought of lovemaking as some kind of small miracle–a gift the laughing gods bestowed upon you poor mortals to make all the drudgery of life somehow bearable. A scientist might argue it is a trick of hormones and synapses played by nature, to encourage the endless march of procreation. You wonder what Constantine thinks about it, this man who so clearly believes in The Almighty God, but also seems to find the deity an insufferable asshat. 

A less than charitable philosopher might argue this beguiling euphoria is just the lure a vampire could use to secure a good meal–but like this, with this man–you cannot help but think it’s more. Whatever ancient magic that animates you, and maybe his own powers mingled too, it grants you this boon in what could be a life of infinite nights of lonely darkness, this undeniable connection with a special human whose lifeblood nourishes you. 

You are not even sure what to call the pinnacle of this pure shining ecstasy you share–orgasm seems too paltry a word. Pleasure, pale by comparison. John insists you are no creature of God, but you cannot help but reason that what you share together is nothing less than divine rapture.

The challenge is when to stop. 

For as long as you pull draught after draught of his delectable hot blood into your mouth, this bliss goes on and on. 

He starts to fade beneath you, his heart slowing. You could drain him dry like this, and maybe not care until the moment you realized he was dead in your arms. This is the thing that throws you back from your latchpoint upon his neck, woozy from the delight of it all, yet scared that you may have hurt him. 

He too seems drunk beneath you, looking up at you through hooded dark eyes. “Why’d you stop?” he asks dreamily. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen this man. You touch his cheek; you are not sure if the coolness of his skin is due to blood loss, or the fact that you feel almost feverish at the moment, riding the high of the blood magic you invoked with him. 

If you hurt him you are walking out into the sunlight, you promise yourself with panic. 

“I’m afraid I took too much,” you admit, wide-eyed. 

Of course, he scoffs at the very idea. “I’m fine. C’mere.” He pulls you down on top of him, to snuggle, you presume. The wonders of this evening do not cease. It is lovely, to curl up in his arms, your thighs slick with the excess of his seed. But as he dozes, you are wide awake, the world come even more alive around you. A potent meal, the magician makes. You feel as though you can sense the whole city in your head. The comings and goings of all the people, and all the creatures, and the planes and trains and cars. 

What a marvel, is this modern age. 

You sift through them all as an amusement, catching snatches of thoughts and bits of conversations, eavesdropping on their lives. 

You realize that you have never been able to read John Constantine’s thoughts. You wonder if it’s because of his psychic abilities–or just a result of his abnormally hard head. 

As you make this little psychic tour around the inhabitants of L.A.--something senses you back. You feel it push against your mind, holding you at arm’s length. Something old, and seething. For a flash you see it–him. Definitely a him, tall and forbiddingly handsome, bearded and raven haired. His eyes flash molten orange–right before he strikes you. It is only a psychic blow but you feel it like a fist between the eyes. It makes your physical body jolt in John’s arms. This stirs him from his bliss-induced coma; the demon-hunting magician blinks and looks up at you, taking in your wild-eyed look, your fangs bared to some invisible threat. 

“You ok, baby vamp?” he grumbles, not too happy to be disturbed from his deep rest.

“Fine,” you answer, unsure if it’s true. “I think I need to get you something to eat.”

“Not hungry,” he grouses, closing his eyes again. “Tired.” 

“Would you like to lay down in the actual bed?” you ask, thinking he will regret this hard pallet tomorrow. 

“No.” Now you can tell he’s just being stubborn. You would like to stay and cuddle with him, but you really are afraid he needs to eat and drink. Fluids and iron rich foods, is what you googled for after-care of donating blood, a while ago.

Funny, until now, you hadn’t had occasion to use the knowledge. 

You dress and pop out to the 24 hour market, obtaining red meat and dark leafy vegetables. When you return John has reclaimed his boxers and stretched his long body out on the couch, his big feet hanging off the end. It’s ridiculously endearing, to see him so relaxed in your space like this. 

When you are nearly done preparing his stir fry dinner, he finally rises to a sitting position, scrubbing at his face with his hands. 

It’s silly, how much it pleases you, when he wraps his arms around you from behind at the stove, his chin resting on your head.  “A vampire who cooks. This is one for the record books.”

“It’s not like I’ve forgotten how,” you fire back over your shoulder, amused. “It just…doesn’t really smell like food to me anymore.” The bloody bits of raw steak had seemed more appetizing than the ingredients in their current form.  

“Hmm. Smells good to me.” You thought he’d come round to food. “This does too though,” he teases, kissing your neck with a playfulness that leaves you dumbfounded. When he nibbles you can’t help but squirm, laughing out loud. 

“John!”

He must still be power drunk from earlier. He’d barely touched his glass of Scotch.

You feel his body shake with mirth behind you, more than hear it out loud. Then he stills against you, resting his chin on you again while you stir the meat and vegetables, the rice steaming on the back burner. You know it won’t last past tonight, but the scene is so damn near domestic it makes your heart ache. 

“What did I feel, earlier?” he asks. “Like, a gust of air in here. Did I dream it?”

You honestly aren’t sure how to answer that. It’s not that he wouldn’t believe you. You just…don’t have the language–and you don’t want to worry him. 

“I don’t know, I was half asleep,” you say, so smooth in your white lie, craning your neck back for a kiss. “Sit down. It’s your turn to eat.” 

As you bring John his plate of food your attention is drawn to the window, by what you’re not really sure. Nothing is there, you see nothing, you feel nothing present–and yet…you cannot shake the sensation that you are being watched. 

Almost as though to assure yourself, you reach out to brush an unruly dark lock of John’s hair behind his ear. He looks up at you with a lazy, almost boyish smile. It squeezes your heart. “Thanks.” You’re pretty sure he means for the food, but maybe…the rest too. 

You smile, and you know it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He seems to sense something is up, but maybe he doesn’t want to wreck the moment yet either. He catches your hand, kissing the back of it, before picking up his fork and tucking in. 

Again, you look to the window, and the mean city beyond it, and wonder how many malevolent things out there could mean the two of you ill.  You don’t think you have too many enemies of your own yet–but in John’s case? 

The number could be infinite.

[hannibalhasthetardisat221b]

Oh my gosh. Okay. This is what I stumbled upon when I was searching through the Internet.. John Constantine and Ruper Giles meeting eachother. This is such an interesting idea for a crossover. I NEED TO SEE THIS HAPPEN!

Y'all have no idea how much I thought about this interaction. How many eye rolls and sarcastic/snarky comments we would get from Giles as well as how many times Giles would take off his glasses in frustration (i bet it would be around 10 times in one day), and how many times Constantine would be sassy towards Giles and try to flirt with him (at least in the beginning of their meeting), and then it will all go down to them bickering about the use of dark magic, demons etc. British sassiness would intensify, sarcastic comments flying left and right, at the end Sunnydale will be destroyed by British snark 😆 (someone said that they might also hookup, so.. um... 👀) lol

But in all seriousness, I think Giles wouldn't trust Constantine in the beginning, maybe even would go as far as hating him, but perhaps with time he will change his mind about Constantine. Plus it also all depends on when they meet, like Giles from season 1 to 4 would definitely be sus about Constantine and probably will have disdain towards him (perhaps because Constantine would remind him of his younger self, of his Ripper days..). For Constantine it would be similar, he would find that Giles too proper, too by the books guy. So, yeah, they will definitely hate eachother. (I bet Constantine would still continue to "flirt" with Giles from time to time, though, at that point he would probably do it to just to annoy him..) Honestly, their arguments will be a pure delight to read about, but also seeing them teaming up would be so much fun. I can already imagine Constantine's reaction upon learning about Giles' past. My head is flooded with so many different ideas but I'm not a writer, or at least not a very good one :(

Someone please write this 🙏🏻 and if there is such a fic exists then can someone please send me the link to it.

