#constantine x you
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Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick (AND x Constantine😜) Imagine WIP Part 9
Here we go my lovelies! @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @tammykelly @lilspookymeh @kurai-hono-blog
Wick could have been an asshole about buying a brand new kitchen, sundries included–but instead he merely shrugs off Constantine's hostile question. "Seemed like the least I could do."
Constantine glares, but lets it go, begrudgingly sitting down to a delectable meal cooked by the man he knows, deep down, that you've never been able to forget.
At Tex's midday administering of magical medicine, he takes your hand after you finish, refusing to let go. "Set with me a while, Rattlesnake." He pats the couch, on which there is no room unless you were to sit in his lap–undoubtedly his hope.
With a sigh and a knowing smirk you settle back in your chair. Your eyes are drawn to the burn upon his chest. He will carry that mark for the rest of his life, even if the magic is lifted.
You think on what Papa Midnite said to Constantine. "Take some big feeling..."
It kind of floors you, to think of the energy it took for Constantine to conjure that working out of thin air.
For you.
You told him a little bit about the boys. How they hurt you–and, how they saved your life. How you loved them, and how they destroyed you in their abandonment. No matter how you framed it, Constantine blamed them for the bullet wound forever seared in your side.
However, it wasn’t so simple as that.
"Whacha thinking, baby girl?"
You just shake your head with a tired smile. "Nothing important."
"Hmm. You gonna make me guess? Alright. You're thinkin'...bout that time in Mexico it was just you an me and the stars, out by the pool in our birthday suits."
You snort–quite against your will, it turns into a giggle.
"No..."
"Uh huh. You’re missin' my wicked tongue up between your thighs. I know that look."
"That's enough of that," you say, trying to stand. But he has your hand, and he tugs you so that you fall down to sit on the edge of the couch–and half on him. Your faces hover just centimeters away. You watch with horror a he tries to lean in, capitalizing on the opportunity. By the skin of your teeth, your heart in your throat, you just barely manage to turn your head.
"Didn't you miss me, rattlesnake?" he asks, his deep voice all sultry and low just wrecking you to the bone.
You dare reach up to caress his cheek with the blade of your thumb. "Of course I did. But there’s no going back, Tex. Maybe...that time is behind us." Just saying it hurts like a knife between the ribs, but you go on, “Maybe you and John did the right thing, letting me go.”
He just narrows his dark eyes at hearing that. You hate the way it gives you such a thrill, to the base of your spine, and lower still. “I thought you were mad about that? Hell, I’m still mad about that. I miss you so much I can hardly think straight. There’s just…” He frowns while he says it, but you know it’s just because he’d literally rather take a bullet than talk about his feelings. His grip on your hand tightens; he glares down at your silver rings like they owe him money. “There ain’t no point to anything, when you’re gone. Do you know what I mean?”
You close your eyes; for a moment you feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you, because you know exactly what he means. You lived it for months after they booted you, drifting from country to country, an empty husk of a woman, a gaping black hole where your heart used to be. Only after moving to LA, thinking about going back to school, and meeting Constantine, did your life start to feel like it had some meaning again.
“Yeah. I know what you mean,” you answer quietly. “But how did you think this would go? You’d knock on my door, and I’d just uproot my whole life for you again?”
“Maybe?” The confusion on his handsome face is almost cute. You realize he really did think it would be that easy, and you snort, looking away to a framed Tibetan Thangka painting on the wall. This man. As ever, you’re torn between kissing him and killing him. You have to keep reminding yourself that the former option is not even on the table.
“At least give me some credit. I coulda come in with guns blazin' but instead I brought flowers."
“You want credit?”
“Yeah. I’m practically a changed man. And I wouldn’t mind an apology from Wizard Boy either.”
"You've got to be kidding me." The pair on this man never ceases to amaze you.
"We were just having a little bit of friendly fisticuffs, but he fucked me up pretty good. That’s called unnecessary escalation.”
He would know.
"Spare me the macho bullshit. There’s no such thing as friendly fisticuffs. You were going to hurt my boyfriend, and you absolutely deserved what he gave you. You’re lucky he got Midnite to lift it."
Only a beat later do you realize you called Constantine your boyfriend within earshot of everyone, which you never do, because you both hate labels and the word just seems too high school for what you actually are to each other–but there’s no going back now.
“But–”
At last, at last, you are in a position where you don’t have to swallow his gaslighting. “No buts. You can behave yourself, Tex, or you can go. I mean it.”
Maybe drawn by the sound of your raised voice, Constantine chooses that moment to intervene, appearing at the foot of the couch with a magnificent frown.
“Well well, if it ain’t The Boy Who Lived.”
You know he’s just making yet another Harry Potter reference, but considering Constantine’s history, this nickname makes you flinch. Maybe it’s a mistake on your part, but you bristle. “Don’t call him that.”
Constantine, however, betrays nothing, just crossing his arms with that blandly judgy expression. “It’s alright, y/n. He loves childrens’ books–a man has to stick to his reading level.” You don't feel like arguing about the complexity of the later books, so you let the arrow fly.
You lift an eyebrow, side-eyeing Tex. “You do know an awful lot about Harry Potter for a grown ass man your age.”
For possibly the first time ever Tex actually looks sheepish. “Had to read something while I was in the shit.”
Tex never really told you much about his tour of duty in the Middle East. Bradford had intimated that it didn’t end well–but you weren’t exactly keen to take everything that asshole had said with any sort of seriousness. The thought of him holed up in a mud hut reading about Hogwarts kind of pulls at your heartstrings for some ridiculous reason.
“So what you want, Wizard Boy?” demands Tex, insouciantly refusing to let go of your hand, despite you tugging on it.
“I was going to check your chakras for malevolence, but I'm having second thoughts now.”
“Sounds illegal in five states.”
Constantine snorts. “You want me to double check Midnite's handiwork or not? If there's a trace of darkness left it could spread– and you'll be fucked all over again.”
“Not the way I like, I'm guessin’.”
“Probably not. But then again, you seemed to like Desdemona at the club. You want an introduction?” Constantine has a sly look on his handsome face as he asks this. It must be the succubus you'd run off– the thought of Tex in contact with her again makes you vibrate with jealousy. It is sharp, and fierce, and utterly fucking irrational.
You should encourage Tex to find someone else.
Your heart just doesn't agree.
“I'll…leave you two to it,” you say, reluctantly standing to pull away out of Tex's grip.
Only belatedly, after you've retreated to your room, do you realize that maybe Constantine interrupted your tête a tête with Tex for his sake, rather than yours.
***
John Wick whips you all up a beautiful dinner of sauteed meat and vegetables, complimented with a nice bottle of dry red wine that you're sure did not come from Trader Joe's. You play his sous chef, chopping up veggies, and it almost feels like old times in the kitchen, although he never would have given you access to a big sharp knife before. As though you ever would have had the nerve to stab him.
Tex was another matter.
At first you all sit down to share a semi-awkward meal, peppered with halting silences–until the second bottle of wine comes out, and then things flow more smoothly. It starts with Constantine cracking a joke at Tex's expense, which is surprisingly backed by Wick with a witty aside. Tex responds good naturedly, for once, and you just sit back and watch with a smile, a warm glow in your chest that feels too close to bliss to possibly last.
You help Wick with the dishes, drying as he washes because your dish rack is tiny. “You look tired, sweetheart,” he says after the last plate, bending down to kiss your forehead. You forget. You fucking forget that there are two other people there, one of whom is your current lover, and out of longing and pure habit you tilt your head back for the second staggeringly sweet kiss on your lips that always followed.
Only a long beat later do you realize what you've done, with Wick's shining dark eyes looking down on you, missing nothing. You gasp like a scandalized school girl, taking a small step back. “You're right,” you agree. “I am tired. Good night, everyone.” You're such a coward you can't even lift your head to look at any of them, though you can feel their eyes upon you as you scurry away.
Once in the sanctuary of your room you collapse on the bed, clutching the coverlet in your claws for hands, so embarrassed by your slip that you could die. You know that Constantine loves you, even if he’s never outright said it, and honestly probably never will–and this is how you repay him.
You really are a piece of work.
***
After you retreat, a silence falls over the kitchen, the three formidable men eyeing each other like wolves amidst a power struggle, trying to decide who is the weakest link and who is alpha. It’s Constantine who stands without a word, fetching his green glass bottle of Ardbeg single-malt scotch and setting it down in the middle of the table with a thunk. Then he produces three glasses–none matching–and pours out a finger for each.
“Gentlemen.” He looks between the two assassins seated at his table, a part of him flabbergasted as to how he’d even ended up in this situation. Before he met you, if someone told him someday he would find a woman he loved more than the air he breathed, he would have laughed them out of the room.
Not now.
How the mighty are brought low, and pride goeth before a fall, and all that proverbial biblical bullshit that is old as time and yet somehow still applies. Despite all our advances, humans are still essentially the same animal we were when we first left the cave and started walking upright–or when God created Adam out of dirt, whichever you find more believable.
“I believe we find ourselves at an impasse.”
“How you figure?” asks Tex, knocking back his drink and helping himself to another.
“Does being in love with the same woman ring a bell?”
Wick smirks, watching the exchange between the two, sipping his scotch sparingly. He does not contradict Constantine’s assessment, but in his succinct way he drives home the finer point. “More importantly, that woman is in love with all of us.”
The thought pulls something like a growl from deep in Constantine’s chest, but in the end he acknowledges, “Exactly.”
Tex smirks, leaning on his elbows. “Don’t be sore, Wizard Boy. Be grateful we broke her in for you.”
Constantine seems to count to ten under his breath, restraining himself from unleashing a curse on this fucking cowboy again. “You’re gonna have to give me pointers on how you manage not to murder him daily,” he says to Wick.
“I only listen to about half of what he says,” Wick admits with a smirk, a humorous glitter in his dark eyes.
“Good to know. My point is, if I curse you both into the Seventh Circle, it would hurt her. Likewise, if you two were to dig me a shallow grave out in the desert. You hurt her enough the first time. Do you follow?”
Wick nods, grasping Constantine’s train of thought immediately. Tex, however, has to chew on it a little–maybe because he’d hoped, for once, to finally have this girl to himself.
“You’re saying you don’t mind sharin’,” finally says Tex with a shit-eating grin, leaning back in his chair.
“Oh, I mind,” Constantine is sure to clarify. “But it’s up to her, if she wants you or not. If she decides she wants you to go–I will make you go. If she wants you to stay…” He spreads his big hands, as though to say, we’ll figure it out. Somehow.
Tex narrows his eyes, clearly debating if he should pick a fight over the make you go part, or take it as it sits on the table. “And how do you propose we let her know what we decided about this?”
Constantine snorts at that, draining his glass and standing from the table. “That’s your problem, Howdy Doody. Good night–and may the best man win.” The two assassins watch as John Constantine crosses to your bedroom, and practically shuts the door in their faces.
***
You are drifting on the edge of sleep when Constantine crawls into bed with you. You smile as you feel the familiar pattern of the depression in the mattress, and moan with surprise as he covers your mouth with his. You taste the Ardbeg on his tongue, which explains some of his ardor, but not all. The fury of his kisses on your lips and neck pulls an involuntary moan from deep in your lungs, his big hands digging into the flesh of your thigh, pulling you on top of him.
