Posted in Headcanon


When nothing went according to plan, it’s usually either a curse or a blessing in disguise. And though she typically leans towards the first option, this time, she’s willing to make an exception and take it as the latter.

Because a curse wouldn’t feel this good, nor would it bring her the peace of mind she had long for.

After all, not everyday her plan to capture a rogue beast from Hel went to shit because John Constantine showed up, running for his life from said beast – whom apparently was sent by First of the Fallen as a way of collecting payment from old-time humiliation.

When their eyes met, for a split second the whole world freeze as flashback and echoes of memories assault their minds like pins of unwelcomed needles. Her breath was caught on her lungs, her vision got turned upside down, and she almost lost her footing.

The spell doesn’t last long though. For as soon as the roar of battle resumed in her ears and she caught sight of the beast’s tail wrapped around John’s ankle, her instinct take over. In one clean shot, she blow the tail to smithereens, allowing John to roll over until he land next to her own two feet.

“Well, this isn’t how I imagined I’d see you again, luv,” John says, coughing up debris. As an answer, she grab his coat’s collar and drag him away.

“Talk later, kill that sorry excuse of waste of air first.”. 

Something spared in his eyes when he give her a mock salute and an “Ay, ay, Captain,” but she tabled it for later and focus on the most important thing: getting this thing out of their way.


Somehow, three hours, one empty shotgun, five stubs of cigarettes, one box of chalk, and two shattered knives later, they’re on their way to her Manor. Exchanging smug grin as the beast is not just eradicated, but is sent back to the bowel of Hel where it came from to torment its sender.

“I miss you,” she confessed, because there’s something in his eyes and a familiar spark in the air, and she’d be damned if she didn’t make the most of what she got. And it’s a thought he shared, apparently, since he reach for her hand as he admits, “I’ve been spending the better part of these last three weeks staying up all night, smoking my lungs out and thinking of you. I haven’t moved on from you, darling, nor do I think I will.”

“You should, though,” he quietly adds. “I can’t promise you anything. And no matter what I say, or what happens today, you should move on. From me.”

Scoffing, she purposely step on the brake and nearly got him face-planted to the dashboard as she parks her jeep. “If it’s that easy, I would’ve moved on from you months ago, you stupid git.”

He grimaces, rubbing his sore arm while crossing the garden to chase after her. It’s not until they’re safe in the protection of her room, that she finally stop long enough to allow him to hug her from behind.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “Look, I love you, I still do, and I’d sell my soul to Lucifer to have you, but you know I can’t. Not now.”

The silence almost drive him crazy, but finally she relaxed to his hug. “I know,” comes her faint answer as she turns around, reaching for his face and pull him for a soft kiss. “I know, you git.”

It was a kiss unlike any other they’ve shared, and yet it feels as familiar as breathing. Like this is where they’re supposed to be, safe and sound in each other’s embrace as he lift her up and they tumble down to her bed. It’s sweet and sad, lustful and nervous, too much and not enough all at once.

But more than anything else, it feels right.


“How are you, really?” she asks, once she’s tucked in his arms, absentmindedly playing with his hair.

“Not that okay,” he admits. “Now though… I’m happy and sad.”

“Because I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again,” he answers her unspoken question. “And deep down, I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I promised Chaz I wouldn’t disturb you again and give you your needed space to let go.”

“But God, I miss you so bad,” he croaks, holding her tight like she’s his lifeline. “You’re the reason why I haven’t give up.”

And once again, she earned the privilege of being his confidante. Of seeing him stripped off of his bravado and cocky smiles, of his raw emotions and unfiltered thoughts.


“Come back, John,” she found herself saying. “Be mine again.”


“I am yours,” he replies, caressing her face and kissing her lips with all the gentleness he could manage. “Still. Always.”


And in that moment, tangled in each others, they found their way back to their sanctuary. And everything’s alright, for now. 


She knows this is a high she’ll come crashing down from later on. But she doesn’t think she’d mind. He’s worth the euphoria, the long wait, and the consequences. No matter how painful it will be.





À la mort,

Prompt: Taylor Swift’s Red.
“But moving on from him is impossible when I still see it all in my head… in burning red.”



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

One thought on “Recidivate

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