Thank you for reading my small rant on this and have a good day 😅

p.s. I apologise for my english, it's not my first language. (sometimes being multilingual is a nightmare when I try to express my thoughts 😅)

[rxiverr]

constantine after seeing two men with suspiciously pointy teeth: these seem like great people to hook up with! i see no consequence in my future!

[adventures-in-mangaland]

Even More Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs

I've discovered some amazing new authors since my last post! And writers I've already recced have published more great stories So here's another fic rec post!

Who? You mean your teammate in the Codependency World Cup? (series) by RoseGanymede95

I couldn't chose! They're all great! Basically a series of Edwin and Charles through the years and on cases pre-show. It scratches that adjusting-to-being-dead/newly-escaped-from-Hell itch and the authors writing is magic! It also fleshes out a really interesting conflict in the payneland dynamic: Charles' drive to protect Edwin at all costs clashing with Edwin's guilt over putting Charles at risk/depriving him of some ideal afterlife. Parts one and four also introduces Constantine/Johanna and part three revolves around an absolutely gut-wrenching temporary break-up. 😢

In Hell I'll Be in Good Company by laylabinx

Charles rescuing Edwin from Hell does not go smoothly. Just. Bucketloads of Trauma for both of them. And for you, the Reader. It's so good though!

your fangs in my neck (like an anchor like a vow) by shadowquill17

Vampire Edwin AU! It's great because it combines the (homo)eroticism of vampiric feeding with Charles' whole bisexual crisis and post-confession Edwin worrying about making Charles uncomfortable. Also Charles is some kind of demigod/immortal agent of divine vengeance which is an AMAZING detail and I desperately want to see some fanart!

The same author's ongoing story to the pain is also excellent though very angsty (cw temporary character death). I'm anxiously waiting for an update!

To Memory Now I Can't Recall by engineering_madonna

This is an amnesia fic and the most recent in an established relationship series. The first two installments feature the boys getting together and navigating their new relationship, so pulling the old 'character A forgets their whole romantic relationship with character B' trope hits especially hard! The whole series is lovely, but I am WEAK for temporary-amnesia.

Lemonade & Sunrises by paraph

A Quiet Place AU! The boys are alive, but they're the only ones. Very bleak but in a way that makes me want more!

1999 au (series) by websters_lieb

The boys figure their shit out in the 90s. Also, Edwin gets to read Maurice and queer theory. The cases in both stories are compelling and the author's writing and characterisation of the boys are excellent.

I also recommend offer me that deathless death which is about the boys' first meeting, Charles' funeral and the birth of the agency.

if I could reach the stars (i'd give them all to you) by ObsessedWithFandom

Charles falls first, Edwin falls harder. This is an AU of the author's excellent Charles' bisexual awakening fic, which I also highly recommend. It has lovely OCs and Charles having a sweet little friendship/romance with the boy he saved in canon, which actually makes his death a whole lot more tragic.

Came up from that lake of fire by ghostinthelibrary

Charles and Edwin get caught escaping Hell and promise to capture a demon-eating ghost called The Deathless in exchange for their freedom. With the added twist that they get to be alive again! An exciting case, high stakes and all the alive-again culture shocks and emotional/interpersonal drama you could ask for.

gig officially gigged by laiqualaurelote

Band AU! It shouldn't work but it does. Which might also be an in-universe review for the band tbh. Idk, I loved Edwin's massive obscure musical instruments and Charles being his unpaid roadie. Peak Found Family Feels.

No Rehearsing It, No Reversing It by DontOffendTheBees

Charles overthinks being in love with Edwin, my beloved. This time with increasingly flimsy pretexts for why they NEED to kiss. Just perfect Idiots in Love, no notes.

The Case of David Bowie's Made up Sexuality by williamvapespeare

The agency attempt to help a living lesbian couple deal with a haunting. Meanwhile, Charles struggles through his bisexual (re)awakening. With bonus past (living) Charles no-homo-ing himself to the nth degree. Pure of heart, dumb of ass, indeed.

The lamps are going out by CasiHuman

Vengeful Spirit Edwin AU! Has some interesting ghost lore and Edwin being convinced his touch is painful to Charles (love that trope!). Also features some of the author's adorable/hilarious fanart at the end.

just frame the halves (and call them brothers) by Anonymous

Crystal stumbles upon the ghost of Edwin's older brother, who hires the agency to free him and his platoon from the battleground they've been haunting. Case fic with interesting details about Edwin's family life and an awkward as hell family reunion.

the case of the very long ferry ride by obsceme

Sex pollen but with skin hunger, so it's more touching turned making out and hand jobs in a bathroom. Interesting use of ghost lore and it's cute and well written.

Form 239, Schedule L by sanctuary_for_all

Charles Rowland's Love Language is Acts of Service: The Fic. So many feels! Plus Afterlife worldbuilding and some quality Night Nurse rep.

don't go sharing your devotions (lay all your love on me) by Hephanna

The boys and Crystal accidentally summon an alternate universe version of Charles. He's very... handsy. Charles being jealous of himself is objectively hilarious and it looks like it could be heading towards throuple territory. Possibly even a foursome, if alternate Edwin figures out parallel universe travel. Which he probably will.

Still a Better Lovestory by Vamillepudding

Hanahaki disease! Charles is on the case but Edwin's being weirdly uncooperative about his own curse. I loved the worldbuilding (there's a whole sisterhood of washerwomen!) and the angst, plus the writing is excellent.

The author has also written Eternal Sunshine, in which Edwin is cursed to feel no love of any kind. It makes for an interesting character study, contrasting cursed Edwin, his public reserve and his actual personality.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

The Long Halloween

Final Fic List - DC Event Week

sunday - mothman damain wayne x reader

monday - gargoyle bruce wayne x reader

tuesday - frankenstein's monster conner kent x reader

wednesday - john constantine x grim reaper reader

thursday - mermaid dick grayson x witch reader

friday - poltergeist jason todd x reader

saturday - vampire tim drake x werewolf reader

annnd a reminder that on the week of Halloween I am going to put out these seven long fics. thank you to everyone who voted !! I so so so hope you're excited and enjoy the fics when they come out <3

[procrastinatingacademic]

Updated Masterlist

Started: 28 February 2025

Last updated: 30 May 2025

Total works: 36

Angst💥; Fluff💫; Suggestive themes🔥

I don't write smut. All fics are 'x Reader' unless stated otherwise. I strive to mostly write gender-neutral Reader-characters, and I don't use Y/N.