“John…?” Utterly star-struck, you blink down at him, disheveled in your pajama t-shirt and your hair a mess. He reaches up to cup your cheek, dwarfing your face in his large hand, studying you like there will be a test later. He opens his mouth like there’s something he wants to say to you, but he can’t quite get it out, the words stuck in his throat.
You think you know what it is, and your heart warms for it, that tingling thrill filling your chest and spreading outwards. You’re not even mad, that he can’t say it, because you get him. This is not the week you’re going to push him out of his comfort zone, more than you already have. Most of LA would laugh to hear it, but John Constantine has been a veritable fucking saint the past couple of days, and you’re so grateful to him.
“It’s ok,” you say softly, tracing the line of his square jaw. “I know.”
He frowns, almost like he wants to argue, but in the end he just shakes his head and pulls you to him.
You want to apologize for almost kissing John Wick right in fucking front of him–but that sticks in your throat too. You guess you’re both just a little raw tonight.
He peels off your t-shirt greedily as he guides you down. Hungry lips and a teasing tongue find the sensitive tips of your breasts, making you squirm with longing above him. You know you’ve already soaked through the laughable barrier of your panties, and are probably leaving an unsightly stain on his nice (200 dollar, he likes to tell you with a smirk) white shirt–but if the Chinese laundry down the street can get out demon blood stains, what’s a little cum?
You let out a cry of longing as he releases your nipple with a pop; the ache between your thighs is already nearly unbearable, and you can't stop yourself from grinding against his lean torso. You shut your mouth as soon as you open it, conscious of the paper thin walls and the two dangerous men on the other side of them.
“You like that, baby?” he taunts, hooking his fingers in your panties to tug them down.
“You know I do,” you pant.
“Then let me hear you,” he invites with a wicked smirk, shifting down so that you are nearly sitting on his face. You don’t know what was said out there, but you are starting to get the idea that John Constantine is up to something. But before you can even begin to think what to do about it, he pulls you forward with an undeniable grip on your thighs, and his tongue is laving up your slit.
“Fuck.”
This exclamation is not quiet, and neither are the ones after it. You practically shake the walls with your cries when you cum on his tongue, your body rendered into a quivering mess of over-stimulated nerves. He does not grant you mercy, even when you beg him, and by the time he is done with you, you are halfway to your second orgasm.
“Do you want me baby?” he demands, panting from his champion cunnilingus league exertions as he undresses himself. There is a desperation in his tone you’ve never quite heard before, and you have a feeling he’s not just talking about sex.
“I need you,” you tell him, and you mean every word. It wins you every inch of his hard cock buried inside you, and you can’t stop yourself from moaning, as though there is no room for breath in your body when filled with his impressive manhood. He grips you hard enough to bruise, his face buried in the bend of your neck.
He drives himself inside of you, hips pumping with the fury of his need, but he’s prepared you for it. It’s all you can do just to hold on, to the bed, to him, letting him use you exactly the way he wants to, because you know the past couple of days have been anything but easy for him.
When his thumb finds your clit you think you might die from the overwhelming sensation of it. “No,” you beg, somehow smiling through your exasperation. “Please. Mercy.”
He just pays you that impish curl of lips that always seriously makes you question which side he's playing for. “You can take it,” he informs you. “For me?” The way he pouts down at you while simultaneously rearranging your insides should be illegal.
“Fuck,” you swear again, and he grins down at you, knowing he’s got you in the bag. With your ankles around his ears he slows down for you, but still fills you to the absolute brim, working you in just the rhythm he knows you need with the tip of his too-clever thumb. There is a heart wrenching beauty in making love like this. The two of you have reached an understanding of each other's bodies, a point of familiarity in which you just know, and yet somehow each time is better than the last.
It isn't long before you cum on his cock with a ragged scream that you know there’s no way in hell the boys didn’t hear, yet you cannot stop it, you cannot care, because the man inside you has rendered you into a vessel for this mind-bending pleasure and in this moment, you belong completely to him. His hips snap against yours, and soon he follows with your greedy little cunt fluttering around him, spilling himself inside you with a loud groan.
He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. You revel in the sticky warmth of his seed seeping between your thighs, his heart a furious drumbeat beneath your ear. “Jesus fucking Christ,” is all you can manage to wheeze against the warmth of his chest.
“Right initials,” he pants, pressing lips to your hair. “Wrong guy.”
Thinking you really might have lost your mind, you start to cackle, and you can’t stop until you literally can’t breathe. You do not even have the energy to clean up, falling asleep in the beautiful mess John made of you, and maybe it’s just you, but even in his sleep John Constantine seems to hold you more tightly than he ever has before.
------------
😬
it's on? 😈😈😈
@sweetwolfcupcake @treedaddymcpuffpuff @tammykelly
#wicked johnson fic#constantine x reader#constantine x you#john wick#john wick x reader#keanu reeves#john wick x you#john wick x y/n#keanu reeves x reader#yandere john wick#tex johnson#tex johnson x you
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✦ ⎯⎯ ㅤִㅤ ୭ 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 ( john constantine x reader )
ᨳ ꒰ précis ꒱. You’re powerful witch who finds herself locked away in a secret facility, your powers restrained. John Constantine is tasked with watching over you, but your interactions quickly escalate into a dangerous game of desire and manipulation. 1.6k words
୨ৎ warnings. gagging, blowjob, dark themes, language, manipulation, beat taming, bratty reader, hate to love.
𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, thanks for everyone likes/reblogs/comments on my last fic ! glad to know im doing okay for my first blog, hope you enjoy this oneee 🤍
IN THE DARK CONFINES OF YOUR PRISON, the air hung heavy with tension as Constantine sauntered in, his gaze cold and calculating. You glared at him, your defiance simmering beneath the surface as he lit his cigarette with practiced ease.
“So, still causing trouble, are we?” he sneered, the smoke curling around his lips like a serpent ready to strike.
You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you leaned back against the cold metal of your cage.
You knew the figure, the both of you shared history. Was it something positive? No. Unforgettable? Yes, sadly.
“You’re not one to talk, Constantine. What brings you down to my little corner of hell?”
A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes as he took a step closer, the scent of smoke and whiskey mingling with the heady aroma of magic that permeated the air.
“I’m here to make sure you behave yourself, love. Can’t have you running amok and causing chaos now, can we?”
You bristled at his condescending tone, your hands curling into fists as you fought the urge to lash out.
“Who appointed you my bloody babysitter? Last time I checked, I don’t answer to anyone.”
Constantine chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine.
“Oh, you’ll answer to me, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not.”
He stepped towards a chair and straddled it, his gaze never leaving yours as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“Now, let’s get one thing straight. I’m in charge here, and you will do as I say. Understand?”
You bristled at his arrogance, but something in his tone sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.
“I swear to god when I’m out of this cage you won’t be smiling anymore,” You hissed. “So no, I won’t be doing as you say,”
A wicked grin spread across Constantine’s lips as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin.
“Trust me, love, you won’t like the consequences.”
You swallowed hard, the air crackling with tension as you met his gaze head-on.
“Try me, Constantine. I dare you.”
In the tense silence that followed, the air hung heavy with anticipation, each breath a struggle against the suffocating weight of desire and defiance.
Constantine’s eyes bore into yours, a challenge laid bare in their steely depths as he savored the delicious tension that crackled between you.
But you refused to back down, your resolve like iron as you held his gaze, daring him to make the first move.
And oh, how he relished in the challenge, the thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins like a drug.
With a low growl, he closed the distance between you, his presence looming over you like a dark shadow.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, love,” he warned, his voice a low, seductive purr that sent shivers down your spine.
“I can’t believe they had to put you in a secluded prison like this,” he mocked, a slight smile in the corner of his lips as he leaned away, lighting up a cigar.
“You’re still a little baby—sure you’re like, 380 years old or something, but ain’t that barely an adult for a witch?” He’d snark.
"Oh, spare me the sanctimonious crap, Constantine," you retorted, rolling your eyes with exaggerated disdain.
"You act like you're some kind of hero, but we both know you're just a washed-up has-been with a superiority complex. And for the record, I may be centuries old, but I've got more power in my pinky finger than you'll ever have in your entire miserable existence. So don't you dare patronize me with your petty insults and pathetic attempts at wit,”
Constantine chuckled softly, not amused by how bratty and defiant you were from a few simple jokes he had spoke. He sat there, shaking his head.
“Now, either help me bust out of this hellhole or get the hell out of my sight. Your choice, 'babysitter.'" You’d add.
Constantine's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he took a long drag from his cigar, the smoke swirling lazily around him like a cloak of shadows.
"Touchy, aren't we?" he chuckled, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other with casual arrogance.
"But hey, if you're so eager to prove yourself, by all means, sweetheart," he continued, his voice laced with mockery as he gestured towards the reinforced walls of your prison cell.
"Want me to help you break free from those chains and wreak havoc like the big bad witch you think you are?”
He sighed, pondering his decision.
"But just remember, love," he added, his tone turning serious for a moment as he fixed you with a piercing gaze.
"I’d need something in return."
And with that, he leaned back in his chair, the smirk never leaving his lips as he awaited your next move, knowing full well that this game was far from over.
He unlocked the bars of the cell, closing it behind him as he shuffled the keys to undo your handcuffs, the metal now clanking in the ground as your wrists feel free once more.
Constantine clicked his tongue, gently pressing his hand against your shoulder before you started to stand up.
“You owe me,” He reminded you, your eyes flickering up to meet his brown eyed gaze.
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Constantine’s demand, wondering if he was serious about this whole debt thing.
“Seriously? Whatever, do you want me to be your sex slave or something?” you quipped, a hint of sarcasm lacing your words as a small chuckle escaped your lips.
Constantine remained silent, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. One corner of his lips lifted into a light smirk, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Narrowing your eyebrows, you suddenly realized that your flippant remark might have hit closer to the mark than you intended.
“It’s nothing big,” Constantine purred, his voice low and seductive. “There’s this motel we can stop by—I just want to see if that bratty mouth can do more than just argue.”
The car ride to the motel was shrouded in darkness, the only illumination coming from the dim glow of the dashboard lights and the occasional flicker of street lamps as they passed by.
The night air was heavy with anticipation, the tension between you and Constantine palpable as you made your way through the deserted streets.
The dingy motel loomed ahead, its neon sign flickering ominously in the darkness. As Constantine pulled into the parking lot, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease wash over you.
With a click of the door, Constantine stepped out of the car, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Come on, love,” he muttered, his voice low and commanding. “Lets put you to good use,”
Heart pounding in your chest, you followed him into the motel room, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap cologne.
The room was small and cramped, the bed unmade and the curtains drawn tightly shut against the outside world.
Without a word, Constantine closed the door behind you, his eyes burning with a hunger that sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins.
“On your knees,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire as he gestured towards the bed.
Trembling with anticipation, you sank to your knees before him, your pulse racing as you met his gaze head-on.
“I fucking hate you,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath as you reached for the zipper of his pants.
With a low growl, Constantine pushed you back onto the bed, his hands gripping your hair as he guided your head towards his throbbing length.
Your tongue slid against the tip, tasting the salty precum that leaked out of the nub.
