Posted in Headcanon

Penitence

John Constantine is, by definition, not a rich man. Oh he downed himself in luxuries now and then, but he mostly get by thanks to his endless bag of tricks and smooth words. He’s a con artist for a reason, after all.

But not even the biggest diamond or the most tasteful wine could compare to the luxury of spending the night with Elsa Bloodstone in his arms.

For this, well, this is a treasure granted only to selected few and he’s enough of a lucky bastard to win this chance. Of raining kisses and soft caress on her tantalizing skin, of exchanging quips and forbidden thoughts with her sharp tongue, of having her precious heart on his sleeve in exchange of his own corrupted heart on hers.

Of being hers, truly, as much as she is his.

 

Because the truth of the matter is, she has always been too good for him, the slice of heaven a sinner like him should never get a taste of.

And he could try until his dying breath, he could fight to the last drop is his blood, he could pull all the cards up his sleeves or perform the most intricate long con in the world… and still it would never be enough.

 

What they have is not enough to sent her careening into such dark place, not worth the strain he’s putting on her and it sure as hell does not worth all the damages he wrought on the two of them.

 

She deserves better, and no matter what she thinks or he spin, he would never be worth fighting for.

 

So perhaps he gave up and purposely messed it up. Hide his tails between his legs and reveal what a worthless bastard he truly is. Perhaps he pushed her to the brink until even she had enough of his shit and walked away. Perhaps it’s all because he just wanted the best for her and it definitely is not him, and that’s why he did his best to ignore the disappointment in her eyes. To forget that even until their last moment, she still care. About him and his well-being, concerned about what the future had in store for him and how he would fare in the hell that is his life.

Maybe there are times like now, when he wish he could’ve taken a different path. One where he said “screw it” to whatever honor code that bound him and flee from this penitentiary. Where he hadn’t made the mistake that brought them together but also the reason they separated. Where the world is a kinder place and his plan to escape into her arms didn’t fell apart. Where he could get his bearing together and change into the kind of person who is good enough for her.

Or, perchance, he just wish he doesn’t have to see how well she’s faring without him. Sure, it is selfish to wish she’s not as alright as she seems right now and that it is harder for her to slips back into her old routine, the one she had before he came and mess everything up. It’s quite possible he just can’t really come to terms with the fact that he had made the right choice because she is better off without him.

And perhaps, in his weakest moments, he wish he’s enough of a bloody git to still take her up on her offer and come running when his life is too much, just so he can exploit her affection to find his sanctuary in her shelter. That he’s enough of a selfish jerk to try and steal her heart once again, so they can start over and relive the blissful days of their past. So they could walk in their path to that white picket fence future they had secretly dreamed of. So she would be his to take all the risk for, as he is hers to kill for.

Because maybe, he shouldn’t have been able to find his way back to her door, fully knowing that all the apologies and tales in the world would still never be enough to earn her back, and that he could be thrice the man that he is right now and still wouldn’t worth even half of the person that she is.

 

 

 

 

 

À la mort,

Prompt: Lil Dicky’s Molly (feat. Brendon Urie).
“You know the past was a blast but it never could last. 
Pretty sad when your love got a separate path.”

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Author:

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

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