DC Comics

The Scarecrow/Dr. Jonathan Crane

Ongoing series - There's nothing to fear when I'm with you (Jonathan x female OC)

Fighting boredom

John Contantine

Ongoing series - Restless: A Constantine/Good Omens Crossover (currently on hiatus)💫🔥(No Reader-character)

The Riddler/Edward Nygma

Starlight is for dancing🔥

Black Mask/Roman Sionis

We were together, I forget the rest💫🔥

The Sandman

The Corinthian

(The lesser of) two evils💥💫🔥

Life is the flower for which love is the honey💥💫

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless

To see a world in a grain of sand (Blind!Reader)

Grishaverse

Kaz Brekker

Stay💫

It is lightning that does the work💥💫

Nikolai Lantsov/Sturmhond

A mother is the truest friend we have💥💫 (Mother Figure!Reader)

Two ships in the night💫

The Hunger Games

Haymitch Abernathy

The Survivors 💥(Haymitch x female OC; slow burn) (Ongoing series)

Criminal Minds

Dr. Spencer Reid

Experience💫

Your song💫

Kidnapped for the vibes💥💫 (UnSub!Spencer Reid)

Interview with the Vampire (2022)

Armand

Would you like to be?💥💫

House of the Dragon

Larys Strong

Darkness shared by two💫🔥

Marvel

Dr. Stephen Strange

A little less awkward💫

Daredevil/Matt Murdock

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter 💫🔥

Greek Mythology

Apollo

Apollo - Autism💥💫 (No Reader-character)

Hermes

Hermes - Kleptomania💥 (No Reader-character)

Hades

Hades - Separation Anxiety Disorder💥💫 (No Reader-character)

Hypnos

WIP: Hypnos - Narcolepsy

Potterverse

Newt Scamander

Hold me close💥💫

Sirius & Regulus Black

The best way to make children good is to make them happy💥💫 (Parental Figure!Reader)

Supernatural

Lucifer

Wings of snow💫

Eyes of fire🔥

Gabriel

WIP: Run away with me, mon amour

Arcane

Viktor

Memorise you💥💫🔥 (Blind!Reader)

The Witcher (Netflix)

Jaskier

Sing a song only you can hear💫

Untitled WIP

Critical Role/The Legend of Vox Machina

Percival "Percy" de Rolo

While the music lasts💫

Prodigal Son

Malcolm Bright

Shut your eyes and see💥💫 (Blind!Reader)

Sherlock (BBC)

James "Jim" Moriarty

The world is boring for boring people💥💫🔥

Good Omens

Ongoing series - Restless: A Constantine/Good Omens Crossover (currently on hiatus)💫🔥(No Reader-character)

Various

The Three Musketeers (Anderson, 2011)

Aramis/René d'Herblay

Be kind, aim for my heart💫

Le Comte de Monte-Cristo (de La Patellière & Delaporte, 2024)

Edmond Dantès/The Count of Monte Cristo

Count your blessings

Amsterdam

LA by Night/Vampire the Masquerade

Robert Garrick

All your tomorrows start here💫

[elffhuntr456]

The DC x DP Justice League problem

I've noticed a pattern when it comes to DC x DP crossovers where when the Justice League has to deal with anything involving the Danny phantom world They are out matched and outclassed in every way.

I know most people in the DC x DP fandoms haven't ever picked up a comic, or watched DC media that wasn't animated (or sometimes haven't even watched Danny phantom) in their lives but at some point it gets ridiculous how incompetent the regular JL is made when it comes to combating the supernatural. 

And as an all-things DC enjoyer this hurts me.

Like Superman, multiple times in the past has gone up against ghosts, ghosts like beings, and ghostly Abilities using his powers like for example:

Superman was able to freeze Ghost Soldier, who could turn intangible, using his freeze breath.

He could Freeze Zatanna's astral form

He was able to decimate the Phantom Stranger's physical AND metaphysical form.

He used his freeze breath to freeze the essence/spirit of H'el in time.

When the Fortress Of Solitude's security program projections were turned into ghosts, he could still blast them with his heat vision.

He withstood being stabbed through his heart and soul with magic a sword.

He tanked silver banshees scream (which affects the spirit) head on.

His super vision can also look past someone's body and mind to examine their soul.

When it comes to Wonder Woman her shield, blade, braces, lasso, tiara, and entire body are all blessed with the power of the literal gods there is no way she wouldn't be able to go straight up to a ghost and punch it intangibility or not.

Her lasso can even drag a soul out of someone's body if needed.

Same goes for Captain Marvel and his lightning.

All of Hawkman and Hawkwoman's armor (the little of it they actually wear) and weapons are made out of nth metal, which is a metal in DC that affects supernatural beings like ghost, zombies, vampire, Spirits, specters, shade's, werewolves, "the Lazarus demon" and reanimated corpses, just like any other creature no matter how strong.

Batman and Green Arrow have an entire arsenal made out of the stuff too, just in case.

In injustice both Green Arrow and Green Lantern have whole suits made out of it.

And even if you don't count injustice, (which is understandable) Green lanterns can easily have their rings copy the atomic structure of any thing they need (like kryptonite for example) and since their suits are made from their rings, they would still have no problem making a suit (or really any weapon they need out of the stuff).

Batman has a pair of gloves that John Constantine gave him specifically used to fight ghosts.

And it's been stated that the Batcave has supernatural barriers and wards to stop ghosts and stuff from getting in. (so no just casual walking into the bat cave).

And when it comes to the whole "ghost king summoning" thing I get it it's a fun concept to play around with, but the JL and JL Dark have so many other options other than to summon what they usually believe to be an interdimensional eldritch being into their world.

like the phantom zone projector something that was able to work on Mister Mxyzptlk a full-blown reality warper from the 5th dimension.

Or contacting the other supernatural experts that aren't just Constantine and Zatanna (which are usually the only contact for supernatural problems the JL has in most fic's for some reason).

Or batman just contacting the strongest supernatural being he knows, who without a doubt would come stop a major supernatural threat (as its usually depicted)

SPAWN. (The guys so op in supernatural power it's crazy)

There are so many other options than summoning the ghost king.

And in a lot of fic's the supernatural members (or just any member that would could help in a given situation) are off world (for some reason?) so they can't be contacted.

That just doesn't make much sense when the JL has the technology of so many advanced civilizations and individual people (witch some are said to be among the smartest in the universe) at their disposal, they should be able to contact their people halfway across the universe.

All of this is to say that due to widespread ignorance of the world of Detective Comics and the capabilities of its hero's (and sometimes Danny Phantom) that most DC x DP situations, stories, and scenarios end up with the Justice League a collection of the earths greatest hero's, being completely and utterly helpless and incompetent against any problems coming from the world of Danny Phantom (or just the supernatural in general).

This is to no one's fault of course, believe me no one knows all of DC lore and all it's details in its entirety.

But being someone that knows a lot about DC and seeing how useless a lot of DC characters are portrayed in most situations when you know they really wouldn't be having that much of an issue handling it, creates a weird disconnect between the two fandoms where it always seems more like the Danny Phantom fandom with DC characters stapled to it.

[femmesourdough]

You know, in a similar vein to what I said earlier, I was thinking...the Sandman fandom which I used to be more active in before I started to move on to vampires and also the Everything Horrible About the Author came out...it ironically makes an excellent case study for dismantling a lot of the really obvious excuses people come up with to argue that fandom sexism or racism totally isn't a thing anymore.

Because yeah the main character was male but this series? Chock full of women. Older women, younger women, women of all races who played various roles. You had your PICK and they weren't all written with the same level of depth but there were several characters with extremely interesting stories either present or implied in the past. Just in one family alone there was enough fuel for a thousand tragic fics and meta involving two of the lady characters who played a huge role in the plot (and Miranda may not have been onscreen long but cmon. The POTENTIAL.) And a lot of them weren't automatically attracted to the main guy, so they very much weren't reduced to love interests! It's everything fans claim they want...

And would you guess where all the attention both in terms of shipping but just *Any attention and time at all* for 98 percent of the (show) fandom went???

Oh you fucking know. Not to the male main character even, that's to be expected, but to a guy* who appeared in half of ONE episode, utterly disconnected from anything about the rest of the show minus his friendship with our main Sadboy.

