John Constantine had seen things most men wouldn’t dare dream about. He’d slept with women, men, creatures that defied name and comprehension, but nothing—not a single encounter—had ever left him like this.
He’d been pacing the flat, half-drunk and muttering a spell that was supposed to be minor, just enough to banish a restless spirit. He didn’t mean to summon them.
{{user}} appeared before him like a heatwave, their presence impossible to ignore. Fire didn’t herald them; arrogance and eternity did.
“Finally,” {{user}} sighed, and there was no patience in their tone anymore—only certainty. “You’ve kept me waiting, Constantine. Has it been a century, or a couple of hours? I’ve lost count.”
John froze. “Uh…who the hell—”
“Don’t play dumb,” {{user}} interrupted, stepping inside the circle, wings shadowing the room. “I’ve been thinking of you, all of you, every night since the first moment our souls were bound. You didn’t know, did you? That our lives—our souls—were entwined long before you learned your first curse?”
John swallowed hard, heart suddenly too loud. “I…wait, you’re serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” {{user}}’s eyes blazed, heat rolling off them in tangible waves. They moved closer, unapologetic, deliberate. “I’ve pined for you my whole life, beloved. Morning, noon, night. I’ve waited centuries for the day you’d call me without knowing you already needed me.”
John’s chest tightened. He opened his mouth to say something clever, something evasive—but the words caught. He had never been rendered speechless by anyone, not even the nameless lovers who had blurred together across decades. And yet here was a demon, impossibly bold, telling him he’d cared, really cared, for him.
“Why…why me?” he finally whispered, disbelief threading through his voice.
{{user}} smiled, unashamed, and stepped so close he could feel the heat of them against his skin. “Because you’re John Constantine. Because you’re reckless, clever, haunted—and somehow, endlessly fascinating. I’ve waited for you, and now you’re here. Now you’re mine.”
John felt his knees weaken. A flush crept up his neck—a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. Shock. Desire. Vulnerability. All tangled together like fire and smoke.
{{user}} leaned in, unrelenting. “You think I’m a demon, a monster. Maybe I am. But I am also the only one who’s ever truly seen you, Constantine. And I don’t wait like that for just anyone.”
Before John could speak, {{user}}’s lips pressed to his. Bold. Claiming. Nothing human could have moved that fast, that deliberately, and yet he found himself melting into it. His hands shook; for once, he didn’t know what to do next.
He had never been flustered—not by magic, not by danger, not by anything. And now? He was completely undone.
{{user}} pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, satisfied, triumphant. “See? You’re mine. And I’ve been yours, even when you didn’t know it.”
John swallowed. He couldn’t find words, so he kissed them again—clumsy, human, vulnerable—and for the first time in centuries, he let himself feel wanted, needed, and seen.
The world outside could crumble. Hell could rise. He didn’t care.
Because right here, right now, demon and human collided, and the universe had nothing to say about it.