“That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as you took him into your mouth, eager to please him in every way possible.
As you surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm of his movements, you couldn’t help but moan around him, the sound sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through his veins.
“That’s right,” he growled, his grip tightening on your hair as he drove himself deeper into your mouth.
As he moved back and forth, his cock continued to hit the back of your throat, each thrust pushing you to the brink of gagging.
With each response, you only whimpered, your eyes locking onto his with a mix of submission and desire. They glowed a bright red, a telltale sign of a flustered witch overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.
“Oh, do you like this?” he mocked, his smirk widening as he increased the pace, his cock sliding between your small, plump lips.
“And here I thought you hated me,” he’d add. A strand of your dress slipped off your shoulder, exposing more of your skin to his hungry gaze.
“I bet this witch would like more than one hole filled,” he laughed, the sound mingling with your muffled moans as he drove himself deeper into your mouth.
His words sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, your body trembling with desire for more.
“I’m close, baby—stay like that for me,” he huffed, his movements becoming more urgent as he neared the edge of ecstasy.
The sight of you, on your knees before him, your mouth stretched around his twitching cock, was enough to push him over the edge.
And as he reached the peak of pleasure, spilling himself into your eager mouth, you couldn’t help but revel in the intoxicating sensation of him filling you completely.
He leaned back, watching as his hot seed filled your entire mouth, an amused smirk now on his lips.
“You know, you’re really pretty like this.”
♡ 𝑡𝚑𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑
#keanu x reader#keanu reeves fanfictions#keanu reeves x you#keanu reeves ff#keanu reeves x reader#keanu reeves fic#keanu reeves#keanu reeves imagines#keanu reeves fics#john Constantine#Constantine 2005#Constantine x you#Constantine x reader#john Constantine fanfic#john Constantine imagines#john Constantine fic#dc john Constantine#fanfiction#first person#imagines#fic#my fic
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Quizzical | John Constantine x gn!reader
『••✎••』
↳ ❝ Hi, I hope it's not too late to request John Constantine with the prompt "It must be magic, how inside your eyes, I see my destiny" of your list? ❞
: ̗̀➛ However he does it is a mystery, but John always finds a way to surprise you.
: ̗̀➛ swearing, VERY VERY mild sex references
•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•
Stretching out on your sofa, John made himself more than at home; his shoes were chucked aside somewhere between the fireplace and the sofa, and his coat had long been tossed to the floor somewhere he didn’t actually care to look.
His tie was completely undone, sitting open against his off-white shirt as he watched you go about picking his things up and putting them away properly; he smiled, tilting his head to the side and watching you curiously.
Of all the beings in the world that he had been with, John kept finding himself coming back to you every single time; he thought at first that maybe it was just the overnight stays, but he soon pushed that aside when he realised that it was something else.
No, you were different. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t pry, or that you understood almost completely what it was like for him; maybe it was just the fact that you were more open and more accepting and welcoming of him than anybody else in the world.
He put his feet up, relaxing and closing his eyes as he yawned softly; a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth for just a moment too long that you noticed, smacking his ankle to grab his attention.
“Oi! If you’re gonna sit there like bloody King Shit of Dung Manner, least you could do is go and make a fuckin’ butty, would ya?”
John grinned, spreading his legs so that one slipped off of the sofa, giving you more than enough room to sit between his legs as he looked you up and down eagerly. “Now why would I do that, eh?”
You wanted to roll your eyes and to chastise him for not doing anything for you while you were expected to clean up after him, but you could only sigh as you raked a hand down your face and shrugged. “Maybe because I have to put up with Bruce Wayne every fucking day?”
“You wanted the job,” he pointed out. “If you didn’t wanna be his assistant, you wouldn’t’ve taken the job. You said so yourself that you was happy enough working as his social whatever manager.”
“Social media manager,” you huffed. “And I was! I really was! But the money is better, and the hours are… less demanding.”
“So don’t complain,” John chuckled, lying back with a smug hum. “I might be your boyfriend, but I’m not your fuckin’ job advisor.”
You paused, stunned for a moment as you looked at him quizzically; he had never used that word before, and you were almost certain that being your actual boyfriend was not something that he would have ever wanted.
He was John Constantine, for crying out loud - he didn’t do relationships. But when you didn’t answer for far too long for his comfort, he raised a brow, looking at you like he was expecting you to say something and he was hooked on every little noise you would make until you spoke.
“What?” He asked, furrowing his brows. “Cat your bleeding tongue?”
You shook your head, trying to come to your senses as you sighed and attempted to put the words completely together for once. “No, just… you never said that you were my boyfriend before… and I never thought that’s what you… what you wanted.”
John didn’t seem phased as he gestured at the room around him. “Well, what’d you call the bloke who sleeps with you nearly every night, constantly calls, and is always hanging around?”
“I… I dunno,” you whispered softly. “I guess I just never… never really thought about it because you didn’t bring it up or nothing…”
He hummed, squirming to sit upright before leaning back slightly and resting on his arm. “Well, we’re talking about it now, ain’t we?”
“Yeah, I guess,” you murmured. “Is that… is that what you want? To be my boyfriend, I mean, is that what you want?”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t’ve said it if I didn’t mean it.”
You nodded back, chewing at the inside of your lip. “So it’s settled, then… now, go make me a sandwich, yeah?”
John rolled his eyes as he moved to get off of the sofa, but he paused to quickly press a soft kiss to your lips before he moved away; you almost missed his presence when he wandered into the kitchen, but you couldn’t deny that there was something… off about the way he kissed you.
It wasn’t hungry and harsh like it usually was, and it wasn’t filled with heat and neediness like normal. It was sweet and soft, and chaste and unexpecting.
You chewed at the inside of your lip, thinking about what it could have possibly meant; of course, you knew that you would probably have to let Bruce down from now on, as he often took you with him as his plus one to events and galas and such - but now you would probably have to tell him that you couldn’t do that, as you were with John and you didn’t want him to think that you and Bruce were a couple.
“Alright,” John announced as he sauntered back in, wiping his hands on his shirt. “I got the cheese on toast going at the moment, I’ll chuck some jam on it once it’s done.”
You hummed as you looked at him, almost shocked. “Yeah, yeah, thank you.”
“You alright?” He asked, furrowing his brows as he came to sit beside you.
“Just thinking,” you told him softly, dismissively shaking your head. “Y’know, I’m probably gonna have to tell Bruce, I mean-”
“You’ve been going out with him to all that fancy shit for yonks and I’ve never gotten jealous before,” he pointed out. “Don’t intend to, either. Trust me, it must be magic, how inside your eyes, I see my destiny - and it must be magic if Bruce Wayne ever thinks he’s gonna get in your trousers.”
You laughed quite loudly, playfully shoving him. “You’re an ass!”
“Meh,” he slung his arm around your shoulders. “You love me.”
#mlem writes#john constantine x reader#john constantine x you#john constantine imagine#john constantine fanfiction#john constantine fanfic#john constantine fic#john constantine#constantine x reader#constantine x you#constantine x y/n#constantine imagine#constantine fanfiction#constantine fanfic#constantine fic#constantine#dc x reader#dc x you#dc x y/n#dc x yn#dc imagine#dc fanfiction#dc fanfic#dc fic#dc one shot#dc oneshot#dc
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Hello 👋 can I pls request boyfriend headcanons for John Constantine? Both sfw and nsfw if you're not uncomfortable? Thanks ❤️
of course nonnie!
cw: possessive behavior, p in v, cursing, smoking
the thing is, i cannot physically imagine this man as a boyfriend. he hates labels. he doesn’t want to over complicate his life and potentially put you in danger by giving you the title of his girlfriend.
“she’s not my girlfriend.” he’d grit his teeth, denying it all together. “i just fuck her, that’s it. well, and we go out, and have dinner at her’s occasionally, and i may have accidentally met her grandma. but she’s not my god damn girlfriend.”
“yeah,” chas would roll his eyes and pass constantine a beer. “whatever you say, dude.”
you two met on somewhat normal of circumstances. that’s why he’s stayed as long as he has, he doesn’t associate his first impression of you with any sort of shitty job. no demons, no half angels, no anything.
i said somewhat.
it was some club that he had been to before in his younger years. he wanted some pussy and to get drunk while doing it. so fuck it. some shit head, a 5’6 dumbass knocked into him and cussed him out in front of the whole bar. turns out, that the short asshole, was your date that night.
the last time he saw that little shit, the dude had walked in on constantine holding you up in the men’s bathroom. his nails dug into the flesh of your ass while he thrusted into your sopping cunt. and the eye contact you two made in that dingy restroom? with his hot breath smelling of gin and cigarettes, you relished in it’s scent while being fucked by constantine, with your date finding himself cucked in the doorway.
what’s a better way to get back at an asshole than fucking his date?
just because you two technically aren’t a couple, doesn’t mean Constantine isn’t a jealous SOB. he doesn’t have much in this world, so anything close to him, he’s stupidly possessive over.
“so, I saw your car at that new bar on Thursday.” constantine would grumble, lighting a cigarette in his weird excuse of an apartment.
“yeah, and? what about it?” you’d reply, changing the channel on the tv to the bachelorette. (he claims he can’t stand that show but will comment his varying opinions on the drama, classic)
“well, what the hell were you up to?” his tone agitated, frowning over at you.
you’d sigh, rolling your eyes. “i was on a date, john.” you ripped the band aid clean off. he’s a grown man, he can handle it.
well, that’s what you assumed.
that’s until your face is pressed into one of his cheap pillows on his bed, his bony hips slapping against the cusp of your ass, as he spanks it over, and over, and over again. the stirring in your core repeats, just on the brink of a blood curdling orgasm. constantine has been denying you of the satisfaction of cumming, he grabs a fistful of your sweaty locks by the base, yanking your head back so you’re forced to look up at him.
“bet he can’t fuck you like me. can he? nah, I’m the only one who knows just how you like it, fuckin’ brat. you don’t deserve my cock, i should have just given you the tip and let you suffer.”
your loud moans and other sinful noises bounce off of the unkempt walls of his dwelling. constantine would pry your mouth open, spitting directly into it, his saliva landing right onto your tongue. yet another power play he can pull, just to humiliate you.
“you’re fuckin’ mine, these tits are mine,” his calloused hands pawing at your bosom. “this ass is mine.” SMACK! you shriek in pain, while he hammers his length deeper into you. “this cunt? yeah, that’s mine, and you got the best baby. so tight, so god damn warm, all for me, right?” his grip on the roots of your hair tightens, shooting pain down your scalp.
“yeah! yes yes yes, john, it’s all yours! f-f-fuck!”
constantine would snicker, grabbing his still lit cigarette from the ash tray on the bedside table and taking a long drag. he blew the smoke right back into your face, which makes you cough and wheeze.
“that’s what I thought. no one else’s, just mine.”
#john constantine x reader#constantine 2005#john constantine#john constantine x you#constantine x you#Keanu#keanu reeves#keanuverse
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January 2024 Music Prompts: Day 5
Francesca ♫ Hozier
Francesca ♫ Hozier x John Constantine
Though I know my heart would break/I'd tell them, "Put me back in it".