Like it's actually kind of one another level, how hard all the women who played huge roles in this story were ignored, not just in fucking *shipping* because that doesn't rule everything, but in metas, in any posts at all. The entire fandom became basically the Dream-and-Hob, especially Hob fandom, more than anything else. And, it got to a level that meant it was literally impossible to avoid. Even if you didn't go into the main tags (which were all completely overrun EVEN OTHER CHARACTERS' TAGS. LIKE LUCIENNE AND ROSE which. Felt particularly galling) if you followed any fellow Sandman fans eventually your dash would be full of it. Unless you followed only the like. 10/15 people it seemed who actively didn't like this ship or Hob which. Is what I ended up doing. I had to blacklist so many tags, never go into the main fandom tags, and only follow a few people before I wasn't getting bombarded by nonstop posting about a character who appeared again, for maybe 20-25 minutes tops in ONE episode of a multi-episode series.

Meanwhile, the women who were in the rest, who made up the MAIN PLOT of the show? Most of the fandom had them as side characters for this pair or to be adopted by this pair. If they were lucky. They'd get passing mentions sometimes. Star in a few meme text posts. That was all.

You honestly can't make any of the usual excuses "female characters/nonwhite characters are just more poorly written" here because even disregarding the fact that poor writing literally NEVER stops fans from fleshing out some dude's backstory...well, that's just transparently not true in this show. Rose, Unity, Lucienne, Calliope??? Johanna Constantine Look me in the face and tell me all of them, every single one, was more poorly written than the male ones????

Nobody even pretended that this time, actually, as I recall. They just. Kind of carried on doing what they were doing.

*(OH and this guy literally participated in the slave trade in canon. No, I'm not letting that go. Most of the fandom did. They literally acted as if that never happened to the point I started to feel like I had imagined it. Like was that just in the comics and I'd projected that onto show!Hob and they'd taken that part out and I'd forgotten??? I had to go back and rewatch just to check that no, I wasn't imagining it, because there wasn't even discourse about that, there was NOTHING. Just everyone stepping over all the mainly *black women* in the show to love on him and make him their - I mean, Morpheus' dream boyfriend. Fandoms truly have not changed have they.)

[demon-at-peace]

DP+DC Ancient of heros

So the whole ancient of space/ghost king thing is something I will always adore, but really space kinda fizzled out for him once he got turned(ha sounds like a vampire). And there no way in hell he accepted being king. So I feel like what ever he’s the ancient of correlates with his Obsession, namely protection.

so obviously it would be a group of people, perhaps something like family/police, but I think it’s hero’s. Danny is the ancient of hero’s. They are his, those who protect are his to protect. All hero’s of course but child hero’s in particular, so years pass people die and he starts looking out for them.

When Bruce was younger, learning he’d find manuals, only the people who started under 20 though. Like The sandwich he’d give the first robin meeting him on the same rooftop nightly. Practice flips with him till his back made an otherworldly snap. The books he’d leave on the rooftop for the second robin. And the little boy with the camera who became the third robin he just talk to. Think the same thing for the other bat kids. And it lasted til the were adults, in faucet city Billy would always get money and a sandwich from a kind man with twinkling blue eyes. Okay I’m too lazy to write something for all the little hero’s so moving on.

After Jason’s death he gets insanely protective though, so one of his squirts gets in trouble and the crimanal is blown to pieces. Que John Constantine realizing that demonic energy isn’t left over curses it’s a claim from a fucking super powerful supernatural being.

so they summon him duh, and Danny like “Ohh it’s the soul whore and Night-wing hi,” and all of the teen/preteen hero’s are like “Danny?” Now Danny just grins and fusses over them, while John is muttering “Soul whore?”

I love this idea so much, I might actually write a fic especially because it doesn’t involve trying to right the timeline that all the Fics I read messed up. I love it so much, even better if he knows Alfred from monitoring Bruce.

[discoscoob]

ִ ˙ ✩°˖💬 ⋆｡˚ BOTS CATALOGUE

🛠️ currently updating/fixing all my bots, updated bots have a little ★ beside them.

2020s

THE PILOT ➠ guide ★ ||

BRZRKR ➠ caveman ★ ||

2010s

JOHN WICK ➠ vampire ★ || mafia boss ★ || stolen || kidnapped || escape ★ || viggo’s daughter ★ || neighbours || boxer || rockstar || werewolf ★ ||

FRANK ➠ wedding guest ||

TEX JOHNSON ➠ resurrection || cowboy ★ ||

DONAKA MARK ➠ detective || housekeeper ★ || best friend’s dad ★ ||

KAI ➠ samurai ★ ||

2000s

JOHN CONSTANTINE ➠ fallen angel || corrupting you || exorcism || protect you || ghostface ||

TOM LUDLOW ➠ unwanted attention ★ ||

DONNIE BARKSDALE ➠ fixer-upper ★ || redemption? ★ || fae!user ★ ||

DR JULIAN MERCER ➠ serial killer ★ ||

CONOR O’NEILL ➠ ex boyfriend ||

DAVID ALLEN GRIFFIN ➠ dating him ||

NELSON MOSS ➠ scratch his car ★ ||

1990s

NEO ANDERSON ➠ college crush ★ || community service ★ || cam girl ★ || spider-man ★ || co-workers ★ || your boss ★

KEVIN LOMAX ➠ boyfriend’s father || pretty woman || protective husband || the devil || based on my fic

JOHNNY UTAH ➠ witnesses protection ||

JACK TRAVEN ➠ grieving || stood up ★ || closing time ★ ||

DON JOHN ➠ the curse ||

MARLON JAMES ➠ on the run ★ || drug dealer ★ ||

SCOTT FAVOUR ➠ old friend || wedding date ||

1980s

TED LOGAN ➠ co-workers || devil’s daughter || garden boy || dissociative identity disorder ★ ||

⚠️ ATTENTION: all original bots can be found on my character.ai and janitor.ai accounts - username: lee-loo - any similar bots found on any other account have been plagiarised

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door ~ 2

A Constantine x Reader fic based on this imagine. Part 1

Summary: John Constantine has a crush on you. He wasn’t going to do anything about it though, until you strong arm him into coming over for dinner. Little do you know, this paints a target on your back for the local vampire coven… Rating: Explicit, NSFW, but no dead doves...😮 Note: I got Constantine on my brain, y'all! 😆 I write about vampire hunters all the time, but never from the vampire perspective. This was new. I hope you enjoy!🧡

2. whoever drinks my blood has eternal life

In the end, he was too late.

Oh, he killed them all, wiping out the entire coven with his magical holy shotgun, and a handy spell that basically burned the remaining undead to a crisp around you.

But you were already half dead, drained and forced to drink their blood in kind.

You were well on your way to becoming one of the Damned.

John knew this, as he cradled your cold body in his arms, carrying you like a bride to the cab outside the warehouse. He knew it as he held you close in the backseat, reciting ancient prayers over your fevered brow, hoping just this once God might grant him a good miracle, and not forsake one of his children just because of an unlucky twist of fate.

Your only crime, as far as he knew, had been extending the mercy of your kindness towards him, and that should not have earned you this.

He barely thanked Chas for a job well done, carrying you bridal style up the stairs of your apartment building. Rather than return you to your bed, he brings you to his. He doesn’t know if the vampire who you must have inadvertently invited into your home died that night, and all his holy weapons are at hand in his own space.

He lays you down in his bed, wishing he’d washed his sheets more recently for you. He wishes a lot of things, in the interim hours that follow.

He can tell that his incantations are not touching the dark magic that is taking hold of you, and he knows that he should just put an end to it here and now. You are damned, and there’s no going back, and who knows what chaos you will reap with your new thirst when you wake?

He can’t bring himself to do it.

