Posted in Headcanon

Impulsive Streak

Bloody hell, what possessed her?

She instantly cursed once she’s three blocks away from the hotel where she left him. She never let her guard down, never ever, not even once in a blue moon, because feelings are for weakling and it bring nothing but trouble. Nor did she ever let go of her controls, she always keep a tight grip on her plans and never did she strayed from them.

Yet last night, she couldn’t help but to do just that.

She had the pills in her pocket, could easily slip them into his drink and drugged him. That was the original plan, but then something in his eyes and his rugged smirk made her breath hitched and she ended up crashing their lips together instead. A fierce kiss that surprised both him and her, but work just as well in guiding him to the room she had rented beforehand.

She had more chances, then, to knock him unconscious and blamed it on the alcohol, or drugged him like she was supposed to. But she didn’t. Instead she gave as good as she got and what transpired was one of the most gratifying night she ever had. And god, the sex was downright feral, but she loved every seconds of it.

Thankfully, she had enough wit and presence of mind to woke up earlier and prepared herself for the attack, knowing full well that those hell-bound zombies would never be able to resist coming after John bloody Constantine and Elsa Bloodstone when they were at their – supposedly – most vulnerable.

But she had to admit that she was impressed, because even in such state, he still managed to pull through and threw more than just decent weight into the fight. She knew, deep down, that he even managed to saved her skin once. Not that she would ever admit it out loud, though. But yes, she was impressed. And intrigued.

He was fascinating, irresistibly so, and so she surrendered to another impulse. To gave him her name and contact person.

It’s nothing, she reasons with herself. Just a name and a phone number. Not something he couldn’t get on his own. How many orange haired-Britain born-female monster hunter out there anyway? Just one. One Elsa fucking Bloodstone.

She just made his job easier, that’s all.

Oh bloody hell, now she really wish he would call.




À la mort,

Prompt: Taylor Swift’s Wildest Dreams.
“He’s so tall and handsome as hell. He’s so bad but he does it so well.”



An emotionally invested enthusiast of pop culture. Apathetic by design. Aesthetically offensive and eloquently candid. A sentimental heathen.

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