In the city where shadows whispered secrets and the night held its breath in anticipation, Constantine, prowled the dimly lit alleys. His life was a tapestry woven with threads of darkness and the eternal struggle against the demonic forces that sought to breach the fragile barrier between worlds.
One moonlit night, after a fierce battle that left the air thick with the acrid scent of infernal smoke, Constantine found himself in a secluded corner of the city. The echoes of the confrontation still resonated in his chest, a haunting melody of battles fought and adversaries vanquished. Yet, amidst the triumph, an unfamiliar ache lingered - a longing that echoed in the chambers of his heart.
The night seemed to hold its breath as he leaned against a cold stone wall, the city's pulse throbbing beneath his fingertips. In the solitude of the moment, he pondered the inexplicable yearning that tugged at the frayed edges of his warrior's resolve.
"Though I know my heart would break," Constantine whispered to the shadows, his voice a mere exhale in the stillness. The admission hung in the air, a confession to the universe that even a stoic demon hunter carried the burden of unspoken desires.
In the midst of the urban labyrinth, where mortal and supernatural forces collided, Constantine felt an unfamiliar vulnerability. The city's heartbeat, usually drowned by the cacophony of nocturnal life, now echoed the rhythm of his introspection.
As he navigated the labyrinthine alleys, a figure emerged from the darkness - a woman, cloaked in shadows like an ethereal wraith. Her eyes, pools of mystery that held the secrets of both realms, met Constantine's with an unspoken understanding.
In the silence that stretched between them, Constantine recognized a kindred spirit - an ally in the ceaseless war against the demonic forces. She, too, carried the weight of battles on her shoulders, and in her presence, Constantine sensed a resonance that transcended the realm of supernatural camaraderie.
"I'd tell them, 'Put me back in it,'" Constantine murmured, his voice a low declaration that hung in the air. The words, a plea to the cosmic forces that governed fate, held a quiet desperation. He was willing to endure the heartbreak, the vulnerability, for the chance to delve deeper into the enigma of his own desires.
As they walked through the labyrinth together, Constantine and the woman forged a connection that defied the usual boundaries of their existence. They shared tales of battles won and lost, victories celebrated and scars earned. In each other's presence, the weight of their duties felt momentarily lifted, replaced by a shared understanding that transcended words.
In the heart of the city, where the boundaries between realms blurred, Constantine and the woman stood face to face. The moon cast a silvery glow on their figures, an ethereal spotlight on a moment that held the promise of vulnerability and connection.
And then, as if guided by an unseen force, Constantine and the woman leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss that tasted of both victory and longing - a union that held the echoes of countless battles and the quiet whispers of unspoken desires.
In that transformative kiss, Constantine discovered a solace that transcended the chaos of his existence. The heartbreak he had feared seemed a small price to pay for the warmth and connection that blossomed in the embrace of the night.
As they parted, the city's heartbeat resumed its rhythmic pulse, echoing the quiet triumph of a demon hunter who, in the midst of shadows and battles, found a sanctuary in the arms of a kindred spirit. And in the quiet aftermath of that kiss, Constantine embraced the vulnerability that came with the acknowledgment of his own heart - a heart that, despite the perilous nature of his calling, dared to beat for connection and the promise of a shared journey through the shadows.
#january 2024 music prompts#music prompts#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#imagine#drabble#constantine fanfiction#constantine fanfic#constantine fic#constantine imagine#constantine drabble#keanu reeves fanfic#keanu reeves fanfiction#keanu reeves fic#keanu reeves imagine#keanu reeves drabble#constantine x reader#constantine x you#john constantine x reader#john constantine x you#prompt fics
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“Over there is Drake, he’s with us because JL Light kept saying no to the teenage group so now they made him my and JLD’s problem. Also he kept trying to raise the dead. And kept succeeding.”
“It’s not my fault it’s so easy,” Drake muttered without looking away from his project. “And Batman wasn’t dead the last time. You bring back three people and suddenly everyone thinks you’re a budding necromancer. It shouldn’t be my fault I’m using the available resources for the best solution.”
Constantine somehow looked even more dead than Elle as he pointed to the teenager that had taken up residence on the counter, the rest of the space covered with no less than four laptops. “Do not see him as a role model. He broke reality that first time.”
Man, she already knew they were going to get along like a house on fire. Elle waved cheerfully at Drake. “Quack.” She said. Constantine just sighed and went for his lighter.
Drake looked at her in befuddlement. “Quack?”
“A drake is a duck yeah? So, quack.”
“I prefer the drakes being dragons route.” He said. “More mysterious and powerful.”
“Ah. Rawr then.” The lesser of the two options. Drake had clearly never met a true duck. Maybe Elle could sneak one in one of these days and introduce Drake to a better namesake.
#fanfic#wip hell#JL: hey Constantine can you babysit potential threat to the world#Constantine: I’m literally not a babysitter#he’s right he’s a father of two unholy terrors now#john constantine#tim drake#dani phantom#dc x dp#dpxdc#dc comics#danny phantom#‘why doesn’t Constantine talk British’ I hate brits next question
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The Justice League have a problem, one that needs some level of knowledge and expertise of a being from the Infinite Realms to give them a better chance of actually solving this problem.
However.
Every ghost they have summoned, without fail, took one look at Constantine. Squinted (yes, squinted). Then decided to go back to where they came without a word.
This. Would have been useful, nice even. If it was a situation where they needed the summoned being of a cult to head back to where they came without a fight.
But alas, that is not what is happening.
The Justice League, obviously, ask him why the ghosts keep fleeing back to their Realm at the sight of him, but Constantine can't answer because he genuinely has no idea why they keep leaving when getting a proper look at him.
So they keep trying and they do find some success in it. They summoned a boy, most likely older than he physically looks yet it still puts some of them off because of, well.
You know.
A boy with white hair and toxic green eyes. The boy stops short, as if not expecting to be randomly transported to somewhere else, takes a look around the room, then the Justice League. His eyes settle on one person.
Constantine, in particular.
He squints (Why do all of them squint? Nobody knows) and then a sudden looking of realization passes on his face. Different from the looks of vague fear and genuinely want to not involve themselves any further, his face held slight disgust and a heavy amount of disappointment.
Thankfully, he didn't leave immediately after that.
Constantine asks what's with the look on the ghost boy's face, the ghost boy in question squints even further. Stares at Constantine for a moment or two, buries his face in his hands and brings his knees to his hand and groans out.
"He could've done so much better."
#dc x dp#dp x dc#dpxdc#dp x dc crossover#dcxdp#dc x dp crossover#Yes this is vaguely tied to that other post about Vlad turning good and taking Constantine as his crush and boyfriend while Danny is like:#“Dude you exchanged THAT for my MOTHER?”#And tells Vlad he could do so#So#Much better#But Vlad is smitten#Anyways#The ghosts just leave after seeing Constantine because of Vlad#Like he may or may not have threatened a high number of them at the same time to not lay a hand on him#The ghosts#For their part#Don't want to involve themselves with the reclusive one#The outgoing one (Danny) is cool but the reclusive one (Vlad) kinda scary#Has generally bad vibes#And is ruthless#So they'll avoid incurring his wrath for this random human who they most likely won't ever meet again thank you very much#Right I just thought of this but#His Vulture underlings are also like:#“Boss please you could do so much better.”#While Vlad is making cheese
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How these guys would react to having their face held…
Dick smiles out of habit and pushes his face even further into your hands, humming in content.
He loves it when you held him, however that may be, as it was the one thing he looked forward to the most when coming home.
He’s prone to frequent bouts of fatigue with patrols and the like, but it was moments like these where he could truly appreciate your touch and the healing properties they have on him.
‘I could spend forever here in your hands.’ He’d sigh as he allowed himself to relax within your touch.
‘Oh really? Is that so?’ You raised your brows, watching as the features within his face relaxed into a one that showed you just how exhausted Dick looked. You could see the toll his job his job took but you knew that Dick was too devoted, too attached to what he does to ever give it up, no matter how constantly drained and tired it made him.
You respect his decision to keep doing what he was doing but there came times where you’d just wish he would take a breather from it all, even if it was just for a second, you just wanted to take the weight off of Dick’s shoulders and put it aside for a moment while you work the tension out of his aching muscles.
‘Yeah.’ He responded, feeling himself sink further into sleep. Dick loved what he does but some times he resents it for leaving him with little to no time to spend with you, at least not without him falling asleep five minutes within the interaction. Time with you was sparse and all Dick wanted to do was spend as much of it as he could to make up for the fact that he was barely home at all during the day.
He knew that he prioritised being a hero over your relationship too often and he couldn’t help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt over it during your relationship. You didn’t deserve to wait up for him every night to make sure he was okay, not while developing heavy eye bags of your own and a lack of a sleeping schedule.
He just hopes that one day you too will realise that you better then what he’s giving you and put yourself first, but you were too selfless to ever do that and he could feel that through the way you trace his features with your fingers with featherlight caresses.
Jason stiffens beneath your touch and goes unresponsive for such a long time that you were worried that you had accidentally crossed a boundary.
So just as you were about to remove your hands from his face, Jason quickly reaches out to grasp your hands and pull them back to cupping his cheeks as he then proceeded to nuzzle his cheek against your palm.
‘Stay.’ He whispered. ‘Please.’
Your heart broke at his plea but obeyed as you began to stroke his cheeks with either of your thumbs, feeling him gradually relax under your touch until he was practically a puddle in your hands.
‘I’m sorry.’ He whimpered, burying his face into your hands so that you didn’t see his tear stricken red face. ‘I don’t deserve this. None of it.’ He adds, cursing himself for being so pathetic but your touch practically broke him in the best way.
In your hands Jason felt as though all his broken prices were being put back together again through love, warmth and patience and that was enough to make him breakdown into tears.
Physical affection is a foreign concern to this poor man, and in due to that Jason is naturally going to be skeptical and on edge the moment the pads of your fingertips explore his jawline, before slowly coming up to cup his cheeks. ‘I’m right here Jaybridie.’ You utter softly as you felt his grip on your wrists slack a little. ‘I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere because nowhere is more important than staying here with you. Just take your time.’ And stay with him you did.
Damian is another one who’s not use to soft touches and sweet affection.
So he’ll initially be on guard when he saw you coming his way with your hands outstretched to cup his cheeks, but will huff and reluctantly rest his face in your palms, he’s extremely stiff while doing so and looking away from you out of initial embarrassment.
‘Get on with it.’ He’d mutter, acting as though such acts or moments of tenderness and vulnerability were beneath him, when in actuality Damian loved the feeling of you hold his face as though it were porcelain. He loved the fact that despite knowing his upbringing you still treat him with a love, kindness and warmth that he has never been shown before.
To Damian it was clear that you didn’t care if he was the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul, grandson of Ra’s al Ghul. You only cared about him, Damian Wayne and he could feel that care through your touch as he vowed to cut through anything and everything that intended to harm you.
Your touch brings him a sense of calm, serenity and peace that brought him back from the brink a plethora of times, especially in moments when his arrogance and brashness would resurface. Damian was thankful for you being in his life, a true guiding light in his darkest moments, and he couldn’t think of any possible way to thank you for everything you’ve done for him but he’ll surly try.
Bruce feels the tension behind his eyes and in his jaw sooth themselves under your touch.