Looking down at you, huddled in a ball, trembling as your body is dying and remaking itself anew—he falls to his knees to talk to God, though his words aren’t exactly a prayer. “Our father, who art in heaven…fuck you. I hope you're happy, asshole. Another innocent who you should have protected, fucked over by your stupid games. Why? Why is it always the good ones? I hate you. Amen.”

He takes your hand in his, and only because you are practically unconscious in the fever-pitch of your transformation, does he let his eyes fill with silent tears.

One more soul he was too late to save.

One more weight upon his conscience.

He cries for you. For himself. For the impossible odds God and the Devil pit against humans, then punish them when they're just not up to the task. Flesh is weak, but They made you this way. None of it is fair.

Constantine has never actually been present at a Turning. He doesn’t know how long it will take, or how you’ll act when you come out of it. He has crosses and holy water to keep you in line if he has to…or maybe you’ll rip out his throat, and he will absolutely deserve it after what he let happen to you.

He wonders how the vampires knew about you. Did they watch through the window from some impossible perch, as you made love? Maybe he would never admit it out loud, but that was what that merciful night together had felt like, with you.

This was a hell of a reminder, as to why he couldn’t ever let anyone get close.

It never ended well.

Fully clothed, shoes and all, he spoons your smaller body with his arm around your waist, and waits.

***

When at last you wake, the first thing you are aware of is a heartbeat, right next to you. Behind you. Pressed against you. You hear it like a drum, thundering in your ears. There is a grinding pain in your belly. You are so hungry.

You do not recognize your surroundings, or the bed you lay in. A heavy arm is draped over your waist. You study the large hand upon the sheets, long fingered, veiny. Maybe you know that hand.

Slowly you turn, to find John Constantine beside you. He looks up at your through hooded dark eyes. He was dozing, but no longer.

“Y/n?”

You take a deep breath, and the smells that hit you: his aftershave, sweat, deodorant, dirty sheets, scotch whisky in the kitchen. Old Chinese food. But most of all, you can smell his blood, and it is the sweetest thing you’ve ever smelled.

You lean towards him, mouth open, hands reaching.

You don’t know that your incisors have lengthened to deadly little points.

Casually, John holds up a little crucifix between you. You feel it like a hand pressing back against you, and instinctively you flinch.

What is going on with you?

“John?”

You feel something long brush your lip, and you reach up to touch your teeth, finding the sharp points. Your eyes go half-dollar round as you nearly cut yourself with the tip of one.

“What happened to me?”

He sighs, and there is so much weight and sorrow in that one exhalation of air.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

“John?” The panic in your voice starts to rise.

“Shh. Don’t get excited. It won’t be good.”

A rampaging new vampire was the last thing he needed on his hands.

“Those things took me,” you whisper, your hand covering your mouth. You start to remember what happened, those creeps who snatched you from your apartment, the impossible things you saw. They were monsters. Vampires. Things you only thought existed in folklore, books, bad B movies. And they’d told you a little about John Constantine too. That he was some sort of demon hunter, crazy as that fucking sounded, who clearly they wished to do harm to.

“Yeah.” 

“They took me,” you repeat with emphasis, still trying to understand.  

A longer pause, pregnant with lots of words you sense he doesn’t quite know how to say.

Again, he settles for, “Yeah.” 

“Why?” 

“I guess…they thought that you mean something to me.” 

After everything that happened, this hits you like a knife between the ribs, a long sharp blade aimed right for your heart.

“Do I not?” 

“Come on, I didn't mean it like that.” 

Yes he did, and you realize... that maybe he's just like all the others. 

At least he'd warned you. 

You just...had hoped, anyway, like the stupid little romantic you are. 

You look down, unable to meet his eyes. 

You kind of want to cry, but you're not even sure you can anymore. 

“I came for you as soon as I knew,” he says quietly, not liking this at all.

You nod, your lip quivering.

“What's going to happen to me?” 

The haunted way he looks at you rends your heart in two.

“We'll…figure it out.” 

“I'm hungry...I think.”

He nods gravely. 

“I was afraid of that.”

“What am I going to do?” 

“I'll...try to help you.”

Your eyes go to his throat again. The thought should be gross, but...you just feel hunger pangs, instead—and a confusing wave of desire.

He notices the focus of your attention, and looks uneasy about it. Your eyes have started to glow.

“Why don't we start with the wrist?” he deadpans, not enthused about your untried razor-sharp fangs in his throat.

You nod shakily, tears in your eyes. “I'm sorry,” you say. 

There's a flicker in John's soulful brown eyes, and though he says nothing, you feel his guilt as though it's your own. You feel it crawling over your skin, and it scares you. 

What is happening to you? 

“Come on,” he says gruffly. “Let's get this over with.” 

You've seen the movies, and you’re not a total idiot. But the thought of actually...biting him? And drinking his blood? It freaks you out, ok, even if every cell in your body is singing out for you to swallow him down. The smell of him. You'd thought it was intoxicating before. Aftershave, spice, and cigarette smoke. The smoke was good only because it ticked some deep buried memory box in your subconscious. But now...it’s like you can sense the strength of his very soul, in the smell of his blood, and you know he will nourish you. 

These thoughts come to you unbidden, and you don't even really know what they mean. Just... that they are unequivocally true.

You take his wrist, the blue veins there seeming to dance for your new improved vampire vision, as though you can see the blood pumping within them.

This is so fucking weird.

“You’re going to be really strong now,” he cautions you. Then, the corner of his mouth ticks. “So be gentle with me.”

Your eyebrows raise at the thought that you could actually hurt him. This big, strong man who threw you around not so long ago like you were just a doll. You’d loved that, truth be told. The memory is so sweet that it almost makes you want to cry again.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You should do it now,” he says. “Because you’re just going to get hungrier, and young vampires when they’re hungry are at their most dangerous. I’d hate to have to—”

He cuts himself off before finishing that thought. Your eyes drift to his nightstand, the holy water, crucifixes, and a broom handle piece that has been sharpened into a nice neat stake. Just in case he has to shove it through your heart.

“Could you do that to me?” you ask quietly before you can stop yourself, still staring at the stake.

“I don’t want to find out,” he deflects. “So come on. Pull up your big girl panties.”

You glare at him, taking his wrist again. “I think I have a right to be freaked out about this.”

“Sure, but it is what it is,” he fires back unkindly. “You’re a vampire now. You have to drink blood to survive, and you’re Damned. Welcome to the club.”

You frown at him, your eyes flashing dangerously. You notice him tense, his attention flicking over to the stake on the bedside.

“You’re afraid of me now,” you marvel. 

“A little, yeah.”

“And I should be afraid of you? They told me what you are.”

“Let’s agree to have a healthy respect of one another, alright?”

You sit quietly, contemplating him. With his wrist in your grasp you can feel the thump thump of his pulse through your entire body, like bumping bass out of a speaker. It is distracting, and as you think about what you must do a warmth rises in you, a tingling rush of power that spreads from your fingers into his arm. It makes him shudder, his pupils suddenly blown wide with desire.

This feels good. Better than the fear, although you’re ashamed to admit, that had been delicious too.

You don’t know how you’re doing any of this. It’s just happening, and you let your new instinct take you, straddling his narrow hips to find his burgeoning erection straining against his slacks. You are still wearing the sundress those creatures took you in, and nothing but the thin cotton of your panties barricades the space between you and him.

He is so handsome, and strong. His blood smells so strong, and it fills you with an aching desire, wetness flooding between your legs. Suddenly the desire to bite him while he is inside you grips you like an iron fist, some ancient knowledge of arcane pleasure pulsing through your veins. You blink, the urge receding only slightly, and you do not know it but your eyes glow like coals. It’s strange, how your body feels cold, except where your skin is touching his. Your points of contact are almost searing, in comparison.

“Y/n…”

“What?” you taunt him. “You don’t want me now that I’m a monster?”

You can still hardly believe this is really happening to you.

“I think you can feel that’s not the case.”

Again, you sense his fear, cloyingly sweet upon your tongue. You like it, and that is the thing that brings you back to yourself. Wanting anyone to be afraid of you is so opposite your true nature that it shocks you.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” you apologize again, squeezing your eyes closed.

“It’s alright,” he says in that deep voice of his.

It’s not. It’s really not.

“Just…can we get this over with, please?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“He’s not going to help you now, believe me. Just…go slow, ok? Don’t bite me too hard. I need use of my hand still, if you don’t mind.”

You let out a shuddering breath. It feels weird, and you realize…you don’t need to breathe? Taking in air is a reflex, but there’s no effect of your body processing oxygen.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay. I’m going to do it.”

“Any day now.”

“Shut up.”

This is the thing that actually makes him smile, that slight curl of lips that is like a full-on grin for most people. Maybe it’s stupid—but it gives you courage.

You graze his skin with your new sharp teeth, and like a beachcomber searching for treasure with a metal detector, you just sense the sweet spot. You move as carefully as you can, pressing down into his flesh to make two neat little holes.

The spill of blood is divine, and you don’t have time to think that it’s gross. It fills your mouth and it is good, and you are so hungry, and you can’t get enough. The magic in this bloodletting rises like a tide, desire crashing over the both of you in a tingling, intoxicating rush. You feel everything, and there is no extricating the sexual pleasure from the gustatory. They are one and the same with this man, his delicious, powerful blood filling your mouth, his strapping body beneath yours, his hips bucking against you.

You feel his hand slide up your thigh, his thumb seeking the molten center of you. When he makes himself stop just short of your panty line you whine in protest, straining for his touch, but he resists your goading, his fingertips digging into your soft flesh. Perhaps you should be grateful, that he is strong enough to resist the pull of this magic between you, trying not to debauch you while you feed for the first time and everything is new and you have no idea what is happening. And yet, you can hardly think past how wonderful it would be to have his teeming erection buried inside you to the hilt while you drink him down.

You would tell him all this, but you can’t bring yourself to separate your mouth from the font of his delectable lifeblood. In fact, you don’t know how you’re going to stop, period.

It’s just so good.

John watches you through heavy lidded eyes, seemingly enjoying this as much as you are. Yet he has more sense of the situation as well, and when he tells you, “That’s enough, y/n,” an inhuman keening of protest escapes from deep in your throat.

“Y/n…” he warns again, his words thick with desire. “You have to stop.”

You close your eyes, telling yourself just one last mouthful.

That was two long sucking draughts ago.

Suddenly you feel a searing heat very near your face. Startled, your eyes fly open to find the crucifix there before you, and you hiss in answer, scrabbling back on the bed away from the holy item. With John Constantine’s blood on your lips you cower, shielding your eyes with a hand.

With a shuddering sigh he lowers the cross, sitting back against the headboard of his bed. He presses a tissue against his wrist, and your eyes are drawn to the crimson stains flowering on the wad of paper beneath his fingers.

What a waste, you think, before shaking the thought away.

Then the horror of what could have happened dawns on you.

You could have drank him dry, and in the heat of the moment you would have done it gladly.

Oh God. What have you become?

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again. “Are you ok?”

He actually has the gall to smirk at you, as though any of this could be funny. “Yeah. Not the first time I’ve lost a little blood.”

There’s some inside joke in that statement you don’t understand, though you sense the darkness of self-deprecation in it.

Somehow, you feel simultaneously sated, and horrible. With a whimper you curl up at the foot of his bed, closing your eyes against the world. You can feel everything. You sense the people in the building, the fragile sound of their juicy little hearts beating. Even outside, the life on the street, men and women going about their lives with no idea what lurks in the shadows, wanting to eat them up…

But most distracting of all, the sheets beneath you smell like John, and the lust in your blood has yet to abate, even if the feeding is over. You feel it marching across your skin like red-hot ants. The desire to crawl up the bed and press your bloody lips to his is real, and you fight it with everything you have, because you don’t imagine he’d appreciate that very much after what he’s done for you. The sour expression on his face did not match the size of the tent in his pants, that is for sure.  

You wonder, is it going to be like this every time you eat from now on? The thought does not thrill you.

“Hey,” he goads softly, and your eyes fly open to regard him. Again, your irises shine like lanterns, fueled by the roil of emotions warring in your heart. “Come here.” He holds out one of those beautiful hands to you. Hands that you had so relished upon your body, on your flesh, in your hair…hands with such thick, beautiful blue veins…

You’re not sure how he knows that you want to be held, but now you fear it too. You fear what you are, and your ability to control yourself around him. Because the truth is you still want him very much, and he’d basically told you point blank that you mean nothing to him. The thought weighs on your heart now like a thousand stinging needles, and you feel your eyes fill with moisture of some kind.

So, vampires can cry after all.

You touch a finger to the corner of your eye, and see it comes away tinted red.

You kind of want to throw up.

“Maybe…I should go,” you say sadly, sitting up. You’re certain you look as disheveled as you feel. Your hair is a bird’s nest. Your once pretty floral sundress is dirty and torn. No wonder he doesn’t want you.

“If…you want.” Why does he sound sad about it? Shouldn’t he be glad to see the backside of you? Constantine the Demon Hunter? If you’d been nothing but a one-night fuck as a human, he certainly didn’t want to spend time with you now.

 “You know you’re going to need a dark place to rest for the day?”

Is he actually worried about where you’re going to sleep?

“Okay.” You think you can manage that, in your apartment next door. Or maybe…you’ll see what happens, if you watch the sun rise. Maybe it would just be better that way. Are vampire suicides double damned? You’ve never really been a religious person, but he’d said it like it was A Thing.

It reminds you of what John had said earlier. “What did you mean before? When you said join the club?”

He sighs, reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the night stand. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Feeling like you’ve now been dismissed, you slide from the bed, standing on bare feet. You should be sore, but your movements are lithe, liquid as a cat’s.

Something else to get used to.

You can feel Constantine’s eyes glued to you, and you dare to take one last look back, waiting to turn to a pillar of salt. He’s so handsome it hurts, even in his rumpled state, his cuffs rolled up his forearms and his tie loose around his neck. How do his soulful dark eyes seem to hold all the sorrow of the world right now?

“Bye, John.”

He just nods, and you let yourself out.

***

Much to your surprise, ten minutes before dawn, you hear a knock on your door. You know it's John. You can tell by the sound of his breathing, the sound of his heart beat. You can smell him, and it is a heady thing in your nostrils. When you do not answer he just lets himself in, the cheeky bastard. 

He finds you sitting in one of your thrift store chairs by the window, one of the only ones not broken in the mess the vampires who took you left behind. He does not like this, you can tell, by his hairline frown. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi.”

“Hate to tell you, but you're going to have to find a new way to get your vitamin D.”

“Ha ha,” you say, turning back to the window. A few people are out and about below. This city never really sleeps. 

“Hey,” he says again, crouching down by your chair. “I know this is a lot...”

The look you pay him is not exactly kind. He plows forward anyway.

“But take it from someone who's been there. Hell isn't a place you should be in a hurry to go.” 

You blink at that. He says it like it's so black and white, not a hint of uncertainty. Not faith. Fact. Once upon a time, you might have questioned his sanity. Not anymore. 