His eyes would slowly close as he brought his calloused hands up to gently stroke the inside of your wrists. Bruce needs no words to describe how he felt because he feels as though his expressions and the noises of content made it clear how much he appreciated you being here with him.
‘You look tired.’ You commented, tracing the weary lines on his hard face with your eyes as he observed your face and the way it showed most of your innermost emotions whether you were aware of this fact or not.
Bruce knew that you worry and that you worry a lot about him in particular when it came to whether he was sleeping enough, eating enough and keeping himself safe whilst fighting on the streets of Gotham. Bruce knew he was as stubborn as mule when it came to his life choices and that you were only just worried about him because you cared for him, but sometimes he wished you would redirect all this effort towards yourself because he oftentimes didn’t think he was worth of your worry, nor your care.
Bruce felt as though he should be the one taking care of you rather than you taking care of him. It’s not as though he hates it, it’s just you’ve shown him on countless occasions of your care towards him, and on even more occasions you have shown him of your unwavering dedication towards him. Bruce also feels like he should be the one paying you back for all the hard times where you stood by his side, watching him practically work himself to the bone and almost into a comatose if you didn’t step in and deal him away from the computers.
For you’ve proven time and time again that you weren’t so easily swayed into leaving, and that was made more true when he felt comfortable enough telling you that he was Batman and the dangers that would come with knowing such knowledge. You however only shrugged and told him that by his side, you were the safest you’ve ever been or will ever be.
‘More so than usual?’ He asked in a way that it might as well have came out as an indignant huff.
‘And by more so than usual you mean constantly, then yes, yes you are more tired than usual.’ You replied as you ran your thumbs under his eyes and across his eye bags as if to emphasise your point. Bruce only huffs as he watched you take in all of him with nothing but love and affection in your eyes and your touch.
John would most likely bite your hand out of an inherent need to be a teasing little shit.
Will boast about the fact that you just wanted to touch up his stubble. He wasn’t lying but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that and instead say; ‘in your dreams John.’
‘Oh I’m sure I am in yours.’ He reply with confidence as he winked, causing you to lightly pinch his cheek as punishment for his cockiness. ‘I hate you.’ You’d say as you push your fingertips through his stubbly beard, enjoying the way it deliciously tickles your skin, almost as though they were little prickly kisses.
‘No you don’t sweetheart, try as you might but you and me both know that for definite that you love me.’ John would state in a matter of fact tone. Once again you hated how right he was, but kept your lips sealed shut as not to give him any more ammunition to tease and contradict you at any given opportunity than you’ve already have.
The air between you is playful and light in comparison to how cynical, sharp witted and sarcastic he usually is on a daily basis. It was a welcomed change as you allowed the blonde to pretend to bite your hand, only allowing for his teeth to barely graze your skin before pulling away with a sly smirk as you scratch at his stubble.
#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc x you#dc fanfic#dc fic#dc comics x reader#dc fanfiction#dick grayson x you#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson imagines#dick grayson x reader#nightwing imagines#nightwing imagine#nightwing x reader#dick grayson fluff#nightwing fluff#jason todd imagine#jason todd x reader#jason todd fluff#jason todd imagines#damian wayne imagine#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne imagines#damian wayne fluff#john constantine imagine#john constantine x reader#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne fluff#John Constantine imagines
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DPx DC AU: Danny learns that he can change his summoning ritual and decides to go chaos mode with it i.e. A viral tiktok trend.
Danny ascends the throne and it's honestly pretty alright as far as new jobs go. He states a few opinions, makes sure no one goes to war and is slowly integrating a community service sentence to Walker's prison. It's not a bad gig, and considering the troves of gold he's now owner of, it doesn't pay too shabby either.
His main problem with the job isn't even his constituents (he likes to think they would vote for him over pariah), it's all these loony death cults! They keep summoning him with Pariah's old cold sign and it's driving him insane- After a very unhelpful smirk by CW, a long study session in GW's library and some help from Ember (she knows drama like no one else) Danny finally has a new summoning ritual.
Of course he swapped out the blood and bone for like, sour gummies and random shit he had in his backpack at the time. A TI-84. And yes, the Latin chant is that one super-fast bit of Rap God preformed to a BTS dance at speed.
But rather than keep this to himself, he gets Sam (who has a thriving plant and protest community following) to record her completing this ritual and Danny being summoned. Why? Cause it was a very specific to Sam skill that they didn't know if people could replicate and it gives Danny some plausible deniability that he tried to make it difficult when CW asks.
Posting it makes it very quickly go viral as people attempt to call it fraudulent but sure enough, Danny is now traveling the world at a moments notice.
Which is great cause it's summer and he's bored in Amity anyway (He's going to change it before he starts university in September, duh), and its even better because the second a lame ass death cult brings him forward to, like, destroy the planet, a slumber party or influencer has already summoned him away. Shit, he even met a few celebrities this way! Plus, turns out that most death cultists aren't able to rap!
Reality hit him pretty hard when he got summoned to an office space that is clearly a base of operations and the summoning spell locked him in. Literally, he has no idea how to get out of this binding spell- Danny definitely hadn't realized that was an option. Taking in the Justice League members in front of him, plus one trench coated menace, Danny groaned for a moment before thinking to ask:
"Wait- Which one of you was able to do Rap God? And the dance? Please tell me someone thought to film that!!"
#dcxdp#dpxdc#danny phantom#dc x dp#dp x dc#dc crossover#dp crossover#summoning au#ghost king danny au#Danny: Fine instead of waiting to be summoned at random ill just be summoned all the time everywhere#Danny: I will go zero to one hundred because fuck it we ball#Sam is very talented in this and i will not explain#pick ur fave hero for the performance lmao but you lose points if you pick a side kick/ younger hero#also thinking about this as the john constantine method like going from a whole soul to sooo many pieces#Danny denies starting the viral trend when they interrogate him but he doesnt deny preferring this to boredom
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I kept thinking of little baby man Phantom and the potential of Danny being an actual baby of the Infinite Realms. However, he’s more snake teenager than itty bitty Little Baby Man edition, cause I think it’d be so funny to just — imagine this teenage snake curled up in a summoning circle, obviously having been taking a nap and looking up with his big green, sleepy eyes and Constantine just stares and freaks because, “THATS A WHOLE ASS BABY, PUT IT BACK!”
But they can’t because apparently the summoning was more of a ‘knock knock I’m a babysitter’ and Danny’s ghost parent decided that this was the perfect time to have some time for themselves if Heroes were so willing to take care of Danny for a little while.
Another take — mainly in reference to a different post about Klarion actually just being a toddler of the infinite realms with no ideas on how to human and thinks him fighting with heroes is just a play date — zooms into the human realm where the heroes are and just goes, “Hey I’m dropping my baby sibling onto you guys cause my dad got mad last time Danny got hurt by the humans I hang with. So here you go, I’ll pick him up later.”
A teenage snake Danny is dropped into a hero’s arms where he mainly grumbles and then shifts to better take a nap. Klarion drops the baby essentials at them with no further explanations other then “here’s their favorite blanket, if they get fussy taco them; here’s the baby milk make sure it’s -200 F, they have an ice core, etc.” and then just DISAPPEARS after leaving what amounts to a month old infant in human heroes care.
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dc x dp#dcxdp#danny phantom#dp x dc crossover#danny fenton#dp x dc prompt#Klarion: so here’s a baby for you to babysit :)#heroes: YOU CANT JUST LEAVE A BABY#Constantine: I’m not going to DIE BECAUSE SOMEONE TRANSLATED A CHILDS PLAYPEN INTO SOME LITTLE PRISON#Constantine: you fools this baby will make and break us#Danny who does the cat tongue thing and sleeps#Danny is a baby but for the comedic effect he still looks like a teenager but no legs and all snake#idk who dad is but they sure as hell are gonna be big as fuck#Klarion is Danny’s brother either way#Klarion is 6 years old#is the baby powder just pure kryptonite?#maybe#all supers are weak against Infinite Realm baby milk#yes it’s going to be funny if a super tries to get the baby powder and immediately drops#Danny will fuss if he isn’t held immediately#he will also fuss if he isn’t fed on time and will make it everyone else’s problem#dying wail is still a thing and the heroes are absolutely floored when it first happens#heroes: THE BABY IS DYING?!#Danny: GIVE ME MILK! >:(
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Just A Small Morsel, Please Sir AU AKA Constantine Would Like to Disappear Please
Batman is about to go toe to toe with another god, and he needs armor that will prevent another "lost in the time stream" incident.
So he consults JLD.
The decide that if he has a piece of a really, really powerful entity, then that entity's powers should think that they're protecting the entity and in turn, protect Bruce.
So Constantine draws a summoning circle, and is bullied into making an actual good offering to the being the circle is supposed to summon. They include a note; it's written in an old, ancient language, but with JLD working together they figure out roughly what it says; something about requesting a piece of the most powerful being's belongings to grant them protection.
Thus, the ritual begins! The lights dim; cold green fog emanates from the summoning circle, the feeling of dread almost overwhelms the lessor experienced.
And then in the middle of John's chant, the ritual is forcibly stopped from the other side.
The offerings remain.
A single note floats down on top of the pile.
'I'm uh...flattered? But like, it's kinda weird to ask for someone's hair. Gonna have to turn this one down, sorry. No kinkshaming, though! I also won't tell anyone else what that kink is, Constantine, don't worry; I got ur back.
Anyways stop the creepy hitting on me.
Danny'
Apparently, JLD had not correctly translated the language.
It's direct Translation, once they had that key provided to them by Danny, which once they got that they were able to figure out that one key letter was not what they thought, was more along the lines of;
'Oh Great High King, We Request A Small Parcel, A Small Snippet, Of Your Luxurious Hair. Just For A Little Bit. We Need To Use It For Personal Reasons. Just A Small Morsel. Thank You For Being Pretty. And Amazing. We Just Want A Small Piece. That Is All We Need. It Does Not Take Much. We Are Very Eager. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.'
Needless to say, multiple heroes have to stop Constantine from trying to throw himself out of an airlock.
@simplestoryteller
#dcxdp#dpxdc#dc x dp#dp x dc#just a small morsel au#constantine would like to disappear please au#constantine reads the direct translation#and just fuckin#dies#It takes Batman making the summoning himself#And just using the same sigil but with a note on top of it explaining in english what he wants#when danny's like#"ohhhhhh yeah no prob I can lend you some infinite realms armor fuck why didn't you just say so
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The Girl Next Door ~ Part 1
A Constantine x Reader fic based on this imagine.
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… (I had to write something sweet for my mental health y'all 😆)
Rating: Explicit, NSFW, but no dead doves...😮
You are the very archetype of The Girl Next Door. Well, literally. John Constantine lives in 202, and you in 204. You share a wall, and occasionally, he sort of smiles at you when you meet in the hall.
Like tonight, as your arms are full of groceries, returning home after work. You don’t know what he does exactly, but you assume it’s the same for him, though he is only clutching a brown bag that very poorly disguises a bottle of scotch.
“Hi, John,” you say brightly over a proud sprig of celery sticking out of your bag. It’s almost a running joke between the two of you, your sunny brightness aimed at him like a weapon.
There’s a long pause, like always, before he finally answers reluctantly in his deep monotone, “Hi, y/n. Bye, y/n.”
Before you can engage him any further he disappears into his apartment, closing the door hard behind him, the slam in the air like an exclamation point. You stare for a moment at the space where he’d just been, tall, handsome, his suit rumpled, that tie half undone around his neck. He looked like he’d had a rough day, whatever he does.
He dresses like a professional something, but imagining that man as a door to door salesman with his attitude is laughable, and so is the thought of him working amicably in an office setting.
You go inside and put away your groceries, then spread out what you need to make dinner. It’s Friday night, and you’ve had a long week too. You are making comfort food—it’s kind of a shame to eat it alone.
Half an hour later, while the sauce simmers, you find you just can’t stop thinking about that man next door. He seems lonely, every time you see him. There is something about him that just makes you want to wrap him up in a hug.
He’d probably push you off if you tried, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a hug.
The thing is…you have this thing. He pretends like you annoy him, but sometimes in the hall, or down in the lobby when you’re collecting your mail, you catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not looking. And the look on his face is never exactly lecherous, like you’re used to with most men who eye-fuck you on the street. His look is more…just…lost, and it tugs at your heartstrings.
You’re sure he’ll say no, but your feet seem to carry you of their own accord, when you find yourself at his door, knocking loudly.
Some time passes and you hear him grumbling on the other side before he jerks open the portal just a crack. “Yeah?”
“I’m making my Nonna’s meatballs and marinara for dinner.”
“Good for you?”
“From scratch.”
“Sounds time consuming.”
“Want to join me?”
There is a very long pause, in which he just looks at you. You can tell he’s at least one drink in already; you smell the fumes on his breath. And maybe it’s stupid, and you’re asking for trouble you don’t need, but the thought that that will be this man’s only dinner squeezes your heart.
Finally, he answers with a question. “Why?”
“Why not?”
This, amusingly, seems to actually flummox him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. In the end he narrows his eyes at you, (those lovely brown eyes, you can’t help but notice), like you’re trying to trick him into something truly heinous.
It’s…kind of funny, truth be told, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning. “Come on. I know you can smell it.” Your door is wide open.
“Maybe I don’t like Italian food.”
“Everyone likes Italian food.”
“Maybe you’re a terrible cook.”
“Only one way to find out.”
He actually growls a little, which for some reason gives you a thrill to the base of your spine.
You really need to get back to stir the sauce. You didn’t anticipate getting this far in the conversation (argument?) with him, honestly.
“Well, door’s open,” you tell him, turning to go. You throw one last little come-hither look over your shoulder, to find he is definitely staring at your ass. Or, glaring, more like.
Maybe you have a screw loose, but you find this adorable.
You go back to your sauce, and lose yourself in the preparation of the other ingredients, watching the pasta to make sure it doesn’t boil over, checking that the meatballs aren’t burning. (Your oven is a dinosaur from the 1970s, and sometimes the temp spikes for no reason).
You are about to drain the pasta, when you find a tall, rumpled man standing beside your rickety thrift store table, looking a bit confused as to how he’d ended up there. He looks so big in your shoebox of an apartment, and if you’re being honest, maybe there’s a little bit of lust tied up with your desire to mother this man.
You offer him a welcoming smile, and for a moment, you swear he looks like he’s drowning.
“Glad you could make it,” you say somewhat teasingly.
“Can I…help?” He says the last word like it’s a completely alien thing to him.
“I’ve pretty much got it under control…” you say, which is mostly true. You peruse the sparse offerings of your 3 slot wine rack, picking a $6 bottle of Chilean red blend. “Want to open this?” The face he makes looking down at the decidedly weaker-than-whiskey beverage is almost comical, but he takes the corkscrew from you as you transfer the meal to serving bowls and put glasses of water on the table.
He removes his suit jacket at the table, rolling his sleeves up over muscular forearms that are, if you’re being honest, totally distracting. After you sit down you fill your plates, and the first few minutes of the meal goes by in semi-awkward silence.
Surprisingly, it’s John who speaks first. “This is really good,” he admits begrudgingly, and you utterly fail to damper your I-told-you-so smile.
“Thanks.”
You make halting small talk. You get the feeling he doesn’t chat much with anyone, of his own free will. When you ask him how his week was, his simple answer is, “Hell.”
You have no idea he’s being literal.
You ask him what he does, and he tells you he’s a sort of private detective, and he can’t really talk about it. He asks what you do, more to get the conversation off of him than anything. You let it go, for now, telling him that you’re a receptionist at an office building for a mega corporation downtown.
“Fitting,” he grumbles, you think because of your innate cheerfulness.
You feel the urge to tell him that half the time it’s just a thing you wear like armor—but you don’t know each other that well yet.
As you loosen up a little with food and more wine, he slowly asks more questions about you, where you’re from, what do you do in your free time, and maybe it’s stupid, but you feel like he’s actually kind of interested in your answers.
You enlist him to help you with the dishes, and as you stand together at the sink you bump him playfully with your hip. He peers down at you, his dark hair in his eyes. He is so tall, and there is a hint of a smile on his lips now. For him, it’s like a full-on toothy grin, and it doesn’t fail to quicken your heart in your chest.
Constantine can’t help but feel…puzzled, by you. Yes, you’re his cute neighbor, who teasingly likes to hail him in the hallway. And maybe he does look forward to the way your eyes sparkle, when he begrudgingly acknowledges you before retreating to the safety of the quiet solitude of his apartment. But you are so…nice. He can just tell, and he has no idea what a girl like you might want with a degenerate demon hunter like him. There are enough assholes in L.A. who would be happy to take you out. Why would you waste your time chasing him down?
And there is that smaller nagging voice in the back of his head. You are damned, and you don’t deserve her.
Fuck if it doesn’t make him want to touch you even more.
Later, he will look back on this as a moment of weakness. You, looking up at him with your big eyes, like you're old friends. You made him feel, for a fleeting moment, like he wasn't some doomed asshole with nothing to live for. Like he was an actual person. A man who could matter, to someone. Maybe even to you.
When you splash him with a flick of dishwater after he insults your favorite TV show he narrows his eyes down at you, and you get the fluttery feeling that he might like to eat you a moment before he cups your cheek in his big hand and catches your lips in a kiss. It’s everything you’d hoped for, even if you never actually expected it to really happen. Maybe the wine helped? Or maybe…he likes you? Luckily you get over your surprise, standing on tiptoe to meet him, looping your arms around his neck.
You yip with surprise when suddenly he lifts you to sit on the sink, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. “Was getting a crick in my neck…”
Your answering laugh is shaky at best. “Sorry.”
“Is this why you invited me over?”
“Sort of?”
He lifts an eyebrow at that, waiting for further explanation. You reach up to toy with his collar, tracing the line of his loosened tie, totally distracted by the shape of his collarbone and what’s bared of his neck. This man has a jawline that looks like it was sculpted from stone. There’s no shortage of beautiful people in L.A., of course, but you’ve never met anyone quite like him. He doesn’t seem vain, an oddity in this town, but underneath his rumpled suit this man definitely has the physique of a movie star. You try not to dwell on how odd it is, that he would choose to spend his Friday night with you.
“I mean, I’m definitely not complaining,” you offer with a sly little smile.
However, his answering expression is nothing less than stern.
“I’m warning you now, sweetheart. I’m not boyfriend material, and I’m not going to be your project.”
Even if both of those things may have crossed your mind, your thoughts are too hazy with lust from his lips on yours. Maybe he’s a grouch…but he’s a great kisser.
“Okay.”
“Good.”
He kisses you again, and you melt even more under his exacting touch. Those mitts for hands make you feel small, and you arch against him as they travel the ladder of your ribcage to your spine.
The wine was good, but you know you are mostly drunk on him.
Then he is lifting you again, like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the couch. You settle down into the worn vintage cushions and make-out like teenagers, all lips and teeth and pawing hands.
You’re the one who actually initiates something further, pulling off your shirt, and John blinks as he takes in the swathes of your bare skin. He glares at your lacy bra like it owes him money, and you can’t help but laugh breathily. You haven’t felt thishappy in a long time, truth be told.
“Something funny?” he asks, nipping at your neck. With a flick of his fingers your bra falls away, and your breasts are in his hands, and you forget how to speak intelligibly. With his lips on your nipples you manage to loosen his tie without strangling him, unbuttoning his shirt with an increasing desperation. You sigh when at last the bare skin of your torsos is pressed together, his weight pressing you down into the couch.
It occurs to you, how small your couch is, and this man is definitely over six feet tall. “Would you prefer…the bed?” you ask between kisses.
“Up to you.”
You nod, but find you can’t really stop kissing him long enough to move. You can feel the impressive length of him through his pants and yours, aligned with your center and you dry grind, thinking even that is wonderful. He, however, lets out a frustrated growl, and pulls you to your feet again.
Dizzy with desire, you lead him by the hand to your bedroom, and you make it there eventually between kisses and shedding the rest of your clothing. His thick fingers between your legs are a marvel. “So fucking wet for me,” he groans, and it’s too embarrassing to admit, but sometimes after seeing him in the hallway you’ve fantasized about something like this going down, and it always leaves you soaked.
“I…like you,” you admit, moaning as a second finger finds its way inside you, his thumb circling your clit.
“I still don’t get that,” he admits, but kisses you hard before you really have a chance to answer. It would be a little too crazy, to tell him right now that you’ve always just felt pulled towards him, like the Universe was giving you a nudge any time you saw him. He’d laugh at you, or he’d leave, and either of those at this point would be unbearable.
You are close already under his masterful touch, and you whine even as you flex your hips, all your muscles tightening in anticipation.
“Don’t make me cum yet,” you beg. “I want you.”
He groans in response to that, desperately pawing through the pockets of his pants on the floor for a condom. You watch with stars in your eyes, propped on your elbows as he rips open the packet and rolls it on that impressive length, your lip between your teeth. You feel empty while looking at him like this, longing to be filled to the brim.
There is a moment of raw eye contact between you that sears your soul, as he pulls you to the edge of the bed with those large hands on your thighs. For a fleeting second he looks almost vulnerable. It’s there and gone like a ripple in a pool, then his thick tip is at your entrance, and he is slowly pushing himself inside you.
It’s better than you ever dreamed, and you arch against him, moaning as he works inside.
“Fuck you are tight,” he pants in your ear, your walls clenching around him, seeming to fight him even as they crave the relief of his big cock stretching you out. You breathe deeply, easing him in. When at last he bottoms out inside you, your head rocks back behind your shoulders, blissed out.
“God, you feel good.”
This man actually snorts at the comment, though his voice is pure gravel, rough with need. “He wouldn't appreciate you saying it about me.”
Your laugh is half moan.
“What, are you on a first name basis?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
You're not sure what to make of that, and you're too cock drunk to even begin to reason it out.
He can tell you're a nice girl. Or at least, that's his perception of you. So he doesn’t bend you at impossible angles or whisper filthy things in your ear. Really, there's no time for it. Just pure vanilla missionary in your sweet little snatch is more than enough to slake his need tonight. He fucks you on your back, his thumb on your clit as he glides in and out of your tight little pussy, your legs wrapped around his narrow hips.