“Sounds like you've been.” 

“For about two minutes. It was enough.” 

“What was it like?” you whisper. 

“Pure agony.” 

Your eyes go wide at hearing that. 

“So...want to show me your bolt hole?” he asks.

Once upon a time you would have capitalized on the opportunity for inuendo with such comedic gold just handed to you for free, but you’re not in the mood. You just stare at him.

“John...You're a demon hunter. Why do you care?”

He tries to meet your eyes, but in the end can only look away. “Come on, y/n. Just…don’t give up yet, ok?”

He just feels guilty, you tell yourself, and you pry yourself from your chair with a sigh. You’re not sure what the point of anything will be, anymore. But maybe you’ll make an effort to go on, because he asked you to.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

“Fine.”

You figure the closet will be the darkest place in the apartment for you to hide.

[avelera]

So I wrote 7,800 words of an entirely new Dreamling fic yesterday pretty much out of NOWHERE based on a what-if headcanon chat that got ENTIRELY out of hand.

Basically, I’ve always found it weird that Hob is, well, WEIRD for an immortal. And I adore it! There’s basically no other immortals in fiction, or very few, who consistently have a day job, don’t become superheroes of enlightened morality in a couple lifetimes, or otherwise leave normal mortal life behind. Except Hob.

But there’s other weird stuff Hob gets up to in the comics especially. Namely: nothing. He sees a Sea Serpent in Hob’s Leviathan and just sort of… shrugs it off. He supposedly ran into a vampire coven while hanging out with a Constantine and they killed Constantine and kinda left him alone. He seemed otherwise pretty unphased. Between 1689-1889, unless he’s with Dream, very little happens to him. He just seems prosperous in both meetings.

But while Dream is gone, during the Blitz, his wife Peggy dies in his arms. That’s pretty dramatic. That’s main character tragedy.

So what if… Dream subconsciously pigeonholes Hob as not a fellow immortal of increasing antiquity, now over half a millennia old, but… just a guy. Just the guy he met in 1389? That certainly seems to be part of why he reacts so poorly to being called lonely in 1889. He can’t fathom that the human mudpuppy he met in a tavern that was basically a hovel could suddenly have INSIGHT into one such as him. But Hob was over 500 years old at that point! And Dream respects other eldritch creatures like fae and demigods, even if they are younger than him. So what gives that he doesn’t see the 500+ year old immortal human as maybe capable of insight into the life of a fellow eldritch being?

Because Dream doesn’t think of Hob that way.

And Dream IS the human subconscious.

Things get really meta from there because right you’ve got all these Doylist reasons that Hob is Just A Guy who seems allergic to getting involved with any of the grand stories of Sandman except as a bit part. A minor character even in his own story. But since it’s a story about stories, you can make it Watsonian too.

Maybe because Dream doesn’t think HE has a story (he says, in the comic which is ABOUT his story, thus undermining his point with a 4th wall break) and Hob is the only person in his life who is basically a normal friend and not a subject or family member or eldritch colleague… does he mentally pigeonhole Hob as not having a story either but just being witness to other people’s stories, like Jim?

It’s kind of weird isn’t it how in Hob’s Leviathan he spends the whole thing WONDERING what secrets lie beneath the surface of the ocean but when the sea serpent bursts forth he just sort of… shrugs?

It’s a bit weird too, in the show, even though I adore how unexpected the beat is, that after 34 years’ delay, Dream shows up and Hob barely reacts except to quip that he’s late. Though I’m sure Dream was very grateful. 

… so I kinda wanted to do a one-shot about how this is actually an eldritch effect Dream accidentally cast on Hob. He sees Hob as just his normal friend despite being immortal. So Hob is Normal. Aggressively normal. He has a day job despite being 600+ years old. He exhibits none of the typical behavior one would expect out of a man who loves life so much he refused to die. And Dream realizes this when he learns that Hob’s 20th century was INSANE, filled with adventures and high drama and lost love and passion. A century where Hob was the protagonist in his own life story again. And it all abruptly stopped and he went back to having a normal human job the second Dream was free.

Anyway, Dream is gutted by the realization. The rest is them figuring out how the fuck this HAPPENED and if it can be fixed.

[the-sprog]

Listen I love DCxDP crossovers as much as the next person, but every time I see people write John Constantine offer as a solution summoning something I cringe internally a little bit. John is all up for self-sacrificing and doing things you shouldn't but he does not fuck with other creatures he knows shit-all about.

On the other end, do you know who does fuck with creatures they know shit all about?? And keep summoning things and making deals with things they shouldn't be summoning or making deals with? And also doing this most of the times with the express intentions of dealing with the dead?

The Winchester Brothers.

Where are my season 15 fix-it fics where Dean does not give up, he does not say "oh well Castiel died after confessing his love for me I guess that's it" or where Sam does not say "well my brother died during a run of the mill vampire Hunt -not even because of the vampires but because of a rusty nail. Let me just abandon him forever after everything we've gone through and finally actually listen to him and get myself a family with my blurry wife and random son"

And instead they do again summon something that is completely separate from everything else they've dealt with before and they actually managed to contact Danny who somehow is the king of the Ghost Zone or whatever fucking shit you want. Maybe you can make the empty nocturne! That would be really fucking cool :O so Danny somehow gets convinced to bring back Castiel or Dean or both.

Ok now I'm actually thinking about it.

You can even make it adult Danny by simply following the Supernatural timeline. Danny gets his powers in 2004, when he's 14, the Winchesters start looking for their dad in 2005, and they're... 20 something. Castiel joins the brigade in 2009 (I thought he showed up in season 5 lmao it's been a while since I've watched it), Chuck starts writing the books- fuck I don't know. 2012? Was it season 7? **Looks it up** fuck nope he starts writing when they start, that's my mistake. I meant when does he show up. And that's together with Castiel. Wow. Give me Danny who is an in universe Supernatural fan. He's the prime target audience! Starts reading after he gets his powers because we'll they're ghost hunters but the ghosts are actually evil. So it's fine. And they're fictional anyway so no big deal.

But then Chuck stops writing (end of season 5) and Danny is extremely disappointed.

He doesn't learn the truth until 2018 (season 13) when Jack wakes up The Shadow and consequently shakes the Infinite Realms. Nocturne has to be somehow connected. Maybe they're not The Shadow themself, but a subordinate? Like Frostbite is the leader while the yetis are his citizens. And The Empty is the realm they live in.

Now Danny is slightly terrified because it means all the things that go bump in the night are real. Which is a scary as fuck thought. And also wonders why they've never had hunters in Amity, or why he and the other ghosts are different from the ones in the books.

But he can't really do anything. To help.

Hunters definitely have checked out the town. There's no way they'd fly under the radar. But either there are already hunters INSIDE Amity And they've staked their claim on the town, no outside hunters allowed. Or there's something wrong w the entire place that makes it so that people don't really realize anything is wrong with it. I til they're inside it. But when outside nothing :/ all normal.

I feel like it wouldn't be Dean who summons him though. As much as I love him, they are aware that pretty much only God could pull out Cas and Jack wasn't going to do it any time soon.

But Dean dying like that? No Sam is not going to let his story end like that. But they've pretty much exhausted all options. What's he gonna do? Make another deal w a demon that's going to ultimately make more of a mess? Who's gonna make a deal w a Winchester anyway?

I don't know how Sam would find a way to contact Danny. The Fentons were the first to make contact with the Zone, so the bunker's unlikely to have any resources. Bobby's gone, so that's a bust. He'd have to find something new. Something no other hunter has interacted with, ever.