Your pleasure builds in the cradle of your hips, wound so tight you feel like you'll either die, or fly. Usually...alright, it's never like this for you the first time with someone. There's always fumbling, and awkwardness, and half the time, if you're honest, a faked orgasm because you're too shy or too embarrassed to ask for what you really need from a new partner, afraid he’ll think you’re too much trouble.
Well, that is not what is happening tonight. Tonight, John is taking care of you, and you can hardly believe your luck.
“You gonna cum for me, baby?”
“Yeah.” Your reply is breathy, and you almost laugh just for the pure, unexpected joy you feel in that moment. “Oh, John...” Your ability to say real words escapes you as your body erupts with scintillating pleasure spreading through your loins. You actually scream, and the fierce clench of your cunt around him brings him too. He loses himself with a groan, his face buried in the curve of your shoulder as he shudders against you.
Afterwards, you are laying against his broad chest, his heartbeat a steady drum in your ear. You don't know it, but this is not something John Constantine usually does. Snuggling. But you are sweet and soft in his arms, and he can't quite bring himself to vacate the premises just yet. In fact, he's so comfortable that he dozes, and you follow close behind him.
In the middle of the night you wake to kisses on your neck and caresses down your curvy side. You sigh, arching into him. You feel his manhood at the seam of your buttocks, his thick head kissing your hole.
“Fuck. Sorry,” he whispers with a shuddering sigh, rolling over to reach for his pants again. How many condoms did he bring? The fact that he's not careless with you, even in the sleepy haze of the early morning second round, is incredibly endearing to you. How many times have you had to insist, and been made to feel like an uncool bitch for not wanting to risk pregnancy or disease in the heat of the moment?
Maybe it's utterly insane, but you're half in love already as he hauls you on top of him, his cock freshly capped with a new Trojan Magnum.
You are still drenched from earlier, and it's no problem to impale yourself upon him.
In the blue dark of early morning your eyes meet his, and again you sense that fleeting vulnerability before he distracts you with that clever fucking thumb finding your sensitive bud. He works you just right as you ride his beautiful dick with your back arched taut as a bow, his other hand toying with your nipple. It makes you cum in record time, so quickly it's almost embarrassing, though he doesn’t seem to mind. Within a minute he's followed along with you, his big hands digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he reaches his own release. Your name on his lips raises gooseflesh all over your body, as though your lovemaking has invoked something powerful, something binding.
You collapse against his chest, and the both of you nearly fall asleep again, with him still inside you.
“Let me get this thing off,” he requests gently, and with a plaintive little groan you roll off of him, curling in at his side. He knots the condom before throwing it in the general direction of the bin. You are both too tired to care if it actually hit home.
Again, you snuggle close and the two of you doze tangled together until morning light streams through the window.
You wake to kisses on your forehead this time. It's a miracle you rouse. You're a heavy sleeper—and he worked you out.
“I have to go, honey.”
“Want breakfast?” you murmur, half asleep.
“Yeah, but I can’t. Rain check?”
“Okay.”
Through half lidded eyes you watch as he gets dressed, half way, at least. A good portion of his clothes are still strewn around the living room.
My god, what a beautiful specimen of manhood you bagged last night. Nonna would be proud. She was an appreciator of male beauty, and if you told her that her special recipe had gotten you the best sex of your life with the handsome boy next door she would have cackled with delight.
“See you soon?” you dare ask as he buttons his pants.
“Yeah,” he agrees, after a pause, bending down to kiss you one more time, with tongue this round.
“Careful mister, or you'll start round three.”
“Jesus, woman,” he teases with that heartbreaking almost-smile. “You've drained me dry.”
You look him over appraisingly.
“Doubt it.”
He huffs with laughter, shaking his head.
“Bye, y/n.”
You sigh.
“Bye, John.”
With a surprisingly heavy heart, you watch the best lay of your life slip out the door. You really hope you'll get to do this again, and not just go back to awkward acknowledgements in the hallway.
***
Maybe John Constantine had told you he’s not boyfriend material.
But earlier that day, while he was having a smoke out on the sidewalk, he found himself looking over at the wares of a flower vendor and wondering if you would like them. He didn’t buy any, of course.
He wasn’t a total sap.
But it’s possible as he scales the stairs to his apartment, there’s a lightness in his heart as he thinks of you, and the possibility of seeing you in the hallway.
That's when he finds your door ajar, and your apartment ransacked, and a note in red ink on the table addressed to him.
If you want to see your girlfriend alive again, come to this address.
It’s a place in L.A. that’s deep in vampire territory, and something black and heavy weighs like a stone in the pit of John’s stomach. He’d deported a few big players of the local coven not too long ago, and he’d figured the Master would want revenge, but this?
Fucking diabolical—and just their style.
Goddamn vampires.
Without a moment to lose, he goes to his apartment to get his kit, praying he’s not too late to save you.
#constantine 2005#constantine#constantine x you#constantine x reader#keanu reeves#keanu reeves x you#john constantine#constantine x y/n#constantine fic#constantine imagine#constantine fanfic#the girl next door constantine x reader fic
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DC X DP: The Summoning Conditions of the Ghost King.
Danny Fenton is new to his title.
It's been about two years since he defeated Pariah Dark and inherited his seat through the right of conquest. Now Danny knew, on some level, that Pariah was King of Ghosts, but in all honestly, he had been preoccupied with getting his town back from the zone and keeping his friends and family (and the rest of the town, he guessed) alive.
The victory had been just within the lines of a fair fight, only because a dew ghost argued that his shifting his dad's ecto-skeleton suit was a form of armor only after his power ran over it.
If Danny had fought in the ecto-skeleton suit without doing so then it would not have been considered a fair fight as it wasn't his own strength, and thus, he would not won the right of conquest.
But he did. And now Danny was crowned Ghost King. Which came with all sorts of responsibilities and proper conduct for someone of his new stature.
Many ghosts were willing to teach him the way- Princess Dora, Clockwork, Frostbite, Ghostwriter, and even the Observants- but Danny struggled to adjust. He had no idea being King meant he had to play diplomat to the literal multiverse- as the Ghost Zone or Infinite Realms touched every possible world at every possible time- and follow specific rules of being a Ghost.
A vampire could not entire a home without being invited in.
A fae could not take control over a human without knowing their name.
And a ghost could not make a chance to the living plane without meeting requirements, like an agreement on a contract.
That was why the Ghosts never passed Amity Park's limits and why Pariah Dark had chosen to take the town into his domain instead of expanding his attack. The Fentons have unknowingly created an open contract with anything that could get past their portal by opening it up and claiming themselves the protectors against ghosts kind.
If a ghost could defeat everyone in the Fenton household- as the ground of where the zone was open and the beings calling that location a home- then they would become the portal's rulers and be able to leave the city. Thankfully, that contact applied to Danny, and he had never lost, no matter who challenged him.
His ghost sense activated the contract, alerting him of a new challenger. After finding his family contract, Danny had thrown a fit in the Ghost King's Keep. Thankfully, he could close it with the help of Clockwork, who agreed to be his final challenger, and once he won, the portal was forever closed.
Danny then discovered he had to create his own Ghost Conditions as Phantom, The Protective Spirt of Amity Park, and Phantom, the Ghost King. He argued with the Infinite Releams council, something he installed to help him rule and to lowkey have them continue to govern themselves with his own laws, keeping them from killing each other- until his core began to deteriorate the more he neglected his Ghost Conditions.
Clockwork has to intervene, telling him in little words to write up his Ghost Conditions and have them ready in a month or experience his soul being ripped apart by nature.
Danny agreed to write up the Conditions as soon as he could....and then did what any sixteen-year-old teenager would do with a work assignment. He procrastinated until the night before it was due.
Panicked, he sat down in front of his laptop to write, telling his parents he had a big essay due and could not answer any calls until late.
At three am of the following day, Clockworked appeared for his Ghost Conditions which outlined his limitations and certain requirements for Danny to operate.
He worked hard on Phantom, The Protective Spirt of Amity Park, to allow him to live everyday human life and shift into a ghost to protect his town whenever he needs to. He ensured that he could not be used to cause human death by a weapon in a mortal war, and his condition for working on behalf of a human was to have a recommendation letter from both FrostBite and Clockwork out of both ghost-freewill.
He figured it would make it practically impossible to make him a weapon or make him do anything against his will. He didn't want to end up like Ember or Desiree, who relied on mortals to get power, but he also did not want to be so obsessive about protecting something he forwent everything like Sculker or Walker.
He spent so much time on it that he forgot to leave time to work on the Phantom, and Ghost King lists until his eyes were dropping closed and Clockwork was messaging him that he was on his way to both lists.
Danny panicked and wrote something down- hoping he would redo the assignment later on- just to have something to turn in. The lack of sleep and stress caused him to not think clearly.
When he woke seven hours later, he realized this wasn't just some English assignment he could ask his teacher to let him redo. This was set in stone conditions and said conditions had already been passed around the multiverse. Some of his work even appears in his timeline, in some ancient civilization, thanks to Clockwork flinging copies of his Ghost Conditions into time portals.
Thank the Ancient Cores that Danny had copied and pasted the parts of about not making him a weapon for mortal wars or mindlessly killer. He hoped that it wouldn't come to bite him in the ass.
It bit him in the ass a week later when an alien threat so big the Heros of the Justice League were so desperate for a counter-attack they allowed Batman to attempt to summon the Ghost King even at the Justice League Dark's warning.
Batman had known about the Ghost King's Summoning Conditions from his time with Ra's Al Ghul. It was, after all, Ra's civilization that had been the one to find Danny's list from Clockworks time portals.
Danny knew this because one of the conditions was letting him know of the human's intention before they could summon him. He honestly heard whatever Batman was thinking and whatever the man could hear.
"Bats, this is baty even for you!" A disembodied voice hissed. Danny was startled so hard on his bed, having been scrolling on his phone when the British man spoke.
"If we can convince the King that the lives of Earth are at risk, he will aid us in the battle. He can not kill humans, but the aliens are not human." Batman answered, and Danny felt his core drop. Oh no. a loophole.
"Or he could kill everything around in a fit of rage!" The other man yelled. "No one understands the Ghost King! His Conditions were so open-ended anything could happen!"
Hey, Danny thought they were pretty solid, actually.
"Doesn't matter. We are out of options." Batman replied, and between one moment and the next, Danny was floating above a summoning circle, still wearing his snowflake pajamas- complete with a large holding- his phone in the same lying on his stomach position.
Thankfully, he was in his ghost form.
"What-"
"Phantom, Ghost King, I call upon you for aid. The lives of all human life are at risk of destruction." Batman said, his thoughts silent like the grave, and Danny had no idea what he was thinking.
Danm. Danny's wording of "Knowing a human's intention before summoning the King" meant that he could not hear the human's intention once the summon happened. Maybe his language was too open-ended.
"Ugh." He slowly sat up in a cross-leg position, eyeing the gathered heroes. It looked like all of the Justice League was present- all looking worse for wear. Whatever aliens were, the League wasn't kidding when they sent out an emergency shelter notice. "Um, that is...Well, you see, the funny thing is you have to pass some trials before I can help you. Batman Sir."
The Dark Knight showed no outward emotion as he nodded even as a few heroes seemed confused by Danny's nervousness. "I will undergo them."
Please disagree. Danny wanted to scream, flushing a bright green. He wrote those trails in two minutes. They are embarrassing!
Instead, he heard himself say as if speaking from his frozen ice core. "You must pass all my trails. The first shall begin right now and you must have opponents of those you cherish the most. They must be someone you love so much that the thought of them hurting will destroy you. They must take part now or drop dead if they refuse."
A glowing green snowflake appears under the feet of five individuals in the crowd. Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Orphan and Spoiler.are dragged to the front of the crowd, to stand next to Batman in the Ghost Kind's trails.
Batman froze and a man in a trench coat swore. "I warned you!"
"Wait!" Flash yelled, but it was too late. The Ghost King Trails had already begun. Danny wanted to scream, but he felt his body move one arm up, creating a sizeable frozen slate of ice to hover over the heroes.
A familiar song filled the air as smaller slates appeared before each hero. Words slowly carved across the large and small ice, much to the confusion of everyone present.
"Is...Is this Kahoot?" Red Robin dared to ask, watching the words finish being made, and the Kahoot music continued to count down.
Danny wants to hide his face in his hands, but he instead shouts, "The first to twenty is the victor and shall be the one I shall give my aid to! Now time is running out, humans, pick your answer for... Question one...According to the Ghost King, which Gotham hero has the best ass?"
Ding.
Everyone turned to Orphan when she quickly pressed B. on her ice tablet. Since she was the only one who moved in time before the timer ran out, her answer was displayed before all eyes.
She chose correctly. B. for Red Robin.
Orphan shrugs at Red Robin's gape. "His Highness' eyes did a slow up and down when they spotted you. It wasn't hard to guess."
Danny thought making a Kahoot was fast, and no one would be able to guess the answers to questions about himself. He thought it was foolproof.
He was wrong.
"Question two: Which is the prettiest star in the Milky Way!" Danny shouts in a pompous tone that contradicts his embarrassed frown and glowing green blush.
The heroes of Gotham stare at him before they all press A for Sirius.
"How!?" He asks when all of them get the answer right. Right now, Orphan is winning, so she is the closest to his contact dealer.
"You're wearing the star on your nightcap," Red Hood deadpans.
"Q-Question three.....What is the Ghost King's favorite Holiday?"
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, Spoiler, and Orphan picked D. for Halloween but only Batman chooses correctly with B. for Valentine's Day.
He does not explain how he knows that, and Danny is starting to worry the greatest detective in the world is going to figure all his answers out, and he will end up serving them.
Sweating, he moves on to the next question as John Consistent watches on, wondering if he indeed was an Occult expert as he thought or not because none of what was happening was what he thought would happen.
They may stand a chance yet.
Master Post Link
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#The Summoning Conditions of the Ghost King#ghost king danny#crack taken seriously#Danny's trails are what you expect from a procrastinator#The bats are literally the best detectives ever#They are breezing through trail one#John Constantine would kick his Occult degree in the trash if he had one after this#Dead tired
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Just a Quick Puff | John Constantine x m!reader
@satan-incarnate-666 asked: HOHOHO
“We have each other, and that’s all we need” - John Constantine x M!Reader
summary: getting high in the woods with John is all fun and games... maybe a bit more fun than anything.
tws: swearing, drug use, weed
The woods were cold and dark as you sat on the concrete ledge inside the hidden tunnels, able to see the water glisten and glitter with the soft glow of the stars, tilting your head back as you closed your eyes and dared to smile a little, a giggle starting to bubble in your stomach, moving one leg so that it hung over John's; his dirty blonde hair messy as he held the joint in his fingers, a daft grin across his features as he looked at you.
The woods were so quiet, the trees hardly whispering as the wind blew through them softly, bushes not even daring to move; you took the joint when he offered it, taking a long drag as you hummed softly, letting the weed hit you properly. John couldn't keep his eyes off of you, taking in the sight of you like it was the only thing that mattered; the tattered camouflage trousers, the blue jumper paired with the thick red fleece, dirty pale grey trainers. Fuck, you looked so good. So fucking handsome. He'd been with and seen many handsome men in his time, none quite lived up to you.
He took the joint back, humming quietly as he took note of your features, the reflective stars in the water shining upon them and making you look so divine; silver lights illuminating your features with soft streaks. You looked like you were sent by some higher power. You dazzled him. But he couldn't ignore the weight of your leg on his; how you so casually threw it over like it didn't send shockwaves down his spine and cause a certain heat to bubble in his stomach. Shit, he should leave.
Everyone he ever dared about, John ended up hurting. Badly. He didn't want to hurt you, too.
The weed was starting to get to him as John leaned in real close and caught the side of your jaw with his hand, but soon decided against it and he had a couple more puffs before giving you the joint and letting you finish it off before you chucked it into the water. All paper and roach.
An absolutely wonderful noise hit John's ears suddenly, echoing and drifting through the woods like the most brilliant of songs; the gentle sound of your laughter as you leaned into his side and put your hand on his chest. "I thought you were gonna kiss me!"
"I was," John shrugged. "What's funny about that?"
"Well, for a start, I'm not your type," you pointed out, struggling to form the words as giggles left your lips. "C'mon, we all know that!"
But the thing was, you were John's type in every sense; your body, your personality, it was all his type. The only thing that stopped him from crossing the line was the fact that he didn't want to hurt you. Everyone around him was in the line of fire, would have to go through trenches and wire just to avoid the worst of it; everyone around him always got hurt. Everyone. He didn't want the same to happen to you; sure, you were used to seeing pain. You went around with Jesse and Cassidy for long enough before you met John to get used to the sight of pain.
His eyes caught a scar on your wrist, but he did his best to ignore it as he clenched his jaw and sighed; letting you fall with your head on his lap, reaching up to gently trace his jaw. The sharp feeling of his short stubble making you laugh with how it tickled your fingertips. Fuck, he really wanted to kiss you, the feeling of your head on his lap as he sucked in a harsh breath; giggly and tingling from the weed as he grinned down at you. Taking your wrist and pressing his lips to the palm of your hand for a moment.
"You are, though, (y/n). You're my type in every way, mate... but everyone around me gets hurt so I... I shouldn't."
You shook your head, getting up and straddling his lap, nearly pinning him against the harsh and cold wall, reaching into the pocket of his trench coat so that you could pull out the cigarettes; you even dared to laugh softly as you pressed your face against his neck, breathing in his scent and clumsily pressing an open mouthed kiss to his neck.
"I'm a tough boy, I can look after myself. I don't need protection, or for you to worry. I'm a big boy, John. We have each other, and that's all we need."
John couldn't stop himself, grabbing the back of your neck as he pulled you in close, crashing his mouth against yours; it was harsh yet lazy and sloppy, not so much focused on being good at it as much as feeling the pleasure that came with it. Hot breaths tangling. Teeth scraping against a bottom lip. The feeling of a tongue pushing past a slightly open mouth. Little moans and whimpers. Needy jerks and harsh grabs of jackets.
But then you pulled away, and John nearly wanted to protest; he was so warm all of a sudden, the urge to laugh deep in him as he stared at you. Bathed in starlight and moonlight. He grabbed the back of your neck a little harder, fingers digging into the skin as he let out a soft growl.
"Don't let me hurt you," he told you with a shake of his head. "If it gets too much, walk away. Don't stick around."
"I won't," but the words didn't resonate properly when you started to giggle, biting at the inside of your lip as you tried not to grin. "You're so goddamn pretty, John."
if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG
#mlem writes#john constantine x reader#john constantine x you#john constantine x yn#john constantine x y/n#john constantine oneshot#john constantine one shot#john constantine imagine#john constantine#constantine x reader#constantine x you#constantine x y/n#constantine x yn#constantine oneshot#constantine one shot#constantine imagine#Constantine
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I love seeing Danny Phantom showing up and being like ‘don’t ask too many questions but John Constantine I own your soul. All of it. Lmao sucks to suck bitch’, and he’s usually all Ghost King Full Regalia as he does it, at least in front of the Justice League, but consider—
He just shows up as Danny Fenton.
“yeah I got bored and collected the pieces like Pokémon. Gotta catch ‘em all” says the 5’2 teen who looks like a stiff breeze could trip him. He denies being a sorcerer, or a magician, concedes he’s maybe psychic but mostly he’s just…. The kid of two mad scientists—who have a basement lab where they opened a portal to what he SAYS is not hell but no one is frankly CONVINCED, by the way—and he hasn’t decided what to do with Constantine yet besides getting Danny into some r rated horror movies, but figures he should tell the dude probably.
“What’d you even trade for some of his soul contracts?”
“Don’t worry about it”
They worry about it
#danny phantom#john constantine#dp x dc#dc x dp#demons will NOT admit to being menaced by a baby ghost#not to mention that said baby ghost probably kicked their asses#this maybe changes some of Constantines powers?#like I don’t know the exact details but he primarily sold his soul for an immortality cheat. but he probably got some powers out of it?#so like maybe now it’s fueled by Danny/the ghost zone or some such?#not quite a Halfa but like what do you MEAN his pretty gold magic is TOXIC GREEN?#Danny just sorta shrugs and goes Yeah That Sounds About Right#and then does not elaborate further#he’s selling that he’s just a normal kid VERY HARD#they’d almost believe him if they didn’t know he had ALL OF CONSTANTINES SOUL CONTRACTS#bonus content of Batman#you can choose what he’s doing but I think it’d be funny if Danny found out about the contingencies and went Oh Cool I’m super allergic to..#… this one specific flower haha#not at ALL elaborating that this flower is rare and WILL melt his skin. oh and that he destroyed the world in at least one timeline hehe#one reason I love OP Danny in DC universe—if Danny’s native to that universe he HAS to be OP. because he WOULD HAVE TO HAVE defeated…#…if not outright killed#the ENTIRE LEAGUE#ITS GREAT#1k#2k#3k#hnnnnnnnn#4K#5k#?!??!!!
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dp x dc prompt:
Due to something magical going on in Gotham the Bats, at Constantine's suggestion, summon/call a powerful ghost/Liminal (Danny/Jazz/Elle/Dan, take your pick) that has apparently been living in Gotham for a few years (Bruce is Not Happy to find out he was oblivious to this fact) to help.
The Fenton that was summoned/called agrees to help the Bats- but with on one condition: they need advice on how to tell their significant other(s) about their whole ghost/liminal nature and don't know how to do that with people so completely removed from anything to do with the supernatural or hero stuff.
The Bats agree, but as soon as the Fenton reveals their civilian identity to try and smooth over the "oops I never did tell you I moved here my bad" portion of the program Bruce recognizes them as the person one of his children has been dating.
He immediately decides "fuck it, Bruce gets to be the one to cause a lil chaos this time, as a treat" and has the Batkid dating the Fenton in question come over in their vigilante gear to be the one to give the advice.
#dc x dp#dp x dc#dpxdc#dc x dp prompt#bruce wayne#john constantine#batfam#batkids#danny fenton#jazz fenton#dani phantom#danielle phantom#elle phantom#dan phantom#Bruce: this is my circus and those are my monkeys but you know what i'm on break right now#the monkeys can deal with this clown shit on their own this time#batkid in full vigi gear seeing their SO who doesn’t know their secret identity standing there next to Bruce: 👁👄👁
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