Again.

Because let's be real. The Winchesters already did that plenty.

Maybe he stumbles upon Amity by accident and sees it as an opportunity, idk.

Sam's kinda more willing to give monsters the benefit of the doubt. They know angels are not all bad, they had werewolf friends, and so on and so forth.

So sure he might start off listening to the Fentons at first, but if he were to interact with Danny (as Phantom ofc) one on one he'd probably see that they're wrong.

Danny would freak out of course. On one hand, fuck man. He's a fan. That's so cool.

On the other, he knows nothing will stop the Winchesters. He's deader than dead if Sam was there to hunt him.

But alas, he'd do anything to help him get his brother (and Cas, as a treat) back. Who's gonna stop him? God? Jack? Idk man I feel like he'd let them have this one lmao. Or still Danny could definitely argue that he's the king of all afterlives, so what he does to his subjects is none of his business (since God (or at least Chuck couldn't) can't interfere w The Empty, only the afterlives he controls. So heaven and hell. Not even purgatory iirc)

[citrusscale-remastered]

8, 18, 19, 22 for the ask game :)

8. Share the last line that you wrote

Well the last thing I wrote was a bunch of Plot Relevant Bullet Points for a hive vampire AU but the last story thing I wrote was a post canon fic for magisterium:

One of the first things that struck Jasper was that his father was no longer in the regal olive green robes of an Assemblyman he was so used to seeing him in, but instead a drab jumpsuit that washed out the already pale tones of his face. His expression looked pinched and tired, but his countenance was as severe as ever.

The door closed behind him.

“Jasper.”

Jasper sat down on the uncomfortable chair that had been provided. He folded his hands on his lap, still. “Father,” he said, with a nod of his head.

18. What trope have you not written yet, but want to?

time loop. time travel. Any Time Shenanigans

19. What headcanon do you always include in your stories?

Laura has glasses I don’t make the rules. Persian Shelby. Uhhh, if it ever comes up (not answering the question yes I’m aware) Otto’s getting a Fruit Allergy (miscellaneous)

for magisterium: Russian catholic Constantine. Not a natural blond, but he bleaches it.

22. When do you usually write?

WHENEVER I CAN. usually like Late at night. Or if I’m Hard Procrastinating other stuff

[thefaustianstria]

Guys I need some help to find a blog. I apologise in advance for my english, it's not my first language and it's pretty late.

I don't remember the name because I accidentally closed the app while I was reading. I remember that there was a three part story of a vampire x reader and the vampire name was Constantine. I think the author had a link to another platform where the fic was also published. I also remember there was a list (for an October event I think) where every day they published a one shot of a vampire/folk creature from other cultures. It should be tagged under "vampire boyfriend" or "vampire x reader". It came to my mind literally now like a flash after like a year I think but I wasn't able to find anything 😭 Can anyone help me with finding it or telling me if the blog doesn't exist anymore?

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

For the WIP ask : To the shock of no one, I am interested to learn more about the "Hellblazer/Suicide Squad/Jayroy" story...As well as "Angel Torture"

The crossover fic is exactly what it says on the tin. Sort of a sequel to Whisper, but can be read without it(when I eventually finish...).

John gets press ganged into working with Task Force X by Amanda Waller, to deal with some kind of Magical MacGuffin. He calls in Jason and Roy to help out.

A snippet:

“Good to go, Jaybird?” Roy asked, stretching his arm to offer a fist to Jason. 

He rapped their knuckles together then leaned over to press a kiss to the side of his mouth. “Just a bit jumpy. Last time I worked with Constantine, his boyfriend had to resurrect me.” He shrugged one shoulder as he touched his earpiece. “Prodigal Son to Golden Boy, you’re free and clear. Look after the kids til we get back.” 

“Safe trip, Little Wing. Look after Arrow.” 

Jason glanced back to see that Roy hadn’t moved. “You coming? We’re meeting over at the beach, about half a mile from here.” “Were you planning on telling me you fucking died again?”

Angel Torture is... Again, exactly what it says on the tin. PWP, Lucifer takes a grumpy John to Hell so they can torture Gabriel for a while and have filthy sex. It also features Davy, a young rent boy John befriended while he was homeless, who was killed by the king of the vampires.

A snippet:

“His Lordship has ordered you bathed,” the demon told him casually, leading him into a grand room with a hot, fragrant pool of water. 

Gabriel, former Archangel, now fallen, sank into the water with a shuddering sigh. The demon watched as he washed, then held out robes for him to put on. The pale blue silk clung to his wet, naked skin. He set a crown of lilies, the lightest virginal blush of pink, onto his blond curls, then stepped back to look him over with a critical eye. Not satisfied, the demon pinched Gabriel’s lips and cheeks until they were flushed and rosy, and flicked open the robe to expose the smooth expanse of his chest. 

“Why does my Lord send for me?” Gabriel asked, his eyes not rising from the floor. 

“I don’t venture to guess his mind, and neither should you,” Davy told him, clucking his tongue as he paced around the fallen angel to inspect him. He put his nose to the nape of his neck and inhaled slowly. Still so much of heaven on him. The Devil would have fun taking some of that stink away. “Behave yourself, or he’ll have your bollocks on a plate.” With a snap of his fingers, he gestured for him to follow. 

Davy strode into the chamber and bowed. “My Lord, your plaything is here.”

[wordpress-blaze-169939984]

What is a narcissist?

What characterizes a narcissist? I've encountered this term frequently, not because my friends or colleagues have applied it to me, but rather due to my older sister's frequent use of it. She appears to believe that I fit this description. To diagnose someone with Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), five out of the nine criteria from the DSM-IV-TR are necessary. Some of the traits associated with NPD include a heightened sense of self-importance, preoccupation with fantasies of power, wealth, success, and love, a constant need for admiration, a belief in one's uniqueness, a lack of empathy, arrogance, entitlement, a preference for associating only with important or special individuals, and a tendency to exploit others for personal gain.

It's crucial to distinguish between narcissism and narcissistic personality disorder. Narcissism refers to certain exhibited traits in a person, where they don't meet enough criteria to be categorized as having NPD.

Allow me to elaborate on the fact that most of us possess elements of personality disorders to some degree. For instance, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) is one of the most commonly discussed ones. Each of us experiences varying levels of OCD tendencies. Similarly, anxiety and periods of depression are universal; the key lies in the extent to which these disorders disrupt our daily functioning.

This principle applies to both narcissism and NPD. Celebrating our achievements occasionally and taking pride in reaching goals are healthy behaviors. There's no issue with that. Therefore, if someone labels you as a narcissist or suggests you have OCD, don't be overly concerned. More often than not, they might be projecting their own emotions onto you. Give them space to express themselves, and eventually, the genuine truth will emerge.

Examples and Anecdotes: Imagine a coworker who consistently seeks praise for their achievements and often downplays the accomplishments of others. While this behavior might seem narcissistic, it doesn't necessarily meet the criteria for NPD. On the other hand, someone with NPD might manipulate their colleagues into doing their work for them, exploiting their desire to please for personal gain.

Treatment and Coping Strategies: For those dealing with narcissism or NPD, seeking professional help from therapists or counselors is a crucial step. Cognitive-behavioral therapy and other therapeutic approaches can be effective in addressing the underlying issues and promoting healthier behaviors. Developing empathy, self-awareness, and coping strategies are integral parts of the recovery process. For friends and family, setting boundaries and encouraging open communication can help manage interactions with individuals exhibiting narcissistic traits. Remember that change takes time and dedication, but it's possible with the right support and commitment.

Source: What is a